#lil cheesy

[miserableworm]

Hiiii !! Would it be alright to ask for a lyney x reader where he comforts you when you’re sick/period? Thank you <33

★ a/n - thank you sm for the request <3 getting taken care of when not feeling well gotta be one of the best feelings ever so this was pretty fun to write

★ sypnosis - Lyney had a show come up, but your period had other plans for the evening.

★ tags - Lyney x fem!reader, comfort, fluff, period (no mentions of blood), cramps

"I can't go to your magic show tonight," you whisper, feeling a pang of guilt. The discomfort from your period cramps is almost unbearable, and the idea of sitting through a performance seems impossible.

Lyney, who had been adjusting his magician's hat, turns to you with a concerned look. "Oh? And why is that?" he asks gently, though you can see a teasing glint in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to tell him. "It's just... I'm not feeling well. My period started, and the cramps are really bad."

Lyney's expression softens even more. "Ah, I see," he says, nodding knowingly. "Lynette has those too sometimes. Say no more." Then, with a mischievous grin, he adds, "Though I must admit, I thought you might be avoiding my grand finale. It is quite dazzling, you know."

You manage a weak smile and rolled your eyes at him. "As if I'd ever miss one of your shows by choice."

He steps closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and amusement. "Let me take care of you," he says softly. "The magic show can wait."

"Lyney, you can't just miss your show because of me," you protest. "People are expecting you. They'll be disappointed."

Lyney waves a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. The show will go on without me. My assistants are more than capable. Besides, what's more important right now is making sure you're comfortable."

"But Lyney-"

"No buts!"

Before you can protest further, he's already in motion. Lyney heads to the kitchen and returns with a hot water bottle. "This should help with the cramps," he explains, placing it gently on your stomach. The warmth spreads, bringing a measure of relief almost immediately.

"Thank you.." you murmur, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Lyney isn't done yet. He disappears for a moment, then comes back with a small box. "Here," he says, handing it to you. Inside are your favorite snacks and some herbal tea. "I always keep these things ready, just in case," he adds with a wink. "Lynette taught me well."

You can't help but smile, feeling a bit of the heaviness lift. "You really didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Of course, I did," Lyney replies, sitting beside you. "You're important to me. Besides, magic isn't just about tricks and illusions. It's about making people feel better, making them smile. If I can do that off stage as well, then I'm happy."

"You're so cheesy."

As you sip the tea, Lyney begins to tell you stories about his adventures and mishaps with Lynette. His voice is soothing, and soon you're laughing despite the discomfort.

"But really, Lyney," you say, interrupting his tale about a mishap with disappearing doves, "you should go. The audience will miss you. They'll be wondering where their favorite magician is."

Lyney raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Y/N? Because if you are, it's not working. I can be quite stubborn when I want to be."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No, I just don't want you to get in trouble or disappoint your fans."

"Trust me," he says, leaning in closer, "the only person I care about disappointing right now is you. And I know you need me more than they do at this moment."

Before you can argue further, he pulls out a deck of cards and begins performing a series of close-up magic tricks right there. His fingers move with mesmerizing skill, each trick more astonishing than the last. For a while, you're completely absorbed, forgetting about the cramps entirely.

Seeing your smile, Lyney gets up and performs another trick. This time, he makes a coin appear from behind your ear and then disappear in a flash of light. As you clap softly, he bows dramatically.

"And for my next act," he says, reaching into his pocket for another prop. But when he looks up, he sees your eyes closed, your breathing even and peaceful.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Was I that boring?" he murmurs playfully.

Quietly, he tucks the blanket more snugly around you and stands up, careful not to wake you. Stepping closer, he gently places a kiss on your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Y/N. "

requests are open <3

[cheesomancer]

Riding a bull (literally this time) 🌻

[brightest-stars-if]

Lux to the MC be like:

Even at their most furious, Lux will always love the MC. Their heart is fully, unquestionably theirs. Whether or not that love is tainted and/or grows toxic, however, is up to the player 😉. Certain choices you make might turn your romance into a tragedy…

[whatstheoccasion]

"You are the rock on which I stand, Steady me, please take my hand, Hold me now until the break of day."

— Charles Wiles.

Pirates don't help people, he used to spit. I was not born into this world to help anyone.

Yet, as the fabric of your shirt softly shifts up your skin making you shiver, Law finds himself unable to stop the hand raising his blanket, keeping you warm.

You're not just people, though, he poorly excuses himself. You're more than just anyone to him.

Which is why he pretends to not notice how clingy you get when the sun's barely peeking through the windows, warm and bright enough to make out the shape of your face, features he awkwardly traces with the tip of his fingers, finding himself needing the intimacy, this closeness with you.

He cherishes these slight pieces of yourself you only show him. Asleep, vulnerable and soft to the touch, trusting this callous man to keep your dreams safe, Law has to bite his tongue to hold himself from repeating the same three little words to you like a fool.

He chastises himself for even thinking about it.

And then you start to wake up, with bloated cheeks and messy hair, your eyes still fighting sleep, and God, it's useless, Law thinks. It's an urge too hard to resist– but he refuses to say it out loud. He's content with protecting you as it is, tightening his blanket around you and trying to fix your hair.

Will it be too much for you, he wonders, impatiently waiting for your eyes to fully open, if he physically gives you his heart to keep, to protect?

"Law?"

You shove your face further down his neck, eyes scrunching in a tender way that makes Law's hands clench and unclench with the need to touch.

He hums low on his chest in response, bringing your body closer to his. When you don't continue, eyes closing again, he grumbles out, "Morning."

He feels your smile on his neck, one sleepy kiss pressed against it. "Good morning, love."

It hurts.

Up to this day, Law's guilt clenches with a vice-like grip around his chest, reminding him how he doesn't deserve this warmth, this forgiveness you give him.

It's a hole his heart still aches to fill– this disgusting need for affection, a need he can't allow himself to ask for out loud, but one he desperately looks for anyways.

When you're out and about on a new island, linking pinkies and pressing your side against his, teasing him for his pink cheeks and burning glare.

Aflot in the Polar Bear, dragging his tired self up deck to get some much needed sun in his system, his palms tingling where your hands held him.

On nights he's blessed with your pleasure, where he's insatiable until he makes you his– unsatisfied until every part of you is marked with his name, his traces.

So when you pull him closer to you now, he doesn't say a word. He doesn't tease you like he would any other day, doesn't call you out on how your body seems to always gravitate towards his– today he's not sure if his good intentions would come clear enough, and what if one last remark is what pushes you to finally leave him for good?

Law instinctively holds you closer, letting your body soothe his restless mind. You're here. You're staying. You love him.

You hug him even tighter in your sleep, entwining your legs together, impossibly closer to eachother. He's usually not positive for anything, but you're for sure a gift from his loved ones up above, because only those who cared for him enough could guide you to him.

He has one final thought before dozing off again, as the tiny fluttering of your eyelashes on his skin and the slight rise from the waves of the New World lull him to sleep, carrying so much fondness he doesn't even put up a fight when his eyes start to drop.

His heart is staying right where it belongs.

[pullhisteeth]

in which Eddie's love languages are quality time and acts of service - and you're a commitmentphobe

something small that came to mind the other day (I definitely do not do the annoying thing of never doing the things I commit to, no, definitely not). it's a lil bit christmassy so sorry about that lol. college!au, gn!reader, etc etc. fluff. 1.4k.

-

so you do this thing which you are convinced pisses all your friends off, where you declare that you're going to do something - wash the dishes, finally fold your laundry, finish a book, braid your hair, go to the gym, bake something - and then never do it. it happens far too often and you are so sure it drives them mad, Nance and Robin surely rolling their eyes at one another when you once again flop down on the couch and resolve that today will be the day that you repot the plants in your dorm room.

and it does. they're your friends, but friends can be irritating despite how much we love them regardless, and it's maybe one of your bigger flaws.

they groan about it between themselves sometimes, the same way you do with Robin when Nancy ditches girls night to finish another piece for your college newspaper, or the way you do with Steve when you catch Robin in another conversation with the cute girl behind the counter at the campus café who she still hasn't asked out. every single time, she joins the two of you with that look on her face that says, not this time, folks, sorry.

they often brush off your declarations of intent, humming without paying much interest, and you know it, of course. you also know they're your friends, so it's their job to put up with this.

but then there's Eddie. Eddie is a new friend, as of the months before summer break, though his presence at nights out or evenings in with the whole gang is so concrete he may as well have been here the whole time.

Eddie is also incredibly pretty. he throws you off guard often with his throwaway compliments ("you look great tonight, sugar") and those hands he fails to keep to himself. they land on the small of your back sometimes when you're leaving the bar. other times his knee nudges yours when you're sat beside each other during movie night. and, worst of all, sometimes his fingers brush yours as you walk, and it takes everything in you not to grab hold and never let go.

one evening, you've come home from class and changed into pyjamas and you're padding sullenly through the apartment you share with Nancy and Robin. like clockwork, you throw yourself onto the empty couch and say: "tomorrow I'm gonna go on a long walk."

"right," you hear Robin mutter from where she's sat on the other couch, her eyes trained on the complicated looking crochet project in her lap. Nancy's out but Steve and Eddie are sat at your dinner table - they may as well live here, you sometimes think - working on assignments.

"I'll come with you," Eddie says.

it surprises you; normally the only acknowledgement of these whims you ever get are the uninterested noises from Robin or Nancy.

"you will?" you return, turning your head to look away from the ceiling and over at Eddie.

"sure," he says, still looking at the assignment on the table in front of him. he's holding his forehead, pinching it in concentration. he looks pretty in the ebbing sunlight, as usual.

"sweet," you mutter back.

and he does. he sticks to his word, turning up sometime mid-morning the next day with a thick coat on and two coffees in takeaway cups. you wander with him around the park near campus and try your hardest to keep your expectations low.

he's a friend. it's not a date.

the following week you're back on the couch, watching a rerun of Golden Girls, and you let your eyes wander around the room, paying little attention to the television. you stare up at the plants hanging from the top of the cabinet by the door, and the ones on the windowsill.

"I'm gonna do it," you say. "I'm gonna repot them."

"mm-hmm."

Nancy's at the dinner table, scribbling away on various pieces of paper. she gives you the usual hum of okay, sure, yeah without looking up at you.

"need a hand?" Eddie asks. he's on the other couch, halfway through a joint.

you turn over onto your side to look at him.

"yeah, okay. wanna go to the garden centre?"

"only if we can look at the fish."

"obviously."

this cycle continues. every few days, your dramatic commitment to a new thing will go unnoticed by your seasoned friends, but Eddie won't let whatever it is go. when you tell them you're going to go to the beach, for some fresh air, he offers to drive you there. when you declare that you're going to bake them some bread, and finally learn how to kneed, he brings you bread flour and promises he'll bake weed brownies with you one day. and when you decide that today is the day that you'll take your resumé to the cafe round the corner, he looks it over with you and walks you over. I could do with a coffee, he tells you.

you get the job, starting a week later. you're working 3 shifts a week between classes and sometimes closings shifts roll into the evenings, when you'd usually be doing nothing in your little living room with your friends. on these nights, when it's dark before you finish, Eddie is always stood beside the back door as you leave. the first time it happened he said he'd been on his way home from class and had spotted you cleaning up inside so thought he'd wait for you, but then it happened two days later, when you know he doesn't have any afternoon classes. and so after every late shift you emerge from the back door to find him smudging out a cigarette with his shoe, and he looks up at you and smiles, and you walk with him two blocks back to your apartment.

after a month or two, you're on another close. it's December and you're on your last shift before you hitch a ride back to Hawkins.

"he's out there again," your boss mutters as he comes in from emptying the trash.

"hmm?"

"your boyfriend. does he have to smoke out there?"

you feel yourself warm, the bloom of embarrassment and something more under your skin.

"he's not my boyfriend. I'll ask him to stop smoking, though."

"some friend you got then, walkin' you home every night."

you don't respond, bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. you speed through everything else on the list and grab your jacket and bag when your boss waves you off with a half-hearted happy holidays, and skip a little too quick out the fire door behind the kitchen.

sure enough, here he is, though tonight feels different. you quickly spot him smudging the cigarette out, but as your eyes drift back up they land on something colourful in his hand.

he looks up when he hears the door but he doesn't smile like usual; instead it's small, laced with apprehension. but it blossoms when you grin at him, so wide your eyes nearly close.

"good shift?" he asks.

"hm, it was okay. what've you got?"

you step closer and look down to see that it's a pretty bunch of flowers.

"uh, I... if I don't do this now, I owe Steve fifty bucks."

you look up at him, confused. "what?"

"wanna go get dinner?"

the bliss that swells inside your chest feels like enough to lift you off your feet. you grin again, and he smiles back.

"Eddie Munson, are you taking me on a date?"

he looks down at his feet, bashfully kicking the stub of his cigarette with one shoe.

"I mean, I thought the walks home and everythin' were obvious enough, but..."

you giggle at him, thinking about all the evenings he'd drop you home without more than a hug goodbye, leaving you kicking yourself for thinking this could be anything more than good friends.

"my fault," you say. "wanted to say something, but I'm not good at committing to stuff."

"nah," he says, looking up at you again. "you just needed a hand gettin' it done."

lifting the flowers, he holds them out for you to take. as you do, he takes your bag and, before you can protest, slings it over his own shoulder. they're pretty, deep reds and purples.

"these are beautiful, Eddie."

he smiles back at you and brings his hand to the small of your back, as always, as you leave.

walking down the street, past closed-up shops in the cold, your hands brush his as he gets closer and closer. you seize the opportunity, finally committing to something, and wind your fingers between his.

[ohveeve]

I'M ALIVE I'M ALIVE. I was originally going to post the right side up to this photo following the upside down version, but I got SUPER sick for a week plus, got dragged to hell by work, and then my bday happened LOL. Thank you so much for all the love for this piece, I'm sure the stinky ol tv man appreciates it *thumbs up*. But, WOW, seriously, being back on tumblr after not really being on it since mysme days is so much fun. All of you are so god damn sweet, and I hope you know that all those little tags and messages mean so much to me. It's hard to really know how people feel about the work you make, so to see all your lovely messages really means the world to me

[cosmicriff]

“You’re doing great”

Ko-Fi | Patreon

[mamawasatesttube]

"Your hands are freezing." or "I brought you something." ?

The lights in Tim's apartment are on.

Given that Tim himself is standing on a rooftop across the way, and he's pretty sure he turned everything off before he left for patrol, that's a little odd. Normally, he'd suspect it's just Cass inviting herself over for a post-patrol sabbatical in his shower, but it can't be her because she didn't patrol tonight; she and Dick took tonight off to go across the bay to see the Metropolis ballet do the Firebird or whatever it's called.

It's three in the morning. Tim glares at the innocent, brightly-outlined curtains. Who's in his apartment? He's cold and tired, and he wants to go to bed.

Ugh.

There's nothing for it, though, and none of his alarms have been tripped, so it's probably fine. (Unless it's like, a capital-S Situation instead, but he would really rather it not be. He's sleepy, and it's bitterly cold out here.) So he huffs again, then fires his grapple line.

The scent of fresh-baked cookies greets him the moment he slips inside, and he balks beside the window, blinking. Aw, beans, now he's hungry, too—

"Finally! There you are!" Kon appears in a rush of color, grabbing Tim's shoulders with a bright grin. "I've been waiting for ages. You took forever! I got bored enough to make cookies, and they're getting cold!"

Forget the cookies. Tim tackles him.

Kon sweeps him off his feet and twirls him around, laughing. His arms fold around Tim's waist snugly, and Tim beams as he tucks his face into the warm skin of Kon's neck, exhaustion forgotten. Kon's been off in space with Kara for three weeks, and Tim missed him so much it ached.

"Your nose is cold," Kon complains. Tim pushes his nose further against his neck in response, and Kon huffs. "Hey."

Tim lifts his head to look up at him fondly. Kon bumps their foreheads together, then reaches up with a gentle hand to peel Tim's mask away. Tim wrinkles his nose—Kon's TTK working between his skin and the sealant always makes him want to sneeze.

"Took you long enough to come back," Tim teases, chest full of warmth. He gets to look at Kon without the lenses of his mask now. He's radiant. "Did you get lost or something?"

Kon kisses him lightly. He wants more immediately.

"No, we just accidentally started a revolution on the fourth moon of Tallon, out in the Alpha quadrant?" Kon grins ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. Tim needs to kiss him again. "In our defense, we didn't mean to, but there was this whole thing with this guy called Kossak who miiiight have a vendetta against me, and... anywhoozies, that's beside the point. See, I brought you something!"

He sets Tim down and hurries across the room to dig through the backpack slung lazily onto Tim's favorite armchair. While he's at it, Tim strips off the outer layers of his costume—the gloves, belts, body armor, overshirt, and outer pants—and leaves them in a heap on the floor for the moment. Now clad in just an undershirt and thermal leggings, he pads over to see what Kon's got.

As he slips his arms around Kon's waist, leaning into his back, Kon hisses. Tim innocently kisses the back of his shoulder and tucks his fingers more securely under Kon's shirt, against bare skin.

"Your hands are freezing," Kon complains. "You ice gremlin."

"Yeah, it's winter and I haven't had my favorite handwarmer for weeks." Tim hooks his chin over Kon's shoulder with a hum. "What'd you get me?"

Kon grins. He twists about in Tim's arms to present him with a glowing box about the size of a Rubik's cube. Its faces are translucent; the light comes from somewhere within. It's not blindingly bright, but Tim's attention is drawn to the socket-looking port in one of the sides.

"It's a power pod for Kossak's spaceship," Kon explains, beaming. "I don't think it's got enough oomph on its own for space travel—Kossak's ship had ten of 'em, but Kara kiiinda exploded the other nine?—but I thought you might have fun building something out of it anyways!"

Oh, that's fucking rad. Tim lights up just like the little box. It's heavier than it looks; he turns it over in his hands appreciatively. He's not sure what exactly its power output looks like, but that'll be fun to play with. He can take it over to the Cave tomorrow; that way, if anything explodes, it's Bruce's problem and not his.

"You're the best." He carefully sets the cube on the coffee table and tucks himself back into Kon's chest. Kon hugs him again, squeezing him tight enough to lift his feet off the ground, and Tim hums. "...I missed you."

"Missed you too, sunshine," Kon says, and presses his lips to Tim's temple. "I'm glad to be back."

"Yeah." Tim smiles, content. "I'm glad, too."

[0ffbeatt]

Them mentioning that the Queen is kinda bored with the whole marriage process thing REALLY makes me think she's gonna make Pen the diamond to shake things up. Which would align with Pen having more suitors this season and her going to Colin for courting practice.

[cheesomancer]

💗💚

[absenthearted]

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD || HACKEARNEY + ALTERNATE UNIVERSES [1/?]

A girl walks into the woods, and a wolf walks out.

The village has a tradition: a girl is chosen as a sacrifice to the Wolf. The Huntsman leads the Chosen into the woods and keeps vigil at the entrance. 

The girl does not come back. The Wolf stays away.

This is how it has always been—until now.

[anotheroneofthegaysharks]

Okay have an actual post

[wynniebear]

rats are pretty cute huh

[matchalovertrait]

Generation 1's Halloween #2 was a success ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🎃୧ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

[malliya-gw2]

[dootznbootz]

Odypen definitely and equivalently adore each other BUT I weirdly can't see them as the type to actually say "I Love you".

They still definitely vocalize their love for each other but it's more so in "My Joy", and "Extraordinary Woman", "Strange Woman/Man", etc. And very cheesy lines (both say some cheesy shit in the Odyssey, and he definitely does in the Iliad as well. "Joy like a drowning sailor seeing land" bit???)

I could see "I adore you" but even then, that's probably during very specific moments but the actual "I love you"??? I just typed it just now for fic shit and... It weirdly just didn't feel right and I don't know why. 😅

Idk maybe it's kind of because I see them as over the top in ways, they love wordplay and riddles and I think they'd almost think "...That's not good enough >:( " about it??? I don't know???😂