#i had them IN MY CART for KIND OF CHEAP and i was like. i can’t buy tickets For my friend without her saying she’s in/what she’d spend

[ilostyou]

don’t think i’m over not buying those 5sos tickets on tuesday though i was so close to having perfect seats and essentially screwed myself over by trying to be a good friend lol. i am not over that

[theoldsports]

SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

[leonw4nter]

hello ! i REALLY love your writing style !! 💘 i was wondering if i could request a leon fic where it is set in medieval times. i was thinking about where the reader and leon was on a romantic boat ride? the one just like from the movie tangled where flynn and rapunzel decided to take a boat ride under the flying lanterns? i think it would be too cute for that kind of scenario ❤️ ty!!

I See The Light

Knight!RE4R!Leon x GN!Reader AU

Leon trades his usual day of training and standing on his guard’s post for a scene of music and flowers alongside you, strolling along tree-lined streets as he holds your hand; the gentle pressure of his calloused fingers against your knuckles is a grounding sensation, keeping you anchored to this shared moment of peace with your lover. The subtle squeeze of his palms encasing your hand sent waves of reassurance that he will be here to stay for the years to come, to endure the passing of time alongside you. He hears your twinkling voice, practically seeing a small smile in your lips as you discuss what it could possibly feel like if one could float; your eyes were squinted and sparkly, like sun-lit waters of a relatively calm ocean; each gust of a breath expelled with every laugh of yours causes his heart to feel as if the wind lifts it closer to heaven. He nods to your words, the rest of the world fading away the more he listens to you. How funny that you rambled on and on about wanting to float, to feel the wind push your hair back for you as you felt the sky on the tips of your fingers, and Leon could describe the overwhelming sensation you trigger from him as floating; floating, but not drifting away from you. Your presence wields an imperceivable, powerful force that links him to you as the world around him swirls in a blur of greens, blues, pinks, and browns yet he is fixated on you and you alone. He cannot deny the force of his physical attraction towards you but you have given him a chance to peer beyond every smile and frown, to swim in the vast ocean of your dreams and fears; that is more than enough to captivate him fully, more than any external charm.

Your rambling had halted, much to Leon’s slight disappointment, when the purple and yellow banners overhead came into view. Just like the banners, everything else was in purple and yellow, adorned with an intricate illustration of the kingdom’s sun emblem. The children’s laughter and songs breathed life into the air of the festivity, hands dirtied with colorful chalks as they doodled on the stony ground while some played or braided hair. The center of the village is a marvel of pansies and zinnias as butterflies flit from one blossom to another, wings shimmering as iridescent film catches the sun’s golden ray. Stalls were overflowing with daffodils, daisies, and sunflowers; archways and trellis were hung with garlands of wisteria; flower crowns of various flora adorned the heads of villagers. The perfume-like fragrances of the flowers mingled with the cool air to a degree that did not overwhelm one’s sense of smell. Decorated carts peddled sweet and savory treats for cheap, some of them followed by long lines of patrons eager to have a bite. Leon sniffed a whiff of cinnamon and apples in the air, eyes immediately scanning the crowd for the source of the delightful aroma; he knew you liked apple pastries or any treat with apples and he intended on giving you just that. Spotting a small cart run by some children, he squeezed your hand to get your attention.

“My dove, how does an apple and cinnamon fritter sound?” He softly asks with an eager smile.

You light up at the proposition of a snack, forgetting the call of your empty stomach pleading for a meal; you were far too busy admiring the sights around you… maybe also distracted by the work of art whose hand is entwined with yours, stealing momentary glances when his eyes were not fixated on you.

“It sounds perfect,” you breathed. “Where are you going to get it?”

He gestures to the small stall up ahead; a wooden cart with large red wheels, the faded red paint chipping away to reveal the wood it concealed. Child-like doodles of apples and small brown lumps adorn the body of the cart.

“There,” he says. You nod and he leads the way, occasionally looking back at you to check if you’re still trailing behind him.

While his gaze is trained elsewhere aside from you (a rare instance for this day), you take the time to admire the back of your mon nounours. He stood tall and imposing, exuding an aura of strength and resiliency despite having shed the silver plate of armor he is usually spotted donning; his blond hair reflected the almost-setting sun, casting a sheen that can be likened to a halo. The fit of his black tunic accentuated the ripples and lines of his back, muscles earned through several years of rigorous training and exercise. His vest accentuated the tapering of his waist, a perfect curve meant for your hands to perch upon. The fabric of his garments moved with him in each step, revealing the confidence and fluidity of a skilled knight even without protective metal plates. Soon, you two stand in front of the humble stall. You admire the array of different apple snacks besides the fritters you set your sights on– apple tarts, small apple cakes, apple pies, and apple bread.

“How much will 6 of the apple fritters cost?” He asks, a hand reaching for a pouch he kept on the inside of his vest.

A little girl hops off of the small stool she sat on, attending to Leon’s query. “It’ll be 6 silver pennies.”

“I’ll have 6 of those then,” he decides. You’ve shifted your hold on him, a hand now linked near the crook of his arm.

The slightly stronger cooling wind swept Leon’s dirty blond fringe, tresses slowly resembling a bird’s nest atop his head. Flowers swayed delicately like dances in colorful skirts and eccentric hats; trees and grass rustle softly, a soothing symphony harmonizing with the whispers of the wind. The blond knight beside you kept a hand over his hair, strands now tousled into a disarray.

The child takes the steamier fritters and places them inside a small pouch, counting and making sure to choose the best and tastiest-looking ones. She finishes up, standing on her tiptoes to hand your lover the treat, while Leon places his fees on her tiny palm. She giggles, gaze occasionally glancing at his hair. You pick up on this, bending down to the kid’s level with a wicked grin.

“There is a wildness to his hair, right?” you quietly ask before she nods in agreement.

“It resembles a lion’s windswept mane,” she added with a grin. Leon huffed, trying to flatten the disarrayed tangle.

“I think it’s alright, my love. Do you not like it when my hair is this way?” Leon asked, a little self-conscious now.

“Yes, I do love it mon nounours. You look less… standoffish. Less unapproachable. But I take it that it bothers you slightly.”

He nods, a silent affirmation to your statement of his hair slightly bothering him. Thinner strands have already poked his eye, causing them to slightly water.

“My sisters and I know how to weave crowns like those,” the little shop girl gestures to the passersby with crowns of flora. “We can weave you one quickly to keep your hair away from your face. We will not charge.”

Your face lights up at the proposition, tugging on Leon’s arm a little tighter now. He looks a little embarrassed, looking elsewhere as a burst of pink manifests itself on the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You give him a pleading look, pushing your bottom lip into an exaggerated pout.

“Love, please? It sounds lovely, we can properly blend in with the rest of the kingdom! You will look lovely, I assure you. And besides, don’t the little girls sound adorable?”

Leon sighs, looking down at the small bag of pastry in his other hand. He worries about being spotted in town by a fellow knight, expecting a tirade of teasing to be flung his way when he gets back to the barracks but he knows that he is the least of his concerns, your happiness and well-being going first and foremost before his own. His stoic demeanor betrayed his inner turmoil, an icky guilt seeping into his heart at the mere thought of turning down this opportunity. Why he spared a thought or spent a moment to ponder over something silly, he’s not so sure when ever since, your heart and prosperity the only priority to the knight. With a faint sigh, he agrees.

“All right,” he says in a voice you can pick up. “The girls can weave a flower crown for me.” He sits on a slightly elevated surface right by the stall.

The little girl squeals, clasping her hands before she opens  a small satchel full of vibrant flowers. “Let me find my sisters, my lord and lady. I will be back!”

You nod, watching her run with a pep to her step as she called for her siblings. A chuckle makes its way out of his lips, running his fingers through white gold locks. You stand beside him, reaching for the pouch of snacks in his free hand.

“I’ll hold this one while they work their magic on you, my lord.”

He mumbles a quiet thank you, pulling you in closer by your waist. You remain standing beside him while he sits, an arm snaked around your waist as he rests his head on your hip.

“You’d better eat your snack now, my dove. They’re best warm,” he reminds you as he motions to the pouch in your hand.

“I can wait for a little longer,” you respond as you rest a hand on the base of his head and gently scratch his scalp. If he could purr, he would’ve done so by now. “And I must correct you: these are not just best consumed warm.”

He looks up for a moment, a light confusion on his features before he rests his head against your hip again. “Why do you say so?”

“Because meals like these, comforting and delicious meals, are also best enjoyed with someone dear.”

You can’t see it but you know the ghost of a smile lingers on Leon’s lips, threatening to tug on the corner of his lips a little higher. He makes a mental note to pencil down your words on his pocket notebook, like he always did whenever you said something that deeply resonated with him. The approaching laughter of little children drew nearer, three little girls carrying either satchels or a small bucket of flowers. Leon sits back up, clearing his throat.

“My lord, feel free to select which flowers you’d like on your head. Your fair lady may assist you if you are in need of it,” the eldest tells him.

Rice flower, jasmine, wax flower, amaranthus; what will he select?

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The minutes flew by fast as if they were mere seconds, a securely woven crown of pink, purple, and white flowers now laying atop of his golden tresses; the children had pushed longer strands of his hair back, securing them in place with the flower accessory so that Leon wouldn’t have to constantly flatten the puff atop his head. The eldest sister of the adorable trio takes out a mirror from her satchel and gives it to the blond so he can see the work they’ve done on his hair.

“It looks… magnificent,” he breathes. “Magical, even. Thank you very much, girls. This gesture is very much appreciated.”

You feel warmth creep in from the base of your neck and crawling to your cheeks, tingling from the grin you currently sport. The crown of various flora add a tenderness to his otherwise rugged appearance, adding an element reminiscent of cherubs depicted on oil paintings.

“You’re welcome, kind sir. We hope you enjoy our treat and the festival,” the middle child speaks up as she clears up the excess trimmings and leaves. “Feel free to come back to us if need be!”

“We will,” you promise as you relink arms with your lover again before turning your backs to walk on with the rest of the crowd. The sun is sinking beneath the great blue vastness as a rosy and orange hue stretched on the sky, it’s only a matter of minutes until total darkness befalls the kingdom and the time to set the lanterns free comes around.

You were enchanted with the comforting glow of candles begin to light the streets up, delicate flickers of golden dancing on tall sticks of wax so Leon’s tug through the bustling crowd shocked you a little bit. You squeezed his hand in response to the suddenness of his actions, wanting to tell him that you found his movements abrupt.

“I apologize, my dove.” He says as he momentarily turns around to face you. “It is almost time to wish on lanterns and let them float to the sky. I wish to get our lanterns a little earlier because there is something I need to do.”

Not “want” to do but need to do. His choice of words intrigues you.

After mumbling a few apologies and excuses to the crowd slowly growing more dense in festival goers, you two finally get to one of the stalls selling their lanterns. There were all sorts of lanterns and the kinds of candles they had– some were shaped like circles, some like cylinders; some of the paper used was plain and simple while others had doodles of various things like animals or simply little scribbles of circles. There were candles that had thicker wax and longer wicks, candles with scented wax, and candles with wicks infused with a substance to cause the fire to burn warmer and brighter. After selecting the lantern you both desired, you two paid with a hefty sum of copper coins.

“Leon, that’s not the path to the sea wall,” you point out as you realize that he’s no longer right behind you. “We’re supposed to walk past the stall we purchased from.”

“Yes, I know. I will take you elsewhere,” he explains. He looks a little nervous now, a finger fidgeting with the edge of the lantern paper as he shifts from one foot to the other. “I know a better place if- if that’s alright with you, love.”

You nod, following him. “It’s more than fine with me. Take me to where we need to be, mon nounours.”

Kindly taking your hand, you two begin to walk away from the growing number of people heading to the seawall. You’re not very familiar with where he’s taking you but you trust him enough to know what he’s doing, happily trailing behind him as he lights the path with the glow of your lanterns.

“Don’t let go of these, alright? It would take quite some time until we get another lantern back at the square.”

It takes less than 10 minutes until you two reach the edge of the river, right at the shore. By now, the sun had completely descended beneath the waves and let the stars take the great wide stage in the heavens above.

“Kindly hold this for me,” he instructs you as he hands you his lantern. You hold both of your lanterns, watching Leon as he bends over to the protrusion hidden in a tree near the waterside. Fingers curl around a dusty fabric and lift it off, setting it down beside a small brown boat complete with a rope, small anchor, and oars. It dawns on you what this is all about; he will take you on a boat ride and celebrate the festival down the river with him. Your heart leaps and drums against your ribs, pulse pounding against your neck.

“You may get inside now..”

You raise your garments above your ankles with one hand as the other holds lanterns, stepping inside the boat. Leon pushes the boat, undocking it from the shoreline and before the boat drifts out too far into the water, he joins you.

“Look up at the sky, love.” He instructs you with a glimmer in his eyes, the silver circle of the moon reflected in arctic cerulean irises.

You do so and you are greeted by a wondrous sight, the kind of view that you were certain could only be depicted in intricate oil paintings that hung in long winding halls of the palace you called your home. Drifting along the tranquil river, the lanterns begin to rise and light up the void sky. They gradually begin to drift further away from the ground, becoming stars in the sky now painted with the hopes and wishes of the people. Each golden orb flickering reflected on the gentle ripples of water, creating a mesmerizing waltz of shadows and illumination. The hushed splish splash of water harmonized with the wind blowing against your ears and the rustling of foliage, setting the perfect musical score in this dream-like moment. More lanterns continued to join the others in the sky, the wind directing them to another point in the sky like a captain to his ship; the peace that came with the festival bathed over the kingdom in a dream-like ambience.

“They’re all so beautiful,” you whisper. “I feel… light, at peace. Calm.”

What you did to his heart is sheer, inexplicable magic.

“Yes,” he agreed softly. “They really are beautiful.” His head was not even craned upwards when he uttered those words, his gaze locked on you.

After a few moments of silent observation, you poke him on his arm as you gesture to the lanterns still with you.

“Of course,” he says with a sheepish smile as he takes his.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” you remind him before you close your eyes and silently thank the universe for everything good– prosperity in your kingdom, good health, and Leon.

He closes his eyes too and wishes upon every single lantern and star in the sky that the universe would lead you to where you will be happiest in, even if it’s not with him. With a breath of anticipation, both of your hands release the glowing lanterns and watch it gracefully ascend as it carries shared dreams into the expanse of darkness. The world seems to have paused as Leon locked eyes with you, all his wishes and greatest dreams reflected in the twinkle of your gaze.

“I love you, my greatest dream.” The blond says as he takes your hand and envelopes them with his own. “I confess once again, with all the fervor in my lowly heart, that I am and will always be yours to keep. I am yours, now and forever, but only if you will choose to have me.”

You smile and lift your conjoined hands, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of his knuckles. Training must have been harsh the other day, a flushed soreness on the peaks of his knuckle bones could be seen when his fingers are curled.

“My most cherished knight and precious lover, I yearn to spend every moment in your presence and adore you as you so richly deserve. My grief will truly be beyond measure if I cannot have you in my life; the tides are nothing without the moon to beckon them.”

His normally composed demeanor softens, revealing a vulnerable and sensitive man that you are lucky to see. The angular lines of his face gave way to a loopy smile as his cheeks were tinted faint pink, a manifestation of his shy affection.

“I am but a humble palace guard, my thane. You speak of high praises that I believe I am not yet worthy of.”

You withdraw one hand from his to cup his cheek, thumb skimming over his cheekbone. He nuzzles into your touch, craving for more of your pillowy touch.

“No need to be shy when you’re with me, Leon.”

“Ah– yes, of course. I just… to me, to be in your company is to feel a profound contentment. Nothing else matters except for you.”

You chuckle, glowing with the sincerity of his words. Who knew that a scary, stoic man like him could be capable of such poetic compositions.

The itch to feel his lips against yours is an itch you can scarcely endure so your hand leaves Leon’s cheek to bunch the fabric on his vest, tugging him closer to yourself. His breath catches on his throat, inky pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes like a void.

“Stop me if I am pushing things.”

You begin with a kiss to both his cheeks, then the tip of his nose then the corners of his lips. You look into his eyes to spot any hesitation or discomfort, not wanting to make him feel dirty.

“Do you want this the same way I do?” you ask with lidded yet cautious eyes.

“I want this unfathomably more than you do.”

His left hand settles on the base of your head, fingers combed through your hair as his right hand settles on your hip, not resting the entirety of its weight even though you won’t scold him if he did; he just wants to be careful. The final tug propels him forward to you, his lips landing on yours.

Just with your lips you could feel Leon tense up and freeze before relaxing into the gesture, tilting his head at a slight angle so his nose wouldn’t obstruct your way. His eyebrows scrunch in focus, feeling you and only you and the comforting embrace of your warm lips against him. If there could be a moment that he can revisit and experience for the first time, it would be the first kiss he shared with you by the garden wall as he stood on a wobbling wooden ladder. Every nerve was lit with an electric thrill that gave you courage to deepen the kiss, fueled by the need to worship this part of your lover. His hands traveled from your hip to the small of your back, wanting to usher your closer to him without parting lips for even a second. Air was overrated in that moment, breathing expertly cycled to prolong this magical moment. It grew more fervent, crazed and drunk on devotion; you gave him a light nip on his puffy bottom lip, eliciting a soft sigh that fanned warm breath on your parted lips. Finally you pull away, breathing heavily and catching your breath as you rest your warm forehead against his, post-kiss. You hear Leon chuckling as he cupped your face and you find yourself following suit.

“That was,” he breathily whispers. “Spellbinding.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Leon pulls back, readjusting his clothes and trying to smooth the hair on the back of his head that your grip might’ve ruffled. You fix yourself too, feeling the puffiness of your lips by the tips of your fingers. You look relatively well-kept together so you help Leon in trying to look less frazzled and flustered, readjusting the flower crown that had become tilted.

“We should probably head back,” your lover says, sounding almost disappointed.

“You are not even trying to hide your discontent, mon nounours. It’s charming.” You smirk.

“I think that it is a shame that this evening feels too hasty for such an enthralling event,” he mumbles. “The King and Queen Mother will worry for you and it is for the best that we make our way back to avoid a talking-to.”

His hands find the oars, steering the boat back to the direction of the shore. You can see the disappointment on his face but he does his best to veil it, to avoid dampening your feelings. You place a hand on one of the oars, interrupting his movements.

“I have informed my mother and father that they shall expect me to return late,” you tell him and he almost can’t believe it. “Earlier this afternoon, before you came to pick me up for our afternoon escapade, I advised my parents to expect my delayed arrival at around the wee hours of the morning. They protested but I responded that I am capable of making my own decisions and defending myself, as well as that I will be in the company of a trusted official in the royal court. You have proven yourself worthy of spending time around me countless times and I do not hesitate to extend my hours of–”

Leon hastily envelopes you with a tight embrace, rocking the boat and rippling the surface of the velvet surface of the river. He sways your bodies side to side and you can feel a wide beam right by your cheek, pleased that Leon doesn’t have to mope about wishing to spend the night with you.

NOTE - 3 nights of sobbing over a book and sleeping at 3-4 AM resulted to a cold, which pushed back my original posting schedule <3 I'm okay now, still got a cold, but less tired and crusty-feeling compared to a day ago. Thank you to the lovelies who filled my inbox with requests and don't worry, I'll get around to writing them soon before school starts again. I hope the anon who requested this loves it, I'm so sorry for the delay but I hope this fic managed to live up to your expectations 🌷🌷 I'm craving a matcha roll and some sushi rn but I'm unfortunately broke so watching mukbangs and sobbing will have to do for now. Thanks to everyone who waited for me to come back from the break, I appreciate it tons!!!!!!!! I've got more fic ideas in store so I'll get to those too after finishing up requests (and they're also prolly angsty, I miss writing angst). ALSO DAWG TRUMP GOT SHOT??? LIKE IM NOT AMERICAN AND NOT FROM THAT COUNTRY BUT HELLO??? ASSASSINATIONS R SO IN AGAIN???? And I saw Leon edits to Trump getting shot too like 😭😭 It's funny ngl... like ik my goat wouldn't miss (JKJK DONT GO AFTER ME PLS THIS IS A JOKE!!!). Anyways, that's it and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I <333333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

The space dividers are from @saradika , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Okay so Fem!reader shes the product of Mrs.Scrubbit and Mr.Bleacher’s one night stand (they were really drunk) and instead of being like them she is a kind girl and helps the people who are in the Landry shoot and she was there when Willy presented his items and liked him for his silly ideas and Willy saw her and was shock to see a beautiful girl like her and only to see her again after her “parents” imprisoned him and she was there to greet him when he went down the shoot and she apologizes for her parents greed and tries her best to help him (also Mrs.scrubbit is a little nicer to fem!reader because well that’s her daughter but is still cruel to her)

𝒩ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓂

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt

You and Noodle had stopped to watch the man's intriguing show. Scrubbit’s laundry could wait, you thought.

You smiled and laughed when he grabbed your hand, inviting you to try one of his chocolates. He smiled widely at you, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he took a good look at you.

You were beautiful, your smile, everything about you seemed like a dream come true.

You were going to eat it when out of nowhere, the chocolate cartel came. They had tried it, saying they disliked it. They then had started to float in the air, and you and noodle looked in shock at the man.

He tipped his hat to the crowd, and the police soon came, making you and noodle quickly move and go back to your work.

You pushed the cart of laundry around, you both laughed in disbelief.

“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” You said.

“Wait… I think that was the man who came in yesterday.” She realized, you furrowed your eyebrow in confusion. “While you were out, another man, or the one you just saw, came in and signed the contract. I tried to warn him.”

You sighed, shaking your head to yourself. “Another one?”

She nodded, as you both walked then once reached it, brought the laundry down. Then going down with the others.

“So, what happened today?” They always asked after trips outside.

“Not much. We did see one interesting man, but Noodle thinks he signed the contract last night. His name was.. something Wonka." You said, shrugging. Noodle left to go finish up.

Just as you were saying that a man had fallen down the chute and into the laundry. He looked at you all back, confused and lost.

"You must be Mr. Wonka."

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Abacus Crunch. Chartered accountant. At least I was. Now, uh..." He stood up.

"He runs the place. And you best do what he says, or you answer to me." A women interrupted.

"Piper Benz." She offered her hand and helped him out from the laundry. "Plumber by trade."

"This is Miss Lottie Bell."

"She doesn't talk much."

"This is y/n." He motioned to you, you smiled again and he quickly recognized you.

"I liked your ideas. Glad to meet you, properly."

"You too.." he said, a small smile on his face.

"And I'm Larry Chucklesworth, Comedian." Another man said.

"They got you all too, did they?"

"I'm afraid so. We were in need of a cheap place to stay and neglected to read the small print."

"One moment of stupidity followed by endless regret."

He looked around, "There's got to be some way out of here."

"You don't think we've tried? There's bars on the windows, and a dog by the door."

"And even if you could get out, that contract is water tight."

"If you're not here at roll call, she'll call the police and they'll bring you right back, then charge you 1000 for the inconvenience."

He yelped when the dog barked at him, and the others got back to work. You stayed and eyed the man coming down the stairs.

"I can show you around." You said quickly, before Abacus had the chance. "If you'd like."

"Sure..."

"He's on suds." Abacus said, you nodded and led him there.

"I'm sorry, about my parents by the way." You said as you rolled the cart.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. He didn't know who you were talking about.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, right. Mrs. Scrubitt and Bleacher are my parents. They'll do anything to get and save money." You said with a frown.

"Their you parents?" He was shocked, it seemed unbelieveable.

"Unfortunately,"

"You're nothing like them. You're..."

You looked at him now, curious as to what he would say now. He swallowed the lump in his throat nervously. "Never mind."

You continued to show him his job there. Then after a while, the whistle was blown. You all headed out, Willy talked a bit about his work, and you told him a bit more about yourself.

Then you were all sent to your rooms, you stayed with Willy, however, when you noticed he wasn't entering. You also saw Noodle coming in and waved to her. She waved back, and you motioned to the room.

"Told you to read the small print." Noodle said. He smiled slightly as he continued to stare out the window.

"Slight problem with that."

"You can't read? You asked him.

"I focus my studies almost exclusively on chocolate."

"I see."

"For everything else, I've relied on the kindness of strangers." He said, his gaze fixed on you as he said the words. You gave him a small smile.

"And look where thats got you." She said.

"This is the staff quarters. I like to decorate them all, makes it feel a lot less prison-y. Here." You said, handing him a small potted plant, the green contrasting to the gloomy room. He smiled at it, looking at it.

"You've got a bed." Noodle said, and he was going to sit on it but it collapsed.

"You had a bed..”

“Desk, and a wash basin/toilet." She continued.

And after a bit of talking between you, Willy and Noodle, you thought of a plan to help him.

“I could sneak you out. During the day, when I take the laundry. She doesn’t look over me so much as she does the others, they trust me.”

“That’s perfect.” He smiled, clapping his hands.

He found himself slowly becoming infatuated with you, not realizing it until the three of you were about to drown in chocolate.

He quickly confessed right before his head went under, and you didn’t get the chance to talk until the three of you were on the floor again.

You both stared at each other for a while, standing close to each other. Your hands reached up to cup his face, your thumb moved some of the chocolate from his lips and you captured his lips in a kiss.

His hands went to your hips, and you both got lost in each other until Noodle cleared her throat.

“Noodle! I forgot you were there.” You laughed nervously, you both turned to her, he was blushing and you could feel you cheeks heating up.

[laundrybiscuits]

(continued from this and this)

“Yeah, I just told her to give them the cold shoulder. Don’t have to be mean or anything, just ignore ‘em a little. Play it cool. Drives girls crazy, ‘cause then they have to work to get your attention.”

Eddie stares at him. 

“Holy shit, Buckley’s gonna die alone and it’s gonna be a hundred percent your fault. That is the worst fucking advice I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Steve actually looks offended, like his honor’s been impugned. “What the hell, man? I’ve picked up like a million girls that way. I’m telling you, it works.”

“Yeah, okay, now I’m seeing why my sage advice is required for this whole endeavor. That kind of thing might fly if you’re some alpha dog prom king, but lesbians are like…giant pandas or some shit, okay? The conditions have to be precisely calibrated or they’ll just hibernate in a cave by themselves eating bamboo forever.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” says Steve. 

Eddie shrugs. “Whatever, I’m not a panda scientist. The point is…okay, let’s do a thought experiment.” Oh, this is a bad, bad idea. The Munson specialty. “Say you wanted to get a guy interested in you. How would you do it?”

“I’d just—” Steve stops, frowning. “I mean, girls usually just…laugh at guys’ jokes and stuff. Or wear, like, makeup?”

“How are you so awful at this,” says Eddie. “Jesus. I swear to god I remember you doing better with girls at school. Anyway, I didn’t ask what girls do, I asked what you’d do.”

“Shit, I don’t know. Isn’t that why I’m here?” Steve’s getting a little huffy, fidgeting. “I’d just…find a way to hang out with the guy, I guess. Laugh at his dumb jokes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says patiently. “But that’s what you do with friends too, right? And when you’re walking a perilous path far from the bright streets of heterosexuality, you probably don’t want to risk being too obvious, in case you’re wrong. So you gotta just…give them an opening to let them, like, signal if they’re interested. If they’re looking for a sign, they’ll take it.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Ok, but what if they’re not interested yet? Like…sometimes girls take a while to warm up to you.”

“Cut your losses and move on.” Admittedly, Eddie’s still working on that part. 

“What? Man, I’m starting to think you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eddie scowls at the skeptical look on Steve’s face. “Jesus, the disrespect. Why am I not telling this directly to Buckley, anyway? She’s the one in need of these hard-earned pearls of gay wisdom.”

Steve lets out a big, gusty sigh and tips his head back against the couch. “Because she said if I tried to give her any more help with dating, she’d smother me in my sleep and pin it on Dustin.”

“Attagirl,” says Eddie approvingly. 

“But obviously she still needs help, so this is like—a stealth mission. For love.”

“For love,” says Eddie. “Yeah, okay.” 

———

“Hey, can you—”

Robin whirls around at the unexpected voice and promptly trips over nothing at all, arms flailing out to avoid crashing into the library returns cart.

“Oh, shit,” says the stranger, reaching out a hand like she’s going to catch Robin’s elbow, but pulling back at the last second. “Um. Sorry.”

Robin blinks down at a girl in head-to-toe black, including dusty black combat boots. “Aren’t you hot,” she says, then wants to die. “I mean—like, just, with the heat and all, it’s a billion degrees out, I think if I tried to wear that much black I’d instantly dissolve like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

The girl stares back at her for a second, then bursts out laughing. It’s a nice laugh. 

“As if. I’m from Utah, this is nothing.”

“Oh! Utah! You’re not—are you, uh, Argyle’s girlfriend?” The way Argyle’d described her, Robin had been picturing some kind of Elvira-themed ingenue in lace, maybe smoking like a 1920s flapper. This makes more sense for a real-life teenager, though: oversized t-shirt tucked into ratty black jeans, with some cheap-looking silver jewelry tied around her neck. Her eyeliner’s heavier than anything Robin’s ever seen in Hawkins, smudging messily a little in the heat that’s apparently nothing to her. It makes her look a little bit like a panda bear, but not in a bad way.

“Not anymore.” She grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds mean. We’re, y’know, still friends and everything. I’m Eden.”

“Robin,” says Robin, gesturing at herself like a loser. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Eden, and smiles at her.

[outsidersheadcanons]

saw the post about the curtis fam loving target,, (i stalk ur page when ur answering asks .)

weekly curtis gang target trips. thoughts?

YESS!! I love Target too man ❤️

So like in attempt to make the house nicer Darry bought a bunch of stuff from the home decor aisle and it ranges from nice to suburban cringe (examples being a cool fake plant vase shaped like a horse all the way to a pillow on the couch that says the word "family" on it in illegible cursive 💀)

Two-bit sometimes tags along and "helps" (by pushing the cart down the aisles at light speed and narrowly missing other customers) . Half the time he ends up getting bored and chillin in the Starbucks in the front of the store tho (Soda too honestly)

Speaking of Soda. The combo of all the red and the bright lights confuses him man 😭 they always end up losing him somehow and he has to wait at the front of the store

If Johnny comes along w/ them Darry always buys smth for him (whether he likes it or not), it's usually a on-sale shirt from the clothing aisle (honestly??? Target has some good clothes).

Pony and Johnny always wander off to the toy aisle (but they'd never admit it). Darry's found them in the Lego and RC car aisles multiple times.

The first time Darry went to Target he was so amazed by the cheap prices for their Target brand items he literally talked abt it for a week (my mom core 😍 "three dollars for 1.5 qt of ice cream? and it even tastes good as the expensive kind what a good deal!")

Steve harasses the people in the tech area and tries to get refunds for his broken ahh headphones he didn't even buy there 💀

Dally used to work at the Target near the neighborhood (bc to me. he just looks like someone who works at Target 😭 esp in the book) but he had to quit bc he went to the reformatory and bc he got into a HUGE fight with a coworker there

Also. The Curtises get flu shots at Target every yr bc of the coupon 😭

[the-lincyclopedia]

I've seen a lot of people on the internet making assumptions that grocery shopping is easy, and/or that forcing yourself to go grocery shopping is important even if it's difficult. These posts have ranged from screeds about weaponized incompetence and how men pretend to struggle with grocery shopping even though obviously no adult could actually struggle with it, to exhortations to force yourself to do hard things such as grocery shopping because doing hard things is important. And, as a person who has struggled with grocery shopping for a variety of disability-related reasons, these posts really piss me off.

My parents started getting groceries delivered rather than going to the grocery store when I was six. I literally don't think I set foot in a grocery store again until I was 17. The grocery store I went to that first time was massive, brightly lit, crowded, and full of way too many smells. I had a panic attack in the store, partly because I couldn't find what I was looking for and partly due to sensory overwhelm.

One time that summer, I bought a cucumber instead of a zucchini, and my mom got really mad at me. Another time, I bought the expensive version of a spice rather than the cheap version, and my mom got mad again. The fear of getting the wrong ingredient and upsetting her yet again made it even harder to cope with the sensory overload of the store and find the items on my list without freaking out.

So I am well aware of some of the things that can make grocery shopping difficult. Here are some questions worth considering if you have trouble grocery shopping. Maybe none of these ideas will work for you or address the particular struggles you have, but maybe some of them will.

If mobility issues and/or chronic pain are making grocery shopping harder for you, is there a grocery store near you that has those motorized wheelchair/shopping cart things? If not, can you use your cart kind of like a mobility aid and let it take some of your weight?

If sensory overwhelm is making grocery shopping harder for you, are there ways to reduce it? I'm not sure how to lessen the effects of how many intense smells there are in grocery stores, and that's the worst part for me, but if the visual overwhelm is a problem, would sunglasses help? If the noise is a problem, would earplugs make that easier to handle? (I say earplugs rather than noise-canceling headphones because it's probably safer to be able to hear some amount of sound while you're moving around in public, but you're allowed to decide the trade-offs of using noise-canceling headphones are worth it.)

If you don't know how to shop for groceries, especially if that lack of knowledge is making you really anxious, can you ask a friend to help you learn the layout of your grocery store? If not, can you try to do your first grocery run on a day when you have lots of time, so at least you don't feel rushed? Can you find a smaller grocery store in your area, so that it will be easier to learn what's in each aisle?

If thinking about food makes you feel awful, and you get wrapped up in checking the nutrition facts on each package, you may have an eating disorder. Maybe you already know that about yourself, or maybe you think it's a ridiculous overstatement. If you can get treatment, that might help. If you can't afford treatment or don't think you need it, can you make a deal with yourself about how much you're allowed to look at nutrition labels per grocery run?

If grocery shopping is hard and stressful because you have food allergies and you need to know which foods are safe for you, I'm sorry about that! If you haven’t tried any apps to check your groceries for allergens, could you get advice on which apps to try from other people with food allergies? I don't have relevant experience here, but I hope we can find ways as a society to get better about this, and in the meantime I hope you can find ways to make grocery shopping easier, possibly including technological solutions like apps.

If you're afraid of forgetting something or buying the wrong thing, can you figure out what is giving you a low tolerance for error, and then see if you can increase your error tolerance? If you're on a tight budget and that's the reason you're scared of accidentally wasting money, can you check to see if there are any cheaper grocery stores in your area, or even see if you could get some food for free at a local food shelf? There's no shame in accessing safety net resources! If you know that your parent/roommate/partner will yell at you if you mess up, is there a way for you to split up your grocery shopping from theirs and/or stop living together at some point? Maybe not--this category is really hard to solve for!--but it might be worth trying.

If all of this fails, can you afford to get your groceries delivered, or can you manage curbside pickup? Obtaining food is a logistical necessity, and grocery shopping in a store tends to be the most common way to do that, but it's not morally better than using a delivery service, a food shelf, or some other alternative.

If you find grocery shopping hard, I hope one of these ideas is helpful, and regardless of whether you take my advice, I hope you find a way to make grocery shopping bearable. And if you DON'T find grocery shopping hard, I hope this post has helped you realize some of the many reasons why it might be hard for other people.

[practicingsmut]

Saturday

gamer!jisung x reader, 2.6k words, spot the sequel bait

Saturdays were supposed to be your lazy days, the kind where you stay in your pajamas all day, eat leftovers for lunch and take out for dinner, and do nothing more mentally or emotionally taxing than play video games with your online friends.

This Saturday was different.

Sana, your childhood best friend and roommate, decided that she wanted to throw a party to celebrate the advent of summer. Of course, she had never thrown a party before despite having gone to so many, so your help was enlisted to make sure everything ran smoothly.

“I only invited, like, ten people, and each of them is only going to bring one or two of their friends,” she explained as she loaded bag after bag of chips into the shopping cart. You looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Sana, you do realized that adds up to around thirty people coming over, right? Where are they all going to fit?”

“Our living room and kitchen are big enough to hang out in. Plus we’ve got the balcony!” She pulled the cart further down the aisle towards the pretzels, causing you to stumble as you had been leaning on it.

“What about the fact that we only have one bathroom?”

At this comment she paused. “Well, we’ll just hope for the best with that.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “This is going to be an expensive trip. We haven’t even grabbed any alcohol yet, plus you said you wanted to get some pizzas.”

“Mina said she’s gonna stand at the door and collect $10 from everyone as they walk in,” Sana explained. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to pay.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon passed in a blur as you helped her set everything up. At one point you recieved a plethora of Discord pings, your usual gaming friends SpearB, CB97, and J.ONE wondering where you were. You merely responded that you were busy, resolving to tell them all about the horrors of throwing a party later.

Then the guests began arriving. You knew a few of Sana’s friends - Mina, who did as promised and collected the entry fee from everyone, as well as a couple of others like Nayeon and Jeongyeon. For every person you recognized, however, there were at least three you didn’t. You were pretty certain more than thirty people showed up, but that was none of your business.

You hung back in the kitchen where only a bit of the party spilled over. Most of the people were only there to grab a second, third, or fourth drink from the coolers set up on the counter. You were still on your first, some cheap cider that you weren’t quite fond of, but it was better than the other stuff Sana had bought.

“Excuse me, can I grab a drink from behind you?” A voice pulled you from your thoughts. A familiar voice. You looked at the guy who had spoken to you as you shifted out of his way.

He was taller than you, though not by more than two or three inches. His messy hair was dyed a blueish grey and he had the kind of cheeks that grandmothers would love to pinch as they told their grandkids how much they’d grown. You’d never seen him before, and yet you knew that voice…

“J.ONE?” you said, voice raising as if it were a question though you knew with 99% certainty who you were talking to.

“Do I… know you?” he asked back, clearly confused.

“Of course you know me, I kicked your ass in TFT just last night,” you scoffed. Realization dawned on his face.

“Hiraeth? Oh my god, what are you doing here?” He called you by your gamertag the same way you did with him. You suddenly realized that despite knowing him for two years, you never exchanged your real names.

You told him what to call you before explaining that this was your apartment.

“This is your party?” He was right to be skeptical; if you were the kind of person who threw parties, chances were that you wouldn’t be online with him and your other friends every weekend and most of the weekdays, too. “I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“It’s my roommate’s party, technically. I’ve been helping her prep for it all day, which is why I couldn’t get on to play earlier.”

Jisung nodded. “That’s fair. My friend Hyunjin invited me to tag along, and since we didn’t have the full crew to do anything tonight I figured why not? Kinda regretting it though, since parties are totally not my scene. Though I did get to meet you in person, so that’s pretty cool.”

“Wanna take a break from this? We can go do something back in my room,” you offered. Jisung accepted gratefully.

Your room was what you liked to call an ‘organized mess’. Sure, there were piles of clothes all over the ground, but you knew which ones were clean and which ones needed to be washed, and there were only two empty cups on your desk. Jisung stepped into the room as you locked the door behind the two of you. The last thing you wanted was for a couple of drunk party goers to think they could use your room to hook up. It also provided you with a mental barrier, letting you pretend there was nothing going on outside of this space.

“You don’t have a bedframe,” Jisung commented. You followed his gaze over to where your mattress was on the ground.

“Yeah, my old one broke a few weeks ago when I threw myself onto it too hard, and I just haven’t gotten around to replacing it,” you explained.

“Right. Well, at least you’ve got a nice battlestation. Why don’t we boot something up?” He immediately made himself at home in your gaming chair, pulling up your library of games.

“Let me see if I can snag a chair from the living room.” Jisung caught your wrist as you went to move past.

“Oh, don’t bother. You can just sit on my lap. Probably more comfortable than those wooden things you’ve got out there.”

“If you insist,” you said with a chuckle.

Jisung was right - his lap was much more careful than the chairs you and Sana had pulled off the side of the road to furnish your apartment. Almost too comfortable, you thought as you settled against him so that his chest was flush with your back. You found it odd to be so comfortable with him so quickly. You had been friends for a couple of years, but this was still the first time you had met in person.

“Yo, is this that game that SpearB was talking about the other day? How’d you get early access?” The game in question was some experimental horror game that had originally been an indie project before being bought and redeveloped by a bigger company.

“Honestly, they just emailed me and asked if I wanted the early access in exchange for giving feedback. I guess they saw how many hours I have on their other titles and figured I’d be their target audience.”

“That is so cool.”

“You wanna play? You can start a fresh save. I’ve already got a couple hours on it so you won’t have to worry about spoiling me on the content.”

Jisung did not have to be told twice. A minute later his arms were wrapped around you in order to reach the controller, his head propped up on your shoulder. It would have been a cute, intimate moment if not for the fact that he was so engrossed in the game that he didn’t even seem to realize the two of you were technically cuddling.

You, on the other hand, were more than aware, especially thanks to the growing erection you could feel against your tailbone. It had to have been a reflex caused by the friction of how you were sitting, nothing more, but it still sent your mind racing. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what it’d be like to fool around with a few of your online friends, mostly Jisung thanks to his smooth honey-like voice, and now that you’ve seen just how attractive he was, well, there was nothing stopping you from pulling him over to your bed and fucking him right then and there.

Nothing except the video game, of course.

“Shit,” he cursed as he died again. The harshness of the sound and the way his breath caressed the shell of your ear sent a shiver down your spine.

“You want me to do this boss? It’s like, weirdly hard despite being the first one in the game. It took me like six tries to finally kill the thing,” you offered.

Jisung handed you the controller, his hands hovering in the air for a moment as he tried to figure out where to put them when your chair didn’t have armrests. You gently guided them to rest on your thighs and Jisung swallowed hard.

“This is what you gotta do…” you proceeded to walk him through the combos that you discovered worked best against the boss and in no time at all, you beat him. You looked over your shoulder at Jisung, waiting for him to react.

“Would it be out of place for me to say that it’s really fucking hot watching you kick ass at this game?” His voice was a little unsteady, and you figured it had something to do with the throbbing erection that still poked at your backside.

“Only if you don’t do anything about it,” you retorted.

A moment later you were shifted to be sitting perpendicular to Jisung so that he could get his mouth on yours, the lingering taste of the cheap beer flavoring the kiss. One hand ran gently up your spine and came to rest on the back of your neck while the other gripped your hip as if he were holding on for dear life. You smiled at the thought that you had riled him up so much.

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you pushed his hand from your hip to your crotch, sliding it underneath the waistband of your leggings and hoping he’d get the hint. He hesitated briefly before pushing past your underwear as well until his fingertips came into contact with your already dripping cunt. You both moaned at the contact.

“Glad I’m not the only one insanely turned on right now.”

Your mouths stayed glued together the entire time as he pumped first one finger and then two in and out of your hole. He wasn’t able to pull out very far thanks to the restriction of your underwear, but that just meant he was incentivized to push his long fingers further in, making you whimper as they brushed against your g-spot. Then his thumb found your clit and you were cumming hard. Jisung slipped his fingers out of your pants as you came down from your high and popped his sticky fingers in his mouth.

“I’ve got condoms in the drawer of my nightstand,” you breathed out, chest heaving from the effort of your climax.

Without responding, Jisung stood with you in his arms and crossed the room to your bed. He placed you down gently, leaving you to strip yourself of your clothes while he did the same with his own. Your hand immediately found his cock as soon as it was free, pumping it a few times while he went in search of the condoms you mentioned.

“There’s, uh… there’s a lot more in here than just condoms,” he said, blushing at the contents of the drawer.

You rolled your eyes. “So I’ve got a few toys, big deal. Now, are you going to come down here and fuck me or am I going to have to use one of them while you watch?”

Jisung’s cock twitched in your hand. “We might have to circle back to that idea later,” he admitted.

You laid back on the bed as Jisung rolled the condom down his length and positioned himself at your entrance. His tip poked you a few times, but he didn’t move to go any further.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, reaching up to take his face in your hand and turn it so he was looking at you. A nervous blush crept across his cheeks.

“Um… would you mind being on top? At least for now. I think I’d feel more comfortable with that.”

Of course you wouldn’t deny his request. As he settled back where you had been laying, you reminded him that he could tell you to stop at any point. He made sure you knew the same applied to you.

Jisung’s cock was like his fingers - long and slim and hitting you in all the right places. From his place lying back he grabbed at your tits as you rode him, fingers grazing your nipples before they were out of reach again.

“Sit up,” you gasped. You wanted to kiss him when he did so, but his movement caused the angle of how he was inside you and you had to adjust to that first. Jisung whispered in your ear, though what he said was lost completely as your mind focused on the reverberation of his voice. It had your slick pooling out of you.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he growled as you clenched around him. “Can I flip us over?”

“Be my guest.” You weren’t even sure if your words came out the way they were supposed to, but Jisung got the message.

As soon as you were on your back he was thrusting harder and faster than you had been able to move when you were on top. You instructed Jisung to open his mouth and though he was confused, he did as you asked. His eyes widened as you slipped two fingers in to wet them with his spit before sliding them down your body to rub harsh circles on your clit.

It was the squeezing that resulted from your orgasm that finally sent Jisung over the edge. You felt the warmth of his cum even through the condom and it made you wonder what it would feel like spilling down the back of your throat. You were about to ask what he thought about round two when he interrupted you.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

“What?” It was just about the only thing he could have said that would have shocked you as much as it did.

Jisung peeled himself off of you and moved to dispose of the used condom. “It’s just that, well, I’ve been saying for the better part of a year that if I ever met you in person that I’d ask you. I just never imagined the question would come after we did.”

You chuckled at his joke. “And what will the boys think of us dating?”

“Honestly? They’d say it’s about fucking time. I’ve been pining over you for ages and they’ve made it clear that they’d much rather deal with the two of us doing mushy couple things than hear me sigh wistfully after you leave the voice call again.”

“You’re such a dweeb,” you said with a smile, pulling him down for a kiss. “Luckily for you, dweebs are just my type.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked. You nodded and pressed closer to him, deepening the kiss. The two of you were now kneeling, you on the mattress and him on the floor, limbs tangling around each other.

“Why don’t you hop on now to tell them the great news? It is a Saturday night so chances are they’re on. It’ll be really funny for you to pop into chat under my name.”

“Hmm, I think it can wait a bit. I think my naked girlfriend deserves my attention more than they do.”

“What if I suck your dick from underneath the desk while you do it?”

[gowns]

stupid little discount tricks, since people are asking

when shopping online: sign up for the email newsletter. there's usually a signup discount code for 5-15% off. (you can unsubscribe later)

search "website" + "discount code" "coupon code" etc

have a credit card plug in like the one i have that automatically searches for coupon codes

fill your shopping cart then "abandon it" and you might get an email offering you a discount

check social media, because every once in a while a company will advertise a sale or code on an instagram graphic and nowhere else.

keep track of when companies do their seasonal sales and the amounts (kind of playing the long game here). but for instance, when hanna andersson was having a 20% off sale a couple months ago i held off because i knew there was a 40% spring sale coming up. at the end of every season, they do big sales to try to offload things to make room for the new season's inventory.

search for items on reselling sites e.g. poshmark, ebay, etc, and watch the prices and how they compare to retail. depending on the item you may also want to scope out craigslist, fb marketplace. you know that 40% off hanna andersson sale i mentioned? it still won't be as dirt cheap as finding those clothes on facebook.

you know the junk mail you get? that also has coupons... you can play the long game here with some "extreme couponing," comparing the different discounts that come out from different stores at different times.

never buy anything full price, unless it's urgent or some kind of everyday purchase

(this one i learned from my bastard stepfather, it's not great for retail workers but you will usually get a discount): when shopping in person, find a dumb little flaw in an item then bring it up to the cashier and be like "oh there's a button missing (or what have you) can i have a discount?" usually the retail workers are like "ughhhh horrible little man. sure. have a discount." this does not always work and fills me with shame whenever i do it but when it does work. hey. discount!

if you combine all these things you will find yourself never paying full price for anything. discounts forever.

more saving money tricks:

join your local buy nothing group - this is a facebook thing but they're also trying to build up the website. post an "ISO" (in search of) whatever you need and you'd be surprised at what you can find. we got a lot of our furniture and rugs from the buy nothing group when we moved. for freeeeee

(this one sounds like an ad but it's not i just like my service:) to save on your phone bill, use a service like twigby, which will buy out your phone contract and then you pay a discount for the same cell plan / cell towers. i pay only $25 a month for a lot of data and texts. i used to pay like $100 a month for the same. i've had it for years now, nothing shady about it.

keep receipts for everything, you can return most things. if the return policy is strict, begging and pleading works sometimes.

speaking of begging and pleading. you guys know about like, gym memberships and dance classes? i used to do customer service for a ballet studio that used a popular fitness CRM. if people emailed me like "hey my classes expired, can you please put them back :(" i would do it. it's very easy to do it - i'd just go into their account and adjust it. so like, imagine: people who didn't email customer service would just have expired classes. people who DID email me with a sad email like "hey my classes expired can you help :(" would usually get extended classes, refunds, trades for comparable services, etc.

remember all the secondhand sites mentioned above? whatever you buy, you can later resell. it takes a little bit of time to take pictures and write out the details in the reselling posts, but if you're hurting for money it's not a bad way to get $. people will buy random things. computer parts. old video games. furniture. clothes and shoes are very easy to resell on a site like poshmark or depop, but you can also search facebook for certain clothing brands and find B/S/T (buy sell trade) groups. also search for your town + "swap meet" / "classifieds" "resell" / "buy sell trade" etc groups.

(another tip from the bastard stepdad, i do not fully endorse this but hey, it works in times of desperation): to maximize value at a restaurant, you can take things that are out on the table, like sugar, pepper, jam, etc. if you want to get real silly about this you take advantage of free bread / free chips by scooping them all into a tote bag. (i was rattled with shame when my stepdad did this when i was younger but you know what. it's a thing you can do.)

grocery-specific tips:

always look at the number next to the retail price, with the unit price. you want the cheaper unit price 95% of the time. it only doesn't make sense to buy the cheaper unit price when you're buying something for a really limited use. look around the item for similar items and make sure you're getting the best value. this was drilled into me at a young age but not everyone knows about this

always scope out the corners of a grocery store, they usually have a rack of discounted / about to expire food that is usually fine.

there is also dumpster diving which is also usually fine. i don't have too many tips about this because it's not my forte but the tips are out there; when grocery stores are closing they want to just get rid of stuff. so take advantage. weird tip here: go to a farmer's market when they're about to close. a lot of the purveyors just want to go home and will totally sell you their stuff at a cheaper rate so they can pack less into their truck. this works especially well for bread products at the farmer's market because they won't be able to sell day-old bread at the next day's farmer's market.

when you're living high on the hog from all your discounts, make sure you give freely in return. i donate food to food pantries and community fridges; i give away stuff on my buy nothing group + shelters; i put books in the free little libraries; etc.

[bitter-limelight]

“I had this same one when I was little!” Crowed Daniel with excited delight as he picked up one of the tin horses lined up on top of a glass cabinet, alongside soldiers, carts, and canons. He smiled as he felt the little toy in his hand, remembering the shelf he kept his on, in front of a collage of western pictures he had cut out of magazines.

Marius beside him laughed gently, picking up a tiny soldier. “Very nice,” he appraised, setting it back down in exactly the same spot he had plucked it from. “Did you have this many?”

“Almost! My grandfather bought them for me when I was 6, the Christmas after they found me playing dress up in Mom's house coat, the one with the feathers? I guess they thought it would straighten me out if I had more soldiers and cowboys to play with. Obviously not very effective.”

Daniel looked around this space, in awe of how deep this store ran. Marius had taken him, an evening trip during one of their visits to New York. They had stayed the night before in a little cabin far away from the urban height of the city the night before, and were making an adventure of exploring this town now. As a mortal Daniel hadn't cared much for winter, but now as a vampire he loved it. It was dark by 5 pm, so they were awake in time to see movies, hunt among the crowds, pop into the smaller shops usually long closed by sundown in the summertime.

This one was an antique store, Marius said, but Daniel had marveled first at its size and layout. A three story split level style house has been converted into this space, further divided out into cubbies, corners and little books. Every inch of existing space was used to show wares, and even some space that didn't quite exist, with folding screens and paper barriers being used to create false walls. Here could be a corner showing dinnerware in stacks on buffet tops and carts, then right beside it racks of dresses and doilies. Just walking around was an adventure, and Daniel liked the music playing softly overhead, singing along quietly to a tinny version of Miracle out of Nowhere.

It was 1998, and Daniel was doing very, very good. That's what Marius said at least, on the regular, and it's what Daniel believed. He knew that sometimes he got lost, either for real or just in his own head, but not anymore. He was painting with Marius some nights in their home in Norway, beautiful if messy pieces with rich, touchable textures, all taught by Marius' hand. Sometimes too much by his hand, as Daniel would mutter about his critiques and go paint on something he shouldn't instead. But not here; he would behave here in a shop, and behave very well.

Hand in hand he and Marius walked, Daniel pulling him around a corner to see a Christmas display in a center booth, the highlight of which was a tree. A large, artificial tree bedecked in a mess of silver strand tinsel off each branch.

“Oh man, I remember that stuff. Mom hates it!” Said Daniel as he ran his fingertips over the thin strips, the sparkle of it attractive to him even if it was cheap. “We would fight over who got to put it on every year, and it kept falling all month. Mom said it was gonna ruin her sweeper but she bought more every year!” At his side, Marius listened, and Daniel liked that he listened. Curious after a moment though as he looked at the tree Daniel asked, “is it Christmas?”

“It's December 12th, 1998,” he answered, sounding very matter of fact as though he always had this information on the forefront of his mind, ready to speak. “So very near Christmas yes.”

Daniel thought on this, and frowned. “But we just hunted for shells on the beach,” he protested. “And lit a fire? At low tide?”

Marius' face was ever calm as he told Daniel, “that was in June, my love. Six months ago.”

Daniel didn't like this answer because eir made no sense. He wanted to call Marius a liar but that made even less sense; Marius was kind, and very honest with him. He's never caught him in a lie, and Daniel was quite good about detective deception. So he just sighed, and shrugged, and wandered. Past the Christmas displays he went, down the cluttered makeshift aisles, the floorboards old and freaking underneath his Converse sneakers. Parasols hung from the ceiling along with red lanterns, a folding table held a turn of the century Singer. Then a large cabinet caught his eye, a huge, handsome thing, made of oak, tall as he was. Each door was carved in thick, beautiful designs, inlaid with scrolling geometric metal.

“1922!” He whistled, looking over his shoulder to Marius. “Art nevouz! Isn't it beautiful?”

“It is,” his companion agreed, admiring the piece himself. “Excellent condition. This could be lovely in your room for holding your paints and extra parts, Daniel.”

Daniel was taken with the idea, having such a pretty antique for his things, the sort of thing he might have seen in his grandmother's house, but then Marius opened the doors to check the hinges, and Daniel found himself confused. Inside more items were kept, specifically a set of dishes, beige ones, rimmed in green, with orange, green and brown flowers set into the center.

“Oh…we had these,” he said with hesitation, picking up a small plate. “Only…” only these one's were worn in some spots, the glaze chipping away. Only these had some rougher edges, a hairline crack in one. But he remembered them new when his mother bought them, when he was in high school, and eating inunerable family dinners on them, awkward and stilted conversation. Hardly anything to have good memories about but it made him feel strange all the same.

“...why are these here?” He asked Marius, holding the plate up and looking to him with trust.

Marius let out a slow breath and took the plate, looking it over as though it would help him parse out an answer. “Because Daniel, they're over 30 years old now. That's vintage, more or less. Same with the vinyl records in boxes and the phonographs, same with the pillbox hats and pearls. People like things that are…I think the term they're using now is retro?”

“But this isn't retro!” Daniel protested. “This is just…this is just our stuff. We used this-”

“In the sixties, yes. And it's 1998 now, Daniel.” He handed the plate back to his young one, and Daniel knew he was meant to put it away, but he just held to it, then looked around, seeing all the items that Marius has mentioned. Record players and 8 tracks tapes alongside the housecoats his great aunt would wear, photographs in sepia and black and white, posters from Woodstock.

“...when did this happen?” Asked Daniel, and Marius wrapped his arm around his shoulders, finally easing the plate from his clutch.

“Sometime between now and then. Somewhere along the way they stopped speaking Latin, and then stopped knowing Rome as a place and knew it only as archeology. It happens slowly, slowly, and then all at once.” He kissed Daniels temple, and Daniel found himself leaning in to him, feeling wholly unsteady now. “But you, Daniel, you will never wear or fade or crack. You'll be vibrant and alive forever, now, with our blood. Do you understand?”

Daniel nodded, though he only understood a little. “If it's Christmas then I have presents to buy,” he said into Marius' shoulder, and he was glad Marius didn't press him to name who he could possibly need to buy for. He just let Daniel set the tone of their day, and followed his lead.

[ifidiedinadream]

if i may request… Joel/reader. Joel catches you staring at his hands and he ends up using his fingers to get what you want ….. Except you’re in public so trying not to get caught 👀 and of course he has to punish you back home ❤️🫡

your wish is my command, especially when it involves joel + hands!!

also on ao3

There’s this new thrift shop in the city center and Samy has wholeheartedly recommended you go; Joel usually prefers other kinds of shopping experiences, but Samy had looked so delighted about this place that he decided he’d give it a try – but only if you went with him.

(Too many different items at once could be overwhelming. How was he supposed to find anything?!)

So here you are now, entering the thrift store hand in hand; it’s huge, but it takes you no time to find something that piques your interest. You pull Joel towards the chosen rack.

It’s vintage band tees. You browse through them with quick flicks of your index finger. Joel is standing beside you, not really knowing what to do.

“Wanna take a look? These are mostly your size anyway.”

You take a step back, allowing Joel to come closer to the rack. He’s unsure at first and you wonder if he’s even looking at the tees; then he gets to a vintage Depeche Mode t-shirt that catches his attention and takes it into his hands.

“This one’s cool,” he says, “I still don’t have any Depeche Mode merch.”

“It’s cheap and in great condition too!”

Joel hangs the t-shirt on his forearm, while the other hand still browses through the rack. Maybe you stay there, just watching his large hand move, the fingers flick through the crutches, for a moment too many. Joel feels your gaze on him and turns to look at you. You snap out of it and clear your throat.

“I’ll go check out the shoes.”

But the smirk on his lips tells you he noticed.

***

“So, are we gonna try these things on? I kinda wanna see how they fit before we buy them.” Joel’s cart, one he retrieved from fuck knows where, is overflowing with clothes. There are t-shirts, hoodies, pants, and that’s only the items you can make out in the pile.

“Of course.” Your loot only includes a sweater and a pair of pants, but you’re satisfied nonetheless. “Fitting rooms are over there.”

The line to the fitting rooms, however, seems endless. You dump your stuff in Joel’s cart and rest your head on his shoulder as you wait for your turn.  

“Let’s just use one dressing room,” you suggest, “I can’t wait to get this over with. Also, they seem spacious enough.”  

Your comment was innocent, it truly was, but it makes Joel wriggle his eyebrows all the same. You roll your eyes playfully and hit him in the arm. “Perv.”

“Me?! It’s you who’s been staring at my hands ever since we got here,” Joel says, “I’m not the perv. You are.”

You want to retort, but you’re really in no position to object. First it was the band tees, then the way he felt the fabric of a hoodie he found (seriously, it seemed like he was caressing it the way he caresses your body in bed on purpose), then it was him trying on those vintage rings in the one euro basket, and finally those damn leather gloves.

Like. Are you expected not to stare when he tries on leather gloves?

“It was your fault. You were drawing attention to them on purpose.”

“I wasn’t. You’re just a horny little thing.”

You bury your face in his arm, trying to hide your blush. Maybe he’s right, but it’s not your fault his hands are fucking perfect.

Joel snorts and kisses the top of your head. When it’s your turn to use a fitting room, Joel closes the curtain behind you immediately.

“You weren’t really thinking…?” you ask when you see how dark his eyes are. He touches your chin and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb.

His fucking hands.

“Be quiet and I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers.

“But baby, they’re gonna throw us out.”

“Shh,” Joel says, pressing a little harder on your bottom lip. You take the tip into your mouth. “Not if you behave.”

You can’t resist Joel when his voice is low like that, or when his hands are anywhere near your face, let alone if he’s making you suck his thumb like it’s his cock; you simply melt under his touch, and when he sticks his free hand into your clothes, your pants and underwear, you send your head back against the dressing room mirror.

“You’re so warm, baby.” Joel’s face is leaning close to yours, and he’s all but whispering in your ear. He shoves his finger inside you and you suck around his thumb harder. “And so wet for me.”

Fully aware you can’t take too long, Joel slides another finger inside you and curls them. The thumb of the hand that’s fingering you finds your clit and starts massaging it, and you sink your teeth into the thumb in your mouth to keep from moaning. Joel doesn’t mind, he’s grinning devilishly.

Fucker.

Joel’s wrist is fast, and he knows exactly how to touch you to make pleasure bloom in your abdomen. He doesn’t take any breaks, keeps up the tempo, and in no time you’re coming all over his hand. He’s pulled his thumb out of your mouth, and now he’s covering it with his whole hand, his huge hand spread across your face, keeping you from making any noise. Your legs tremble and your vision blurs until your core is no longer sending waves of pleasure to your brain.

Joel, his lips parted, eyes heavy lidded, brings his dirty thumb to your mouth so you can lick it clean. You oblige, because there’s no way you wouldn’t suck on those fingers on any given chance.

He does his part by licking the two fingers that were inside you.

***

You end up buying the clothing items without trying them on. You throw them all in the dirty laundry once you’re home, everything but the gloves. Those leather gloves Joel is wearing in bed, as he’s edging you with your favorite toy after your little shopping spree.

Good girls don’t stare at my hands in public.

[neechees]

Here is a question I've always wanted to have answered from a Native American perspective: Was the invention of fast food a mistake?

Interesting question.... I think it can depend on what we consider "fast food" & how it's sourced & how it came to be. Cause I'd say that the idea of "fast food" originates to Ancient Rome or maybe older: in Rome, most people who weren't rich lived in apartments, & most of them didn't have a kitchen for people to cook in in each individual room. These apartments were crowded, & so cooking yourself was a privilege. People would have to go to essentially, fast food restaurants to get cheap food, which could often be located at the bottom floor of the apartment. So for them, these fast food places were just part of life, that was how they ate. Fast food to them was convenient & good because they otherwise would've had a much harder time trying to eat. But even if you had your own kitchen yourself, you could still eat at these places, & so could visitors or travelers. You could also argue street food falls under the category of "fast food", & places like those featuring people with carts of food or mini restarted have also existed for a long time, so I don't really see them as bad.

I think where fast food could be considered bad mostly also falls under the way some food is sourced, like the insidious beef industry, which itself also falls under capitalism. But again, fast food has existed for centuries long before capitalism was even a thing, so it's not the idea of a fast food restaurant itself that could be a "mistake". I think it's who's running it, how the food is getting brought in, what kind of food, etc. Ideally everything would be locally & ethically sourced, but we live in a capitalist hellscape, so. We gotta deal with capitalism first.

I'm also not sure really how to approach this with a Native American perspective, because I feel like everything I've just said also generally falls under just. Being a good person & trying to make the world better. Like the general idea with ndns is "treat animals with respect", which should be done anyway. If the general idea of fast food itself (like the general concept of being able to get a quick, hot meal from the store) severely intervened with my being Native, I wouldn't be eating fast food, but ndns continue to love KFC into memehood. It's not the fast food restaurant that's the problem, capitalism is.

[cinnamon-bunni]

Once More, With Needles

Rating: T Word count: 4.3k Relationship: Gen (Medic & Scout) Warnings: Canon-typical gore (like, as much as you'd expect from Medic), body horror

Read it on Ao3!

Hey there! This fic was written for @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense's AU, their Job Switcheroo AU! I was heavily inspired by this AU and just fell in love with the characters, so of course I just had to write something <3 I decided to go with Medi-Scout and Engie-Med, as they were the first ones i fell in love with (but honestly, all of the characters are already so good <33) If you haven't, i definitely recommend checking out the AU, as well as OP's art in general! He makes some great stuff :)

I really hope you enjoy! &lt;3

Medi-Scout watched the baseball game that was played on the small TV that sat precariously on his medical cart–Boston Red Sox versus Detroit Tigers–with vague interest. In all honesty, with the way his cap was pulled down far enough that it obscured half of his view, and how he slouched in the cheap office chair with his feet propped up on his medi-pack, he was on the verge of just falling asleep due to boredom. Other than the few times the Tigers did some outrageous play against the Sox, the game really couldn’t keep his attention all that well. He was bored out of his mind–hell, he wouldn’t even mind having someone to dissect; just open them up a little bit, poke around a bit, until his boredom was cured by something else.

Thankfully, his favorite patient (read: the one who always tested his patience) knocked on the open door before letting himself in. The clicking of his boots against the cement ground had warned Medi-Scout before his voice could say anything. He raised his cap upwards a bit to see, and sure enough, Engie-Med was there, creepy-ass smile and all, and was fast approaching him.

“Germs, good morning!” the man greeted. His hands were behind his back as he approached, until he planted himself next to the operating table. The overalls he wore were drenched in dried blood–which was hard to tell, because they were already a brown color, but the splashes of red of fresher blood made it easier to tell. They’d been like that for a few days now from what Medi-Scout had seen, and he wondered how long the newly named Engineer had been working on himself. His face, other than that huge fucking smile, portrayed unease. Ludovic always seemed to know how to creep someone the fuck out. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?”

Germs’ eyes darted back to the TV. “Sorry man, but as you can see, my time is being used up with some very important work. Have a full schedule over here, if it ain’t obvious.” The sarcasm didn’t drip off of his voice, it was fucking pouring off of it.

“Good!” Ludo replied, voice ever chipper, “Because I need a medical professional to look at something for me–a bit of a problem in my hand, you see.”

Germs sat up and stretched his hands overhead. “‘Kay then, just take a seat on the table, I’ll take a look at it.” Ludo complied, lifting himself onto it, while Germs stood up to stretch his legs. The newly named Medic always did enjoy seeing what monstrosity Engie-Med would create with his own body. The man, last Germs had seen, was cutting himself open to stuff in some titanium in his body, as well as drafting blueprints for more complicated contraptions he wanted inside of him. It was interesting, in kind of a weird, fucked-up morbid way, but a part of Germs kinda enjoyed to see the work Ludo would do–even if it did always had to be him to clean up the mess.

“Alright then Ludo, lay it on me: what sorta damage did you do this time?” he asked, walking over at a leisurely pace. “Did you put some more things in that arm of yours? Let me guess–mini saw blade? Another pair of scissors? How about a can’a Bonk for me?”

Ludo laughed and shook his head. “No, I am afraid to say it is a bit more…complicated than that. You know, blood problems, things like that.”

Medi-Scout frowned, and made a motion for the other to show him his hands. “What, as in problems with circulation or somethin’? What could’ve you done that woulda done tha–holy fuck what the fuck happened to your fucking hand?” 

Ludo’s smile never faded, but more creases of worry appeared on his face. “Aheh. Well, you see, as I said: blood problems. After doing a bit of work on it last night it seems that the hand has lost blood! And a lot of it.”

A lot was an understatement. Ludo’s right hand, after what seemed to be poorly done jobs of setting and resetting the bone, was crooked from healing incorrectly. His fingernails were nothing but shortened and cracked from obvious miscare, and the cuticles were all bloody and ripped to shreds, open wounds that bled from mistreatment. There were pieces of metal that came out from underneath his skin on the back of his hand, only to dip and go back, without a doubt for the weird experimental shit that he had inside of his hand that went up all the way through his arm. All of that, however, was not the worst part. The entire right hand was shades of a darkened purple and gray. The fingers looked the worst, with a dark, almost-black color filling them instead of a normal, healthy color that a person should have. Holy fucking shit.

“What the fuck happened to the circulation? You do know you need that, right? That you need blood for your hand to work? Because it’s kinda essential for your hand to work, you moron.”

Ludo scoffed, but there was no anger in his voice, or anywhere on his face. “Of course I know I need it! That’s why I came to you!”

Germs stared at the hand for a few more seconds, then looked up to the other man. He wasn’t quite sure what emotion he was feeling, but his quiet “what the fuck” was the best explanation to what was going through his head. He gently grabbed the hand, the slow movement giving room for Ludo to say anything, before turning and examining the hand. From the wrist he could see large, horribly done stitches to keep the skin together–not from injuries or cuts that were healing, but because those were the spots the items would pop out of from his arm, and it was a way to keep it closed until he needed something like a knife to come out from the contraption that was inside of Ludo’s arm.

Germs pushed up the sleeve–he struggled a bit, the buttoned-up cuff that was too form fitting being hard to push up against the fucked up forearm, but Ludo used his other hand to properly grab onto the dress shirt sleeve and bring it all the way up to his shoulder, to where it bunched up against his red sweater vest.

The engineer’s arm wasn’t in any better condition than his hand. It was littered with long, fucked up stitches, in similar condition of his wrist. All of course were there for the same reasoning, to have a spot where the tools could come out of his arm, but jesus fuck was it hard to look at. The purple-gray tone to his arm certainly didn’t make anything better.

“Well, my guess–just a thought, by the way, just a random guess here–is that you have a bit too much shit in your arm. Just a bit.” Germs poked and prodded at the arm, feeling around the stitches. “And this stitching job is great, by the way. Better than mine, yeah?”

Ludo’s smile never faded as he crooked his head to the side. “You are being sarcastic.”

“Of course I’m being fuckin’ sarcastic! Dammit, it’s like everyone here is useless without me.” He sighed, and let go of the arm. “I don’t even know how you expect me t’fix this. Unless you already got some sorta plan-”

“I do, actually!” Germs watched with a blank stare as Ludo fished out folded up, bloodied blueprints from the front pocket of his waist apron, held down by a belt. He then held it out for the medic to grab, a friendly yet terrifying smile on his face. “I began drafting them this morning,” he said as Germs started to unfold the print, “and I finished it just a few minutes before coming here.”

The blueprints were hard to read. A mix of the folded creases, bloodied spots, and poor handwriting made Germs squint to read it. He soon realized that the majority of the writing–what he could decipher, anyway–was in German. The only English that was written went along with the circle that was around the design of the machinery and an arrow pointing at it, reading “put around + in upper arm!” which was finalized with a crudely drawn smiley face.

He looked back up at the engineer. The smile on his face was wide, and the creases of worry grew. “Well, I never said the design was well-made, but I assure you that the real thing will be better in quality. It will simply just direct more blood into my arm and hand and sort of–aheh, push its way into my hand. It will work, trust me.”

“It better,” he said, handing the blueprints back over. “I ain’t putting some faulty machinery in you because you think it might work.” But in all honesty, Germs wasn’t all that picky; he trusted Ludo, believe it or not, and if he said it was safe enough to use, then Medi-Scout wouldn’t have too much hesitancy with stuffing random shit into the man’s arm.

“So, how ‘bout this,” the medic continued. He pointed at the top of the upper arm. “I put your weird machine thingy here,” he trailed down the arm, “and all the weirdo blood-pumping-slash-forcing-blood-in lines inside. And then I can even fix up your shitty stitches for you! Free of charge.”

“Yes, how kind of you,” Ludo replied, “truly, I’d be useless without you.”

It was sarcasm, but Germs still smirked at the praise. “Yeah yeah, I’m amazing. Now go get that thingamajig already and let me see it.”

The pair worked well into the evening. Dinner had been missed, with Mikel knocking on the clinical doors and shouting that they could get leftovers in the kitchen once they were done. Ludovic yelled back in acknowledgement as he sat on the medical table, and Germs was busy opening up his arm. From his wrist all the way up to his upper arm, Medi-Scout cut him open, and Ludo only twitched a few times in pain.

“I stopped feeling things in that hand after the first few implants. Especially in the fingers,” the engineer explained with a smile. “Probably should have thought there was something wrong. Oh well!” Germs had no idea how the hell to put Ludo’s contraption into the arm. Germs kept looking for the right place to start, bringing it close to the shoulder, only to bring it back to him again. “It’s simple enough, Germs. I made it with you in mind, afterall.”

“Yeah okay, thanks chucklefuck. That makes everything easier for me.” Germs stared at the arm for a few seconds before giving a low grumble. The main module of it–a circular thing, with a clasp that let it open and close with ease, and a shit ton of wires connected to it–was supposed to be on the arm, right below the shoulder, where it could then do whatever the fuck it’s supposed to do with Ludo’s blood. The main problem Germs was finding were the wires; he was sure there was some sort of intricate way Ludo expected him to place the wires, and he didn’t want to fuck that up.

He quickly changed his mind about this in about three seconds though, as Ludo gave a quiet, “any day now, Germinoma.” So, Medi-Scout clasped it on the arm, and started shoving wires just about everywhere and anywhere he’d felt would need the blood. Which were a lot of places. Jesus fuck the arm hadn’t even bled for the whole ass five minutes it’d been open. Again: cool, but in a fucked up, morbid way.

Hooking up the blood circulation system and making sure it actually did its job was a bit of a pain in the ass. In the end the wires and other mechanical bits were just about everywhere–many pieces not so much inside of the arm anymore, but out in the open, with metal openings back into the arm and to hold them in place, where everyone could see. It was not a pretty sight, not at all; the stitches had disappeared thanks to the work of the medi-gun, but they’d only come back after a few uses of the arm. It was still a disgusting color, but they watched with bated breath, and both released it with mirroring sighs when Ludo’s arm went from a purple-gray color into a slightly less purple-gray.

Plus, his cuticles started to bleed. Which was only a good sign.

“Wonderful!” Ludo exclaimed, hopping off of the table. “Danke, my friend. You have helped me a great deal.”

“Yeah yeah, I know, I’m pretty great,” Germs said. He couldn’t help the proud smirk he had on his face–he supposed in the same way Engie-Med couldn’t help the crazed smile he always wore–and Medi-Scout, not for the first time since he picked up the job as the resident medic, felt a satisfied feeling deep in his chest. One that told him that this was right.

“Just come back over if it gives you any trouble. Or if you find some other way to fuck up your hand again.”

Ludo rolled his wrist in slow movements. “I might just take you up on that offer,” he said. He shot Germs one last creepy-as-fuck smile. “But for now, good night. Hopefully dinner was kept warm for us.”

Germs waved the engineer off before turning his attention to cleaning up the infirmary a bit; he could get dinner afterwards, once he was done shoving the medical utensils back into random drawers and kicking the medi-gun back into its place of being right in front of the TV. It didn’t take all that long really, and he was able to spend the rest of his night in blissful boredom. He was also able to spend the next day the same way. A quiet day-in was nice, if not a little slow. But he had the whole day to himself, and Germs spent that day without anyone busting the door down. It was pleasant, if not boring. But those days were few and far in-between, so he relished it as much as he could.

It was only the day after that did Ludo knock on his door again. As a formality of course, as he entered right away once he did.

“Oh. Back already?” Germs asked. “Two days–that must be a new record or somethin’.”

“Aheh. Well, what can I say? I’ve been busy.”

“Which is great for me, by the way. I loved so much how I had to jury-rig your blood system thing, that I am ecstatic that I have to do it again. Really brightens my day, you know.”

A forced laugh came from Ludo. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m afraid it is my other hand that will need attention.

A sigh left Germs. “Alright, what did you do now?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Engie-Med, with excitement clear in his face, walked with a pep in his step to reveal left hand. The once perfectly normal left hand was now not so perfect.

“Dude. What the fuck is that?”

“Needles!” he exclaimed. The hand, while still a natural and alive hue, was pale from blood deprivation. All of his fingers, sans index, had a metal piece that protruded at the end of his fingers–almost as a covering of sorts, or perhaps a replacement of the fingertips. Before Germs could ask him to clarify, thin and very sharp needles popped out of the metal pieces. Ludo did indeed gave himself needles in his fingertips. The fuck.

“They’re retractable,” Ludo explained, not retracting them. Which, yeah, was fine because Germs totally felt fine with the engineer moving the hand around and flexing the fingers with the pin-point needles inches away from his face and felt perfectly safe with this engineer and his dangerous body modifications. “And I am also planning on maybe having screwdrivers too!”

“Dude, your hand is gonna be fucked up, just like your other one,” Germs said, shoving down the urge to admit that that sounded like a pretty cool idea, despite all of the obvious health risks there was with shoving metal inside of a human body. He didn’t focus on it, because Ludo’s right hand, the one decked out in crazy shit, caught his attention once again. “Like, what the fuck happened to it over the two days?”

“Oh! Funny story actually.” Ludo gestured with his still-unretracted-needles hand to the blood circulation system. “You will be very happy to hear that it is working! My hand has been filled with a lot of blood.”

“Okay yeah cool, that doesn’t explain why your fingers are fucking dying.” Ludo frowned at that, and looked down at the hand, while Germs hadn’t stopped staring at it. The right hand, still crooked and now with new, fresh stitches made by the engineer, had a healthy-ish hue to it. It was certainly better than it had been before, but the fingers were still a dark gray color.

“Yes, I sort of ran into that problem a bit ago. The hand is getting plenty of blood and yet,” Ludo looked back up to the medic and shrugged. “Nothing. Still dying.”

“Which shouldn’t be happening,” Germs insisted. He looked back down at the hand–it really was still a healthy color. Yeah, there was a bit of an abnormal purple hue to it, and sure, the cuticles bled far too much and were probably filled with too much blood, but it was fine. What was not fine were the still darkened and dead fingers.

“And you didn’t even get to shove needles into those ones,” he commented.

“I know! Truly a shame.” A sigh left Ludo. “Perhaps one day I can add something else to them that can make them shine.”

“You know I think that’s probably just adding to the problem. But yeah no, go ahead and add more shit. Sure it’ll do wonders to that hand of yours.”

“But! That is not why I came to see you, my friend.” He raised his left hand up, and finally retracted the needles back, making it look at least vaguely normal. “It is this one that I need you to look at. I’m dealing with a bit of a, uh…aheh, jam, so to say. At least I think it is, anyway.”

Germs blinked. “Jam?”

A smile grew on the engineer’s face. “Well! As you can see, my forefinger was the only one I did not modify to have a needle point. That is because I decided to make it into a finger gun!” He even formed a little gun with his hand, giving a “pew pew!” for emphasis. His smile became one of worry. “And it is not firing, no matter how much I mess with it. It is harder to mess with it with only one hand, I’ve found. So why not find someone who can use both his hands and is already acquainted with my work? A second pair of eyes and opinions, so to say.”

A sigh left Germs. “Aright, yeah man. Just get on the table already.”

The workload this time, when compared to jury-rigging the blood circulation contraption, was quite small. Especially since Germs decided he’d look at the hand with dying fingers another day. Ludo could wait like twenty-four more hours, it’d be fine.

Cutting into the hand revealed a shit ton of titanium lining along his bones and muscles. Not as much compared to the other hand, mind you, but Germs was sure it was still an unhealthy amount. He messed around with the mechanisms for the needles for a short bit–Ludo watched silently as he did this, with the needles coming out and back and out and back as Germs stared with a slight fascination with it all.

The same could not be done with the index finger. It had metal wiring and such, just like all of the other fingers, and yet nothing happened when he poked or prodded at it. Germs frowned. He rolled in the stool that he sat in to get a different view of the arm; he pushed to get the squeaky wheels to move, until the hand in question was directly in front of him, with the fingers pointing toward him. He kept poking, even trying to move the different metal bits to see what’d happen. A piece–which Germs guessed was some sort of piston–was stuck, and didn’t move as the other counterparts of the piece had.

“Ich habe es dir gesagt, it is jammed." Germs glared at the man, who met him with a smile. 

“Gee, thanks. Your insight really helps.” The man simply shrugged, and Medi-Scout focused back on his work. He tried more pressure, more force in moving the piece–he was met with nothing but a bit of fidgeting from the engineer. “The hell could’ve gotten stuck in there?” Ludo gave another shrug as an answer, and the medic sighed. “Cool, that’s just great.”

A lot of yanking and pulling on the piece made Germs the victor, only by brute strength on the thing. In the end he moved it a few centimeters backwards, but that was good enough. He was able to poke and prod in this new space, which worked just fine with him.

“Wait, I think I got it.” Germs narrowed his eyes as he focused on his work, with Ludo craning his neck forward as much as he could to look over.

“Dude, what the fuck.” Germs worked harder, hunched down closer to the arm to get a better look. “Is that a fucking bone shard?” In the small space was, indeed, a small bone shard. He was able to pull it out, thankfully; it was drenched in blood, but Germs knew his way around the human insides enough to easily recognize it. “What the fuck are you even doing to your body?”

“Science,” Ludo answered with ease. His smile never left his face–in fact, it grew with his answer. “And engineering. Sometimes the things in the body get in the way.”

“You do know that you still need your bones to, I don’t know, function, right?”

Ludo simply laughed as a response. What took place next only took seconds to happen, but both men watched with alert eyes. How, as Medi-Scout attempted to move the metal-piece-possibly-piston back into place, started to activate, now with nothing in its way. They watched as the piston moved further and further, and followed it by an ear-splitting bang. And they realized in horror that the finger gun did indeed work now, as blood started to soak the bottom half of Medi-Scout’s shirt.

“Fuck!” Ludo was quick to pull his hand back away from Germs. Germs, hand down and putting pressure against the wound, pushed with his feet to propel himself to a few feet away from the table; the wheels shrieked loudly from the abuse, but it fell on deaf ears. Arriving at the medi-pack, he kicked the backpack piece hard, and strained to get the gun portion to point it at himself.

“What the fuck, dude! You fucking shot me, asshole!”

That damned smile of his never left the engineer’s face, but at least it was one of worry and concern. “Aheh. At least we fixed the problem, ja?”

The medi-gun slowly closed up the wound, though it did not do anything about the pain, nor the bullet that was still inside of him. “Oh yeah, thank God we did that. Good thing nothing bad came out of it, yeah? I’m having a grand ol’ time, asshat, if you couldn’t tell.” Germs held the medi-gun against his lower abdominal region for a few more seconds before pulling it back. He felt around the area–no blood or open wounds, but the bullet was still inside of him, which caused only a bit of internal agitation. It would be fine, he was sure of it.

He used the gun to also close up Ludo’s arm, which somehow hadn’t bled out that badly despite Ludo’s movements with said open arm. Which was a shame, because a major loss of blood would’ve been just fine with Germs, just as a small form of payback for fucking shooting him. 

Ludovic rolled his wrist and stretched his fingers as Germs put away the medi-gun. “Well then! With that figured out, I can finally move onto my next projects. What do you think about me adding a mini saw blade to my right pinkie?”

Germs blinked, and realized that Ludo was waiting for an answer. “You do know that I won’t help you with it, right?”

“Ja, ja, of course.” Germs hated that they both knew it was a lie. If Ludo needed help with anything, especially if it pertained to the human body, Germs would be there. It was his job as the medic after all. Besides, he found joy in the weird work.

“And I’m guessin’ there’s no way I can get you to be more careful so you don’t shoot me again?” Ludo’s smile grew, and Germs already knew the answer to his question.

In the same vein of Germs’ joy of being a Medic, he knew Ludo would never stop being an Engineer. Not from creating things and stuffing said things inside of himself, probably not until he ran out of room in his body for the modifications–even then, Germs had a feeling that he would reach out to the other mercs to continue his work. But the engineer reveled in his work, and took extreme joy in fucking up his body. 

Both had found gratification in these roles that they played. So Germs wouldn’t ask Ludo to stop, never seriously–and besides, Ludo was arguably his favorite patient. Even with the visits that ended with Germs being shot, no he will never forgive the engineer for that, he still found joy in the work. The whole team did, they loved their newly discovered roles. So Engie-Med would always put machinery inside of him, and Medi-Scout would always be there to be apathetic and sarcastic towards the whole thing, despite loving any chance he had to show off his skills.

And he was perfectly content with that.

[whentherewerebicycles]

no one asked for this but it’s fun making lists so here are the newborn things I actually needed or used frequently:

one place to put him down in every room when I need my hands free (for me, it’s a snuggleme lounger, a quilt on a table or rug, and a baby bouncer)

at least one baby wrap or soft carrier, but you’ll probably have to cycle through lots of different ones before you find one that fits. I tried solly, ergobaby, baby bjorn, infantino, and the beco 8. I loved infantino for the newborn stage (super easy to get in and out of) but switched to the beco when he got heavier and adore it.

carseat + a super lightweight foldable stroller caddy you can click the carseat in and out of (this makes quick trips to the store soooo much easier than hauling the big stroller out)

heavy duty stroller if you go on a lot of long walks (I got a bob stroller secondhand and love it sooooooo much but wouldn’t want to cart it around for errands)

upstairs place for him to sleep (crib) and downstairs place for him to sleep when his sitter is here (bassinet, but could also be a pack n play) + sheets

changing pad (I had the peanut changer pad but my mom claimed he didn’t like it so we switched to a traditional one with washable cloth covers. both were fine)

bottles & nipples

cloth diapers to use as burp cloths

4-5 lightweight swaddling blankets

a mix of short sleeve onesies & zippered footie pajamas

2-3 swaddles in a brand you like (we tried about fifty different kinds and settled on the swaddleme ones… I think any of the others would’ve worked too I just hadn’t learned the houdini/batwing swaddle trick to prevent him from escaping)

baby monitor (get a cheap security camera type and avoid the baby gear price markup)

more diapers and wipes than seem humanly possible for one baby to use (then triple it)

mini fridge to store overnight bottles in the nursery if you live in a two-story place or the kitchen is far away

car window shade decal thing to keep the sun off them in the car

laundry hamper for the nursery

diaper pail (honestly a trash can would work fine too but I do like our dekor pail)

baby bathtub

a foldable changing pad for on the go is nice, but honestly I’ve changed him on a blanket many times and it’s no big deal

things that seemed necessary but weren’t, at least for me:

bottle sterilizer

baby swing

rocking chair (he enjoys it but doesn’t seem to need it and prefers to be lightly bounced a little when he’s upset)

diaper bag/backpack (I just use my purse)

Idk I feel like my mom bought him a ton of swings, play gyms, interactive toys, etc that I assume he’ll probably be interested in later? but this kid is pretty content to just kick & look at stuff and also I’m trying to encourage a low-toy lifestyle lol

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 2, Episode 12, Part 1 ("Richard In Stars Hollow")

You can read all of my previous commentary here. First 10 Minutes Summary : Emily needles Lorelai about her love life some more. A long comedic exchange occurs between Lorelai, Rory and Emily about the family burial plot. Emily and Richard discuss Richard's boring & repetitive retired life. Paris being Paris wants the staff of The Franklin to win a presitgious award given to school newspapers by any means necessary.

Richard is bored and realizes Emily actually had a pretty vibrant daily life while he used to be at work all day, and now with nothing to do he's getting in her hair and becoming a real pain in the ass M-A-N. Desperate to get him out of her hair, she ever so gently suggests he spend some time at the country club.

Wait wait wait. Stars Hollow video is really renting Grand Theft Auto? The violent-est video game to ever violent at that point? (all for the low price of 99 cents, Tuesdays and Thursdays only). Besides the graphic subject matter of the game, like cable TV and internet, I'm not entirely convinced that video games are even a concept in Stars Hollow. Go on, just ask someone on the streets of Stars Hollow if they know what a Playstation is. The citizens seem to be highly aware of modern music, but mainly watch TV shows and movies from the 1950's. I sound like an antrophologist observing some lost tribe that has no contact with the outside world.

You can easily read the titles on many of these movies. What are we renting today, guys? I hope you remembered to bring your Stars Hollow Video Membership Card (unlike Lorelai). This scene, man. Video stores! VHS! 99 cent rentals! Video store membership cards! Flip phones! Lorelai going outside because "the reception sucks in here". I'm positively dizzy. Just like the concession stand, the strip/mud wrestling club and the arcade (which are all places that are only seen once AFAIK) I am fairly certain this video store is never seen or mentioned again after this episode... So basically any kind of fun business that sets up in town is doomed to failure. Enjoy your diner and your movie theater that is actually just a projection screen inside a book store, citizens. In the United States, 1 in 5 small businesses fail in the first year.

Kirk Job: Dirty Movie Peddler. Rory: Hey Kirk, I saw a couple of little kids over there looking at this tape that was kind of mature. You might want to put that stuff on a higher shelf. There's a half naked lady on the cover.

(the movie was Showgirls, by the way). Meanwhile, Emily is desperate to get rid of Richard and punishes him in the most extreme way possible. She unloads him on Lorelai and sends him to Stars Hollow. That monster. Lorelai: OMG. The most horrible thing just happened. Headmaster Charleston's been kidnapped! Two guys broke into his house, stuffed him into a Hefty bag, used those twisty ties and carted him off! When I tell you this is the exact fate I've always envisioned for Taylor Doose on my gritty R-rated Gilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow. No really, go back to some of my old reviews and I have said this. Usually the sack gets tossed off the Bridge into the lake, a worthy fate for Mr. Doose. Some fun things I observed in the Gilmore Kitchen:

Rory's coffee cup is a pig in a bowtie and boxer shorts. . A killer Crock Pot. (my sincerest apologies to Milo Ventimiglia for not saying "SLOW COOKER", he's going to pop out of the bushes somewhere and correct me). That lady that was on every greeting card in the 90's (I think her name was Maxine). And those Pop Tarts, oh those Pop Tarts. Did I research them? Yes I absolutely fucking did. Turns out they aren't actually from the Pop Tarts brand. Lorelai was buying a cheap imitation. They were called "Kool Stuf", a short lived knockoff from Nabisco that were sold from 1999-2001.

To be honest I'm not sure why Lorelai is having an aboslute freaking meltdown about spending one day alone with Richard, her own father. I think she thinks it's going to be more awkward than anything and they won't have enough to talk about.

Okay, I was right. But seriously, having to make conversation with her own father is the only time Lorelai ever shuts up and can't think of anything to say? Really?

I was observing how gleeful Richard looked while walking into the diner and figured it was one of those "rich people are entertained by the lower class and he's never been in a diner before" type deals, but he then mentions a diner he used to visit in college. So I think it's pretty wholesome and sweet that he looks so happy to visit a place simply because Lorelai likes it. I like Richard. (usually), although he's a total pill in this episode and his mansplaining kinda makes me want to stuff him in that sack with Taylor Doose.

Lorelai: I thought you might like to walk around town and see The Sights. Well, you already visited the diner, so that's one Sight. Seeing the rest of the town will kill all of about 10 minutes. Good plan, Lorelai.

I hope she never stops.

Okay but that's just my exact pitch for my gritty R-rated Giilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow.

I am firmly convinced they do. Paris: The worst that could happen is that I spend some time in your town and enter a pie in your county fair. Oh yes, I'm sure Rory would just HATE it if Paris had to spend time in her town with her. Paris I'm sure you'd love to enter your pie in her county fair, wouldn't you. This episode has everything. Paris and Rory sexual tension, Jess and Paris meeting for the first of only two times, Richard getting pissed off at Dean later. Richard walks in to the inn while Lorelai is working. L: I thought you were touring the town. What are you doing here? R: I visited all the stores. The cat one, twice. Then I walked around and I was done. Told ya. L: Did you see the park? Or the giant slinky? R: Yes I saw the park and the giant slinky, and the 100 year old oak tree, and the giant life sized Yarn Person. Giant Slinky? Giant Yarn Person? Where's the town getting money for this stuff? Paris' first order of business should be to investigate Taylor Doose and whether he's stealing the money he's always raising for The Bridge (he is). I also don't remember any sort of real park being seen or mentioned before. Paris (after taking the bus home with Rory): I think I have rabies. Burn my clothes. Emily in another episode: Only drug dealers ride the bus.

City Boy frowns upon all this bus slander.

Wasn't there suddenly a bar in season 7 or was that just some fever dream? Season 7 in general is just a fever dream to me. Lorelai gets drunk and sings "I Will Always Love You" to Luke, right? How did THAT place ever get the proper permits and permission to exist from Taylor Doose? I know it's like 5 years away but, investigate that, Paris. We were robbed of so many things incuding a Jess + Paris friendship. Oh, the literary & other intellectual debates we could have enjoyed! (on the flip side, a Paris + Jess romantic relationship would be so disastrous. Luckily for them it would also only last like forty minutes before they tried to kill each other and end it). Anyway I like to imagine all angles of every nook & cranny of this show and I enjoy imagining that carnage.

Crystal clear Tomatos sign spotting. Paris ever so subtly proceeds to ask Luke if his diner sees a lot of truckers looking to pick up prostitutes.

"It's pretty common knowledge that diners are breeding grounds for prostitution and drug dealers." Like the drug dealing gigolo who lives above the diner? Speak of the devil.

*clutches this minute-long interaction tightly to my chest* I won't ever let go...

Well, it is where he likes to stuff girls in a closet.

Hair...that beautiful hair...

So brief. Sigh. Luke and Jess are the best. Back to the Inn where Richard continues to be a pain in the ass Man and meddle in Lorelai's work, telling her how to run her business and pushing Lorelai perilously close to sack-stuffing territory. And in other meddling news, Rory's little snitcheroo about inappopriate movies has backfired on her. Rory and Paris enter the video store to find it nearly empty, as all of the inappropriate movies have been moved behind the Rory Curtain.

In Rory's defense, she did specifically tell Kirk to put the videos "on a higher shelf" and she probably expected Kirk to take her literally like he does every single time in history except for now. But she still should have minded her bizzness. Taylor: All the movies that we (him and Kirk?) deem objectionable will be hidden behind this curtain safely hidden from the eyes of children. Why is Taylor involved in this too? He doesn't work there? Can we skip to the sack-stuffing now? This would all be funnier if this sort of "shield the children" censorship wasn't still happening over 20 years later. Paris realizes The Rory Curtain is a great scoop for the paper, asks Taylor "How long have you been working here?" Good question... Lorelai brings Richard home, minutes away from tossing him into oncoming traffic so Rory tries to give her mother some peace and quiet and offers Richard a tour of her room where we get acquainted with her book stash.

Dang, girl! I'm kind of speechless...

Richard, for as much of a Buttinsky as he has been so far in this episode, gives Lorelai extremely sensible, real-world advice that it would benefit Rory to consider another school besides Harvard. Every time Lorelai hears this perfectly reasonable advice from her parents she loses her mind. Harvard's acceptance rate in 2003 was 11.3%. Thanks again, Googs. Lorelai thinks she can wave her "But she wants to go to Harvard" wand around and that'll magically get her accepted with no backup school or plan in place. I'll save further discussion of "Lorelai jeopardizing Rory's future just to spite her parents" for another episode that's coming up somewhere over the horizon, and because it literally just happened in the previous episode (in that case their fucking house was on the line due to Lorelai's stubborness), god I'm fucking tired.

What is it Rory?! Is it Ed McMahon standing outside with a giant Publisher's Clearinghouse check?

Oh. it's just Butthead. Part 2 coming soon.

[nuriaredgrave]

Prompt #9: Fair

Nuria groaned in discomfort, leaning over a railing that hung above a pond nestled within the bustling theme park. Hani and Dane had warned him to take it easy on the fair food, but with so many bizarre and delicious snacks being offered up, how was he supposed to resist? Deep down they expected this, Nuria was nothing if not stubborn. The two friends simply rolled their eyes at each other, sighed and began rubbing his back to try to ease his misery.

Aside from this the day had been great. The three of them arrived at about midday, Nuria practically vibrating with excitement as they waited in line at the entrance. Dane raised an eyebrow, "You gonna be alright? Kinda freaking out, there." Hani laughed, "I think he's just excited." Nuria really had no idea what to expect, for all the times he'd heard of fairs and carnivals he'd never actually been to one. After what felt like an eternity the gate swung open, and the eager trio made their way inside.

Nuria was like a whirlwind the girls could hardly keep their eyes on. Breathlessly sprinting from vendor to vendor, buying up the strangest foods he could get a hold of. His arms seemed constantly full of these snacks, always ready to share a new one with his friends. However after their 4th deep-fried, cheese-glazed, body-destroying nightmare kebab the girls swore off fair food for the remainder of the visit. Of course, Nuria soon ended up with another monstrosity in his hand. Hani gave him a concerned look, "Nuria...I really think you should take it easy." Dane just shrugged, "Nah, let him go for it. Can't say we didn't warn him."

He did alright for a little while, he was honestly having the time of his life. A bit of wood-breaking with Dane, a Whack-a-Bomb game with Hani, the three of them even took a relaxing ride around the fairgrounds on a miniature train. They found a funhouse hall of mirrors which Nuria kept moving far too quickly in, repeatedly slamming his face against mirror walls and sending the girls into tear-jerking laughing fits. The last attraction was a pitch-dark haunted house, which practically terrorized Nuria and Hani but had Dane giggling the whole way at the cheap scares. She'd never admit it, but she was guilty of brushing her tail against Nuria's legs a couple of times to get a good scream out of him.

As the sun began to set, and after all that running around and screaming, here the friends were at the railing as Nuria paid for his poor eating decisions. After a while he stepped back and slumped on the nearby bench, leaning his head back and letting out the most worn-out "Fuuuuuuuuck" this star had likely ever heard. Hani and Dane came to sit on either side of him. He let out one more pained groan and mumbled, "Sorry this is how the night's ending, guys. Eyes were bigger than my stomach." Dane patted his back, "No worries, big guy. We had a great time anyway. Gods, you just.." she was struggling to hold in her laughter, "..you just couldn't stop running into those mirrors." Nuria snorted, breaking through his belly discomfort with a smile, "It was pretty funny, huh." Hani beamed at him and reached up to fix his messied hair, "I thought today was great. Even if you were being kind of a butthead eating all that food."

The three of them sat and relaxed for a while, making small talk and enjoying the evening breeze. When all's said and done, they were always happy to spend some time together. With how busy they all were and how chaotic things had been in Eorzea in recent times, it wasn't something that happened as often as they'd like. So they made the most of it when it did. Eventually they all got up, stretched their legs a bit and made their way to the fairgrounds' exit. Just then, a vendor wheeled past them with a cart serving delicious piping-hot pizza by the slice.

Nuria looked at his friends sheepishly for a moment, slowly turned away from them, then darted after the vendor. Dane sighed heavily but smiled, "As usual, he didn't learn a thing did he?" Hani just chuckled, "That's Nuria, alright."