#or use the tumble dryer

[infectiouspiss]

parents love to pick one specific thing and tell you you're always doing it wrong no matter what

[wilchur]

I wish that during the opening scene of act 3, when she reveals to Gortash that Durge is alive, Orin would actually shift into them to deliver the news. Because in the game, even though he's surprised, he maintains his composure and is basically like "Pfft of course they are, I shouldn't have doubted them", but if he were to be caught totally off guard by the sudden display...

Could he stop himself from sounding breathlessly relieved? Would the tone of his voice shift from "pleasantly surprised" to something more broken because he could've prevented all of this mess if he just looked for them harder? Would the self-assured Archduke mask slip, leaving him pathetically exposed in the face of Orin's cruel smile as she tells him that if they dare to show themself, this time she will make sure Durge stays dead once she's done with them?

I think about it a normal amount.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

do you have heart palpitations over a puppet or are you normal

[deancoded-deangirl]

aight so the sheet poll might just be me. as a Peruvian kid in an entirely Peruvian household, we each grew up w two thick alpaca wool blankets and you never have to wash them unless they get a fat stain or something because it’s hypoallergenic, and naturally repels liquids and smells so like, while you CAN dry clean, most alpaca blankets are never washed in their lifetime.

so for me it’s: fitted sheet -> me -> alpaca -> comforter, and the alpaca protects the comforter (and it’s got a nice texture too!)

[ssaalexblake]

look okay you can say anything you like about orphan 55 and whether i agree or not doesn’t matter, but y’all have to admit that Doctor Who, a show meant to be enjoyed by all ages, choosing to rip of the Alien franchise is Hilarious. 

Just... Who thought ‘we’ll do a kids show version of this (high age rated) sci-fi horror movie!’???? 

I mean... On one hand, the Alien franchise at its roots is about rich and soulless corporate greed causing death and destruction to normal people just trying to survive and do their jobs, which fits very well with the message Orphan 55 was sending by saying that the 1% ruined the planet through personal greed and then fucked off and left the rest of us to die (and then we all mutated into horrible creatures and ate them. Suckers. Eat the rich!!)

On the other hand, it’s a kids show and this is Alien. 

(but seriously? the script for orphan 55 was great and much scarier than what made it to air and so very obviously a rip off of Alien.) 

[untitled-bumblebee]

Untitled #15

I’m tired of waking up

Because waking up reminds me

That I will never wake up next to you

I’m tired of laughing

Because it’s never with you

I’m just tired

Tired of sleeping and tired of being awake

I’m tired of writing poetry with words

That I can’t say

I’m tired of writing things so

other people can like it

Tired of writing down how I feel but never writing what I feel

Because the truth is I don’t.

I don’t feel my own heart beat anymore

Don’t feel tears fall

Or anger in my veins

All I feel is nothing

And somehow nothing it more painful

Somehow,

Nothing Means more

Then everything

12/15/2022

[imwritesometimes]

walking through my bathroom in my fuzzy socks after spraying a generous amount of detangler/curl definer in my hair: we slidin'

[ollierachnid]

I think my housemates are playing a "send ollie actually fucking insane" speedrun rn

[operatirotasimoney]

I dry my clothes without a tumble dryer or heating – it cuts my energy bills by £140 a year

I dry my clothes without a tumble dryer or heating – it cuts my energy bills by £140 a year

MUM-OF-TWO Jodie Clough has cut almost £140 a year from her energy bills by boycotting her tumble dryer.Instead, she uses an airer, a sheet, and a Read Full Text

[moneyalphanews]

You’ve been using your tumble dryer all wrong and an easy hack could slash your bills by two thirds

You’ve been using your tumble dryer all wrong and an easy hack could slash your bills by two thirds

MILLIONS are tackling rising bills as we head deeper into the winter months.So families will be looking for ways to cut back on using energy-guzzling appliances like Read Full Text

[kissitbttr]

how would frat!mig be in a huge argument w his girl?? idk a part of me feels like he’d be lowk immature abt it. of course he makes up to her un the end bc i cant stand angst 👎👎🧌

oh very

—

“so that’s it? you’re not even going to talk to me?” miguel stares at your moving figure, who’s hastily picking up a fresh shirt from the dryer. “never realized i’m actually dating a child” he scoffs when you don’t answer to him,

before the two of you started dating, you already knew how many girls miguel had swept off their feet. the ex-girlfriends, the jealous glares, the talking in between groups. it does brings the greatest displeasure in you to witness all of that. but miguel’s top priority is to ease your worries, and he doesn’t want to lose you over something that’s not worth to be talked about.

but the thing is, miguel sometimes forget how to set boundaries. almost like he’s not even trying anymore.

like today during practice. when you were practicing your tumblings and routines whilst miguel did his football drills. your eyes fell upon a familiar blonde girl from the volleyball team making her way towards your boyfriend.

it’s not like you don’t allow miguel to talk with other girls, you’re not as insane. letting a girl touch and feel his biceps is another story. you don’t need a damn book to know what the girl’s intentions are. obviously she was being flirty. blinking her eyes up at him, subtly biting her lip though knowing he’s taken.

the girl was previously known to be acting like a total slut. not that you’re shaming her when it really is a fact. prances herself around other guys even though their taken. you and gloria shares the same mutual dislike towards her when she had told you how the blonde kept trying to get into beck’s pants. thankfully, beck knows how to handle it.

so you waited. waited and watched at how your boyfriend would respond. instead he did nothing. nothing but a smile on his face without brushing the girl’s touch. they carried on a small talk

it broke your heart. and to some, it may sound a little bit too exaggerated but they wouldn’t know for sure until their partner was being felt up by other people and them not doing anything about it.

you were about to make your way towards the two of them, wanting nothing but to rip that girl’s hair off of him but stopping when your coach calls you to inform the practice is starting soon,

your mind wasn’t at ease for one bit during practice.

“i’m a child for wanting to communicate over what happened today? yeah, sure. talk your fucking shit, o’hara” you reply to him, rolling your eyes as you furiously toss your other belongings into a bag. “a real keeper you are”

the sound of his last name falls upon your lips doesn’t feel right to him. sure, you may have called him that in a fun manner but he knows that this time you’re actually pissed.

and miguel is not an expert at expressing his feelings and emotions. he’s got a lot to learn. the only way he knows how it to use anger and frustrations, which is something that he should control. especially when he’s talking to you.

“por el amor de dios! are you serious? we’re still on about that?! get over it, muñeca. it’s not a big of a deal!” he exclaims, removing his shirt before throwing it away on the nearest chair of his room,

“not a big of a deal?!” your tone rising as you walk out of the bathroom to see him. “you let another girl felt you up, letting her get close to you and you said that it was nothing?! are you out of your mind!”

“veronica and i were just talking! am i not allowed to talk to other girls simply because i’m dating you? that’s quite ridiculous, baby” he chuckles but there’s no humor in it, almost like he’s mocking you. receiving a baffled look from you.

“stop putting words in my mouth, that’s not what i said! you missed the part where i said you were letting another girl touching you, when you already have a girlfriend!” you point at him, trying to get him to understand but it seems like it’s no use. seeing him only roll his eyes and dismissing your words with a wave of his hand. it furthers your already broken heart to more pieces,

“fucking immature little shit” you spit, going back to zip up your bag,

he laughs loudly at that, shaking his head. “look who’s talking!” he turns around to face you. “i can’t control the people that like me, sweetheart. what am i supposed to do with that?”

“you really are entitled and narcissistic” you laugh sadly, “maybe try setting up boundaries between people especially girls? ever thought of that?”

“ever thought about not being insecure and jealous all the time? may come off handy”

and that does it. the words just pierced right through your heart, making you stop your movements all together.

never thought in your life that miguel would be the one person to say all of that to you. is that how he views you as? a insecure girl?

is it wrong that you love your boyfriend so much that you want him all to himself and for him to learn how to listen to you?

“if that’s how you feel, then maybe we should just end it here” your eyes turning glossy, trying not to break down in front of him. “if you missed being flirted by other girls or flirting back to your flings, then i am not stopping you. so instead of making me feel like shit, calling me insecure, we should just see other people”

that’s not what miguel had expected you to say. his blood runs cold, face faltering at your suggestion because that is not what he wants. not at all.

hearing what he just said to you makes him want to crawl into a hole and let himself die. he didn’t mean it! he didn’t mean what he said, he’s just grown tired of this argument that he wanted nothing but to end it. yet instead of making you feel secured and listen to you, he chooses the latter.

holy fuck, o’hara what have you done?!

“wh—n-no! muñeca, I didn’t mean what i said, i did—“ he stutters, walking closer towards you only for you to step back. “baby please i wasn’t thinking—“

“exactly! you weren’t!” you yell, picking up your bag and getting ready to walk out of his room, the frat house and his life for good. “i’m giving you, your freedom card from now on”

this can’t be it, right? fuck, no, no, no

“you’re not leaving” he says while trailing you from behind, hands shaking at mind in scrambles at the thought of you walking out of him for good. “y/n please—please don’t leave me—i’m sorry—i—i cut off every girls on campus if you want me to, just stay—please” he tries to reach out to you but your pace is quicker while walking down the stairs, ignoring the looks from some of his frat brothers,

shaking your head, you try to ignore the pain in his voice. part of you wants to hug him and tell him that you won’t be going anywhere. but part of you realize that this time, you need to put yourself first. because as much as you love him, you love yourself more,

this is going to be painful.

“that’s not what i want you to do, i just— i can’t do this, miguel. at least not now” your head shaking, voice lowering to prevent the eavesdropping ears from the kitchen. “i—i need to think, for a while. competition is coming up and exams are too—everything is just so overwhelming. i think we need a break. i think you need a break”

“a break?! I don’t need a break. i need you” his voice cracking, tears welling up in his eyes as he gathers your hands quickly and pull them into his chest. “i love you, muñeca—please—i’m so sorry—i’ll do better i promise. just stay, por favor”

his eyes are pleading at you, staring intently into your eyes as his grip tighten around your smaller hands. for just one second, you almost cave in.

almost,

you smile sadly, “just give it a week or two, okay? and we’ll see after that”

but miguel doesn’t need a week or two. he doesn’t need to see after. he knows who he wants to spend the rest of his life with. he knows who he wants to marry. he knows who he wants to have his kids with.

and it’s always going to be you, no one else.

however looking at the state of you now, miguel has no right to force you to do anything. he cares too deeply about you,

so he complies,

“o-okay” he nods and agrees with a heavy heart. “if that’s what you want—i’ll give you space, but just know that you’re the only one that i want. the only girl i want to have by my side. keep that in mind, okay?”

a small smile appears on your lips, as you reach up in your tippy toes and give him a soft kiss on his cheek before you turn around and open the door. giving him one last look and walk out of the house, carrying his heart as you do.

miguel breathes out a shaky sigh, watching the door closes. his tears are rolling down his cheeks without him realizing.

without you here right now, what else is he supposed to do?

—

don’t worry, i’ll make these two make up :)) i just think that miguel needs to be humbled rn lmao

also, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated xx

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area 8

Chapter 8

Masterpost

“You're just now going to campus?” Jazz said. Danny scowled ahead at the sidewalk. Her tone wasn't judgmental so much as mildly surprised. He still hated it. “That's a lot later than usual. Is everything alright?” Danny hunched his shoulders up and consciously reminded himself not to get defensive. He wasn't slacking. He'd gotten home after his class and slept 13 hours. He still felt wiped out.

“Ghost stuff,” he said cryptically. “Ruined my night.” He dodged someone on the sidewalk without thinking about it, used to the crowds by now.

Jazz inhaled sharply into his ear. “They're supposed to leave you alone to focus on your education,” she hissed. “Just so you know, I do have the venomous Fenton electric creep stick-”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny cut her off. She was probably holding it up right now, thumb on the trigger. He couldn't fight off the rueful smile. She had his back, didn't she? Always did. With that in mind… “I think I need help,” he admitted. Oof. Felt bad. Not as bad as failing his classes, though, which was the danger if he got pulled too deep into more Ghost bull honkey.

“Of course!” Jazz enthused. He stepped off the curb and then quick-stepped backwards to avoid getting hit by some asshole running the red light. Danny lifted up his free hand to flip them off as he hung on his heels on the edge of the pavement drop. He dropped lightly back onto the balls of his feet and jogged across the street.

Jazz was still talking, voice clear over the morning meld of honking and running engines. “How about you come over to my place after your classes tonight? My roommate is out for a conference.”

“You just don't want to come to Crime Alley,” Danny accused her. “Even for me, your beloved baby brother.” He dodged a car that was parked on the cross walk and made an ugly face at the driver. “Despite your professed love for crime, when it counts, it's all talk.”

“I don't love crime,” Jazz reiterated with her inhuman patience. She didn't take the bait of his deliberate mischaracterization of her career plans. “But I am exquisitely stabbable." Her tone went lofty with the brag. "So yes, I avoid Crime Alley.”

Danny blew an unimpressed raspberry to show what he thought of that.

He hadn't met anyone in Gotham yet who he thought would really throw Jazz for a loop. She was a 6ft 2 judo black belt, and she was liminally spooky as fuck. “No one would stab you,” he said, making it sound like an insult. His janky ass was more likely to get held up. "But fine, I'll haul my poor broken corpse all the way over there to do you a favor-”

“So I can do you a favor,” Jazz corrected wryly.

“My poor broken corpse,” Danny cut back in, because that was a really relevant factor to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned a little. He felt like he'd been in a tumble dryer. Missing a full night of sleep was an insufferable insult to his desperate shoe-string construction of a healthy routine.

“I would so get robbed if I came there,” Jazz argued. “Maybe even kidnapped.” He could all but hear her flip her hair.

He snorted but let her keep her delicate feminine delusions about not being one of the scariest motherfuckers in the crime capital of the country. He wasn't actually worried about her interning at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he'd freaked out a little when she'd moved here, but that wasn't why he was here. No matter what anyone said.

“There's no immediate danger, right?” Jazz checked. “No reason I need to be concerned today?”

“Nah,” Danny reassured her, as the campus came into sight. He had about an hour before class to spend in the lab before his lecture. “It's not that kind of problem.” He felt his face arranged itself into a wry smile. “You might like this one.”

“Oh?” Jazz asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Only after I've sworn you to perfect silence,” Danny shot back instantly. “I mean it, for real, you can't tell a soul living or dead or nonliving or-”

“I think I get it,” she cut him off. Jazz huffed. “As if I can't keep a secret. You think I can't keep secrets? I know the most incredible things that you could never dream up.”

“...Big if true,” Danny snarked, pretending that he wasn't extremely interested.

“You never knew what happened to the Robinsons,” Jazz said airily. “And you never will.”

“...that doesn't bother me at all,” Danny lied. He stopped walking.

“Ahuh,” Jazz said knowingly. “Hey, remember the neon cheese incident?”

Danny gritted his teeth. “Can't say I do,” he said. It was bullshit, and even he knew it wasn't convincing Jazz. He was dying to know the truth. It had been the talk of the town for weeks and was still occasionally featured on unsolved mystery podcasts. He'd gone far enough to ask the Dairy King, but even the dead wouldn't speak on it.

“Have a good day of classes, little brother,” Jazz said sweetly. She ended the call.

He rubbed at his temples. Ancients, she gave him a headache. She was fantastic. She was killing him and absolutely ruining his unlife. He couldn't even beg her for answers about the neon cheese, because if he managed to badger it out of her, it would prove she could be manipulated into telling secrets. That would be a loss anyway. It was more likely that either she didn't know anything or that she knew and her lips would stay sealed: Danny didn't have any to waste his breath.

He did a few calming rounds of breathing, now that he was thinking about it, and then went on with his day a bit invigorated by the familial aggravation.

Danny felt a little better about focusing on class now that he knew he could count on Jazz in his corner. She was the smartest person he knew. She could probably get him divorced by the end of the day. Hell, she probably already had a contingency plan for getting him a divorce. She was so ready for him to have a relationship so that he would have relationship problems to ask her about.

When he finished up on campus, Danny cut across town to pick up takeout food as an offering. He presented it to Jazz as soon as she opened the door, head bowed and food theatrically high.

“Oh, come in,” Jazz said, exasperated. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and bodily pulled him inside. “My neighbors are going to think I'm so weird, Danny!”

“My liege,” he intoned seriously. “I come bearing- ow! Stop hitting my- hey, my face!” Danny wrestled away from the horrible pinching grip his terrible sister had on his cheeks, scowling. “That hurt,” he complained. “Have you ever thought that you're getting caught up in the cycle of violence?”

“I don't lose sleep over it.” Jazz lowered herself delicately onto one of the weird puffs she had instead of chairs and made grabby hands at the takeout. “What did you get me?”

“Coal,” Danny snarked. But he handed over the bag without a fight and plopped himself onto the closest poof thing. He fully laid out and let his head flop past the edge to hang upside down.

“Inversion therapy, so chic,” Jazz said absently.

He considered flipping her off, but his balance was really off in this position and it would be hard to defend himself if she lunged at him. Hell, if she picked up his legs he'd probably tip over onto the floor. Danny dug his heels into the side of the poof in defensive preparation. He kept her in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, Malaysian,” Jazz enthused. “I wanted to have this!” She sounded a little too surprised.

He shot her a thumbs up. Two days ago, she'd sent him a screenshot of a text landing from someone else that had shown most of her screen was the active map app she was using to get to an appointment. The Malaysian restaurant had the star mark that she put on the places that she wanted to try.

He'd gambled that she hadn't gone yet because she hadn't had a late night at work. Jazz only got takeout with company or if she got home too late to cook.

“Cool,” Danny said, because he didn't want his rotten sister to think he cared about her interests. “It was on the way and it smelled good.”

Jazz hummed and put the food on the side table. “So I see.” She folded her fingers in front of her face and peered at him over the steeple. “What happened? What ghost do I need to soup with a fragrant combination of turmeric and saffron?”

“Please don't waste that, ghosts taste fine on their own,” Danny said.

Jazz grimaced. “Ew, Danny,” she enunciated carefully. She paused. “Ew.”

He shrugged and accidentally slipped a little closer to the floor. “Just saying. But actually, no one dead was involved, unless we count-”

“We don't count,” Jazz cut him off, serenely unbothered by his attempts to score empathy points off his death. She was a cold customer.

“Boo,” Danny said, because he knew his brand and respected ghost tradition. “Anyway, Jeremy Waters. Remember -”

“How could I forget,” Jazz muttered. She put her hands on her face.

“Hey,” Danny said, offended that Jeremy got that reaction and he got a big fat impassive nothing no matter how annoying he was.

“What’s Jeremy done?” Jazz sounded exhausted by the concept.

“Well… He uh.” Danny stared at the ceiling. He couldn't look at her directly. “Well. You know how he wants the good favor of the god of the underworld?”

“Yup.” Jazz hit the ‘p’ sound hard.

“He uh, hit the idea that uh. Maybe a Persephone of sorts was just the thing to suck up.”

He heard fabric rustle as Jazz sat up. “He did?”

Wow, she had one of the most fascinating ceilings in the world. Danny stared intently up at a splotch that looked vaguely malign. She ought to get that checked out by an expert before it possessed somebody. “Yeah, so he's been trying to vault people into the Ghost Zone as bridal sacrifices.”

“Ahuh.” Jazz sounded a little bit choked up. She wasn't laughing, so he couldn't complain.

“I had Dani get Vlad look into it-” because Dad or Mom would have been mortifying- “and apparently, he told her the odds of some hack wizard managing to send a living human to the ghost zone was laughable.”

He paused. He couldn't go on.

“And Vlad would know,” Jazz said leadingly.

Danny put a hand over his face. “Yeah, see, the thing is that I'm now very concerned that Vlad might not know.” His words came out muffled.

Jazz was so intent on him. He pretended even harder not to know she was leaning in towards him. “Does- does the ghost king have a bride, Danny?” She somehow managed in a professional tone.

He nodded miserably.

She promptly lost her shit laughing at his misfortune.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Not too smutty but--

Shimmer!Kane is definitely the type to keep your bed "messy" by average standards but insists the blankets are arranged specifically to be a "nest".

Every time you remake the bed, twenty minutes later you come back and it's a mess again; blankets piled and arranged almost perfectly in the middle, pillows strategically placed for the most comfort...

You ask him why but he can't really tell you (instincts, duh!). But it's perfect to snuggle in! (And y'know nice and cosy to pound your brains out later if you want)

I am screaming over this!! (Also I'm so sorry this took me so long!)

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

A/N: My brain is just like is this a one shot? Is there a part two? What am I doing? Also I have to tag @ominoose just because all of their amazing Kane fics and head canons have just shaped my brain.

Warnings: pining, dry humping, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 811

“Kane, what the fuck?” You sigh, no real heat in your words. 

He looks up at you from where he’s crouched over the bed, the faintest hint of a quizzical expression on his features. 

“What are you doing?” 

He shakes his head a minute, obviously not understanding. 

“I just made the bed, and now you’ve,” you gesture half-heartedly, “done whatever this is.” 

The pillows were piled seemingly haphazardly in the middle, the duet cover bundled up. As you looked you realised that he had also brought the bedding from his own bed onto yours. 

“It’s fine when it’s just your bed, but can you not come in here and mess with mine?”

You’d been assigned to ‘monitor’ him, try to help him adjust back into everyday life after… whatever happened. You weren’t privileged with the details, or even the vague notion.

He continues to look at you with that quiet stare he had, like he was trying to read the dictionary definition for every single word you said. 

You sigh again, moving towards the bed and beginning to put your pillows back at the top of the bed. 

Kane stood quickly, putting his hand softly on your forearm to stop you. You stare at him, a small frown of confusion on your face. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a moment you move to continue your task, but his grip tightens. 

“Stop.” He whispers, his voice barely audible. 

Your frown deepens. “What? Why?” 

You swallow as he stares intently at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils dilated. It’s only now that you realise how close he’s standing to you. 

“Kane?” You whisper, your heart thudding in your throat. 

He was handsome, of course he was. But looks weren’t everything. 

He was kind, considerate. He listened when you talked, did little things to be helpful, affectionate. He made you drinks without even asking, usually bringing them to you a second after you realised you were thirsty. When the temperature dropped close to freezing a few weeks ago, he’d warm blankets in the tumble dryer and bring them to you, offer you hot water bottles and put your slippers by the radiator when you weren’t wearing them. 

He liked to be in the garden, around plants and animals and taking care of things. The apple tree hadn’t stopped blossoming, despite its leaves coming in since he’d been here. The forget-me-knots hadn’t been hampered by the late frost. Bumble bees and butterflies gathered around the honeysuckle that had bloomed exceptionally early, its sudden growth spurt meaning it was now covering most of the back wall it leant against. 

You liked him being here. 

You liked him. 

Kane carefully placed his hands on your shoulders and gently guided you with your back to the bed before he slowly moved you, urging you to sit  and then lay in the middle of the pillows and blankets. 

You stared up at him, a little bewildered as he climbed in next to you. 

“Comfortable?” He asked in that soft voice of his, but you weren’t sure if it was really a question or just an affirmation. You nod your head anyway. 

He pressed his lips together, deep in thought for a moment on your reaction, before he moves to lay on top of you, pressing his thighs between yours and settling his hips against yours. 

You freeze out of surprise. He’s never done something so bold before. You look up at him, his nose barely an inch from yours. 

Your mouth goes dry, anxiety building under his heavy gaze, like a scientist looking at a specsamin in a jar. 

“Kane,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Are you uncomfortable?” 

You shake your head without thinking and there’s a little flicker of emotion that crosses his face. Satisfaction, you think. 

“Why, erm,” your mind is short circuiting with him this close, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sweet, almost floral smell that permanently surrounds him fills your lungs. The way the hard outline of his cock presses against your core. “Why did you bring your blankets in here?” You blurt out. 

“Making a nest,” he says simply, like that was all the information you would need. “Wanted it to smell like us.” 

He dips his head lower, nuzzling against the side of your neck and breathing deeply. 

“A nest?” You gasp as he rocks his hips against yours, leaning closer so that your chests are flush. 

“Hmm.” He continues to run his lips and cheeks over your neck, feeling your skin and sighing contently. All the while he rolls his hips languidly, dragging his cock against your heat. 

You can’t hold back the shudder and whine as his fly presses deliciously against your clit. 

While it doesn’t hamper his movements, the sound obviously amuses him and he focuses his actions solely on making you repeat it.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

TUMBLE DRY HIM

it’s unhealthy to leave your world-class super detectives wet after their wash. for proper care you must dry them thoroughly, preferably via tumble dryer (don't worry about the shaking, it means he's happy). hang-drying is not recommended as it causes distress in detectives that are used to curling up. remember, your detective’s care is very important for them to live a happy and healthy life.

[boorines]

Can I request an imagine for Chan, being a soft boyfie taking care of his significant other when they come back home all stressed and overwhelmed with work ✨

hi anon, here u go!! hope u enjoy it <3

i assumed this was for a fem reader but if it isn’t please let me know!!

not proofread please ignore any mistakes <3

—

you toss your bag onto the chair as you walk into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed in exhaustion. you’re too tired to manage anything but a small smile when you feel the bed dip beside you.

“hi, you”, chan whispers, rubbing small circles on the back of your hand.

“hi”, you breathe out, so very grateful for his presence.

he gently coaxes you into a sitting position, pulling you into his side softly before dropping a kiss on your head. “long day?”, he questions. you nod against his shoulder and sigh.

“not great, either. two presentations due next week and a research essay due thursday”, it sounds like one long word the way it tumbles out of your mouth.

chan squeezes your shoulder softly, lightly tracing patterns on your arm. “a movie and bed, then? have you eaten?”, his brows furrow when you shake your head no. “dinner, movie and bed”, he amends with a decisive nod.

he leaves another kiss on your forehead before leaving the room and returning with a pack of makeup wipes. he stands in front of you and gently tugs you up onto your feet before gathering you into his arms. “let’s freshen you up, yeah?”, he whispers into your hair. you nod in gratitude and thank your stars for chan, for his presence and for his unwavering support.

you find yourself sat on the bathroom countertop with chan stood between your knees. he gently swipes at the makeup on your cheeks with damp wipes, humming at his work in approval before moving to your forehead. one of his hand gently holds your chin, tilting your face towards his. as he wipes across your forehead his eyes drop to yours, your soft gaze and warm smile making his knees weak. you feel his hand move from your chin to the side of your face, cupping your cheek with all the care in the world. chan strokes your skin once, twice, before leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. you smile into the kiss, squeezing his forearm as you feel him sigh into your mouth.

“you’re unbelievable”, he whispers, pulling away.

“i’ve done nothing but sit here. you’re unbelievable”, you respond with an incredulous shake of your head.

“just sitting here and yet driving me crazy”.

you blush at his words, cheeks dusted a soft pink as you swat at his arm. the laugh you draw from him is all you needed to hear today.

the bath that chan runs for you is steaming when you sink into the water and lukewarm when you finally decide to step out. you reach for the towel rack to dry off and your brows knit together when you find no towels hanging from the metal rod.

“channie?”, you call out from the bathroom, praying he’s not too far on the other side of the door. you’d walk out and fetch one yourself but the new rug by your shared bed would take the brunt of your bath.

“yes? you okay in there, love?”, you hear through the bathroom door.

“all good! could you please hand me a towel? there’s none in here”. you hear a muffled hum of acknowledgment before the door creaks open.

chan pokes his head into the bathroom to pass you a towel. it must be fresh out the dryer, you think, when you feel how warm it is in your hands. you look up at your boyfriend and find his cheeks blazing, eyes turned to the floor.

“chan?”, you question. “what is it?”

he shakes his head softly before looking up at you in wonder. you wrap yourself up in the towel before walking towards him, stepping into the bedroom as he moves away from the door to make room for you.

“you’re gorgeous”, you hear him whisper behind you and you turn around to face a chan that looks like he’s been struck by cupid.

“this isn’t new to you, love”, you chuckle, squeezing his hand.

“might as well be, seeing how i can never get used to it”, he replies. and now it’s your turn to blush.

he sits himself down on the edge of the bed, quietly watching you in awe as you change into an old pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts. he thinks his heart could burst. “dinner”, he announces softly after you’re ready, tugging you into the living room.

post dinner, you find yourself in bed with blankets wrapped around you, head resting on chan’s chest and an arm lazily slug over his torso. his arm is resting securely on your waist, soft kisses being placed atop your head.

“movie?”, he mumbles into your hair. he moves towards the laptop on the bedside table when he feels you nod against his chest.

he’s setting the laptop on his legs, finding a comfortable place to rest it when when he asks you what you’re in the mood for. he tinkers with the laptop a little more before asking again, ready to pick what you respond with. he looks down at your head when he doesn’t hear an answer.

your eyes are closed, face pressed against his chest while yours rises and falls rhythmically. his eyes soften and he melts, fond smile growing on his face. he carefully replaces the laptop before settling further into the pillows.

he gently moves your head higher up his chest, a precaution he takes just in case you wake up with a sore neck. with a whispered ‘goodnight’, he drops a soft kiss to your head.

taking care of each other is routine. because at the end of the day, he has you and you have him.

[dearharriet]

By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

+

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.” You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

+

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

+

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

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