#short reply

[daily-rcp-poli]

"I suppose that's fair-"

"Oh and that last part? Ignore it! Ester is being dumb!"

- 🍞

I'm a little concerned for the multiverse universe versions of us.. Does so much happen to our team?

[wondrousmuses]

@rainbowxfmuses

Continued from here

The spy didn't think too much of it when the blonde grabbed her hand but the two of them headed out of their penthouse and into Alex's jeep with her being the driver. Buckling up and cranking up the car, Al pulls off from the driveway and onto the road.

"So, what's on your mind besides boys?~"

[spinejackel]

What are dead man walking tornadoes? :O

it’s a multi-vortex tornado. i dont remember the tribe it originates from (i think it was cherokee), but there’s a native american legend…? saying? that goes “if you see a man in a tornado, you are about to die.”

the most infamous shot of a dead man walking tornado hit jarrell, texas in 1997

it did so much damage to the town it caused the scale that tornados are measured by, the fijita scale, undergo revisions, and it made anchoring buildings in the tornado alley region pretty much mandatory. (it took the entire town off the map. only those who had taken shelter outside of the town or in underground bunkers survived.)

two more examples of dead man walking tornadoes looking like a person are a tornado from 2011 that hit cullman, alabama

and a tornado from 1975 that hit xenia, ohio

edit: it has been brought to my attention that the native american “legend” part of this post was a rumor spread by a documentary.

i have been asked to remove it, but i believe in letting my errors stand because i’m not perfect. i make mistakes

[mulderscully]

What is spn

anon you have no idea how special this message is

[chio-chan2artbox]

Oh my god!! Have you seen the fan art Orxinus made of Stan and Heinz kissing after winning the tumblr sexy man contest? I wonder what Perry would say about that

He wasn’t happy. Perry will punch Heinz afterwards cause he went back to the evil side lol

Orxinus's fanart

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lonely + touch starved mc when they first make their relationship with the boys official? like they're scared to ask for more but desperately need it, since they've been missing it for so long

love your writing btw, thank you for posting it!!! no pressure if this request isn't your thing! :))

sylus

- even before your relationship became official, you and sylus have always been somewhat touchy. hands bumping against each other, fingers ever so slightly grazing, and bodies casually brushing up upon close proximity — it's always been there. his touch, no matter how simple, makes you feel so warm and so special. you haven't felt so wanted, in such a long time, maybe ever. the way he makes you feel is one of a kind, and you can't help but crave for more.

- you decided to be subtle and nonchalant about it, thinking sylus was going to tease you if you ask directly. the 'accidental' touches linger for a little too long, and the amount of times you'd playfully and casually hold him had increased. but maybe you didn't do a good job at keeping it low key.

- sylus pays attention to you more than you think. it didn't take long for him to catch your longing gazes to his lips before looking away, and the way you fiddle with your hands after accidentally touching his.

- "if you want something from me, don't hesistate to claim it. i'm all yours, sweetie." he told you after once again noticing your not-so-subtle-gazes at him. "i'd be happy to give you whatever you ask for. anything at all." that's just what sylus does. he's always encouraging you to be unafraid and boldly go after what you want. do what you want to do without shame.

- and so, with his encouragement, you dared yourself to kiss him. and from the second he kissed back with even more passion, you realized that you have nothing to worry about at all. he wants you just as much as you want him.

- with every day you spend together, you become more and more comfortable in asking for physical affection. just as he said, you don't even really need to ask him — just do it. so, eventually, you've come to a point where, if you want kisses, you just kiss him and he will return with a million times more than you could ever ask for.

caleb

- he's basically a puppy. and puppies are naturally affectionate. even before you were official, physical affection has always been one of his main love languages. headpats, pokes, picking you up, grabbing your waist, ruffling your head, giving you massages, putting an arm around your shoulders, using you as a headrest.... he simply cannot keep his hands off you.

- once you became an official couple, however, while you're grateful that his usual handsiness didn't go away, you started to want more physical affection that are a little more intimate. but you wonder, how could you bring it up without sounding greedy or demanding or awkward? knowing him, he'd tease you and you'd rather not have that right now.

- so you start giving him more longing touches but nothing further. they're like invitations for him to make a move: 'if you want more, then do something' kind of touches. you'd rest your hand on his hands, chest, back, arms and shoulders, hoping that you have some effect on him that will make him want to touch you in return.

- as smart as he is, caleb doesn't catch on right away and fails to fall for your traps, and so eventually you lose patience. "hurry up and kiss me already, dummy" and only then did it click to him that you want more. that you are comfortable to take your relationship a step further in regards to physical affection.

- in truth, he was taking it slow around the time your relationship began because he doesn't want to overwhelm you. he's been in love with you for so long, he'd shoved all his feelings in a box, thinking he'd never be able to act on them. he was afraid of opening that box and overwhelming you with his feelings, so he thought he'd wait for you to get comfortable with his touches as your lover.

- and now that he knows you've been waiting for him, caleb is relieved. at last, he doesn't have to hold back. "if you don't mind, i'd like to be a little more greedy now."

zayne

- your relationship started off slow in general because you're both still testing the waters and learning how to act around each other as a couple. you'd start off with holding hands in private, giving kisses on the cheek, and eventually, kisses on the lips. zayne was quite reserved at the beginning, and so there wasn't as much intimacy as most couples would have at the starting stage.

- although you don't mind the slow pace, you secretly longed for more of his touches that are so gentle and warm, like a sweet embrace. his kisses, despite being brief, are always so passionate and they make you want to melt. his cuddles are even better than your most comfortable blanket. you want to be in his arms forever. but of course, you don't want to seem desperate or scare him away by coming off too strong, so you say nothing.

- little did you know, zayne is just as nervous and touched-starved as you. he wants to feel you and he wants to be held by you, and he wished he was more experienced just so he could be more confident that his actions won't be foolish and wrong. because it's you, he wants to get everything perfect.

- for some time, you two stuck with minimal intimacy. however, both of you have also become impatient rather fast, feeling as if you want more and more of each other every day. you'd wish that those goodnight kisses lasted just a little longer. you'd wished that you'd cuddled more while watching movies. you'd wished that you're next to each other as you fall asleep after talking about how your days went.

- with time, you two have gotten out of your comfort zones together and soon enough, neither of you would get nervous about wanting a kiss, and sleeping next to each other wasn't so terrifying anymore. it's all about timing and getting comfortable with each other. eventually, both of you grew confident with physical affection and intimacy, up to a point where you won't be any need to ask. if you want kisses, you just do it. after all, you're his, and he's yours.

rafayel

- rafayel is so pretty he makes you nervous sometimes. in the beginning of the relationship, you'd find yourself in disbelief that that man is your lover, and that he is in love with you, out of everyone in the deepspace. every time he holds your hand, gives you a kiss, and hugs you, you feel like you're not worthy of such warmth.

- and yet still, you need more. more kisses, more hand holding, more cuddling, even just sitting closely together. you just love that tingling, comfortable, warm feeling that he shelters you with. he makes you feel so loved and appreciated. you feel greedy and clingy at the thought of demanding more of his affection, so you kept it all inside and just took what he gave you.

-but rafayel is someone that made you comfortable so easily. he's often playful and lively, and he tends to move around, a lot. there's a lot of playful touches involved — him locking his arms around yours, holding your shoulders, bumping your hands, and various other little casual physical contact, which greatly helped with intimacy.

- eventually, your nervousness went away and you learned to take initiative, knowing that rafayel will never mind all the physical affection as long as it's with you.

- although, if anything, rafayel might just be a little more touch-starved than you, because he'd been waiting for you for so, so long, and every time you hold him, he's met with a sense of belonging — like everything is going to be okay, and that this life is good, after all. and so, don't be afraid to approach him first because he will always welcome and appreciate your touch, and he will absolutely return it all by a tenfold.

xavier

- he'd be the one to take initiative. you won't even have to ask for more because he wants you even more than you could possibly want him. he can be greedy when it comes to you. even in the beginning, he'd find excuses to be around you and touch you, so you won't ever feel lonely.

- but of course, there comes the times when you're feeling needy for more of him. with xavier, the best thing to do is to be direct and upfront, no matter how scary it seems. you found that the best time is when he's sleepy. he is so cuddly. all you need to do is lie down next to him and he'll gradually get closer and closer into cuddling with you until eventually you're spooning. he'd usually make the first move and ask, "is this okay?" or sometimes he'd just do it and read your expressions. if you like it, he'll do it more. if you don't, he'll stop right away.

- if you want to make the first move, he's always been open and inviting with you. he'll always make sure you're comfortable. he's very approachable, so it doesn't take long for you to become confident with what you want from him.

- but mostly, xavier will always want to give than take more, so you won't ever have to worry. with him, you'll always know that you are loved.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[thesvnandthemooon]

What about Nat experiencing the rage of pregnancy, being terrified of r

oh god.

natasha could write an entire book on this, but it wouldn’t be a nice one. she’s always been a little afraid of you, but when you were pregnant? downright terrifying.

she didn’t even have to do much. the smallest things made you see red.

like seeing her throw her dirty jersey on the floor after coming home from practice. natasha usually always cleans up after herself (as she should), but that day, she just…forgot. she forgot one (1!) time. it was enough to get you snapping at her.

“i’m not your maid, romanoff!”

natasha stood in the corner, visibly sheepish. “i know, baby.”

“i’m not your mom either!”, you added, huffing.

“…that implies my mom ever cleaned up after me.”

death glare. natasha? silent.

your jealousy, bad as it was before the pregnancy, skyrocketed. she didn’t have to flirt with other girls (not like she wanted to, anyway). she didn’t even have to look at them. existing in the same space as one was enough.

you’d tug at her sleeve, already looking like you’re about to strangle her. why? because she dared looking into the same direction as another girl.

“you wanna fuck her or what?!”

she started sputtering, her cheeks red. of course, you both remembered what happened at spring break.

“baby, what? no!”

she truly didn’t look at her. she’d never be interested in anyone else, either. she still held your hand extra tight afterwards and made sure to kiss you until you were annoyed.

speaking of kisses — your sex drive had been impressive before, but once you were pregnant, it was insane. like, genuinely worse than natasha‘s (which is definitely an achievement). nat foolishly thought that, hey, during sex it’s basically impossible for her to do anything that’d upset you.

WRONG. all she had to do was even glance in the direction of your belly, and you paused mid-sex. you squinted your eyes and she knew she was in trouble…again.

“you looked at my stretch marks.”

natasha, on the verge of coming, sweat dripping down her temples. “i…did?”

“you think i’m disgusting, huh?!”

and she was panicking once more. no doubt she spent an entire hour kissing every stretch mark she could find. you fell asleep afterwards, which was kind of a relief. you’re cute when you sleep. peaceful, soft, snuggling into her and keeping her close. but, maybe most importantly — you were unable to get mad at her. no yelling, no snapping, no cold shoulders. just warmth.

or so she thought. she didn’t consider the fact that her dream-self could piss you off as well.

it happened the night after a big exam. she was tired. like, exhausted. you both crammed into the narrow bed in her dorm (because you didn’t want to sleep by yourself and, honestly, natasha didn’t want you to, either) and she knocked right out. it was way too tight, but she loved it. you both did. she had the most peaceful sleep of her life. you, half-asleep and on the verge of tears, ruined it by smacking her arm.

“you fucking jerk! what were you thinking?”

in retrospect, you’d feel bad for natasha. she was confused and sleepy, rubbing her eyes and stuttering. “i…uh…what?”

then, tears. she immediately sat up. “you cheated”, you sobbed. “in my dream. with some bimbo.”

“in your dream? are you kidding me?”

“yes, in my dream! what, you thinking about leaving? huh?? tell me, you bastard!”

(no, she wasn’t thinking about leaving. but she was definitely thinking about sleeping in the fucking hallway instead.)

that’s not the only time you woke her up, though. during your pregnancy, the most random things tended to annoy you. the smell of cheese, for example. someone looking at you too long. your clothes not fitting anymore. worst of all? certain sounds.

it wasn’t constant, thankfully. but during a few days of your pregnancy, natasha’s breathing seemed to offend you. it wasn’t particularly loud or anything. she wasn’t even doing much — she was just sitting there, working on a paper and sipping black coffee. you were beside her, looking for baby clothes and ways to shut her up.

“stop breathing like that.”

“like what??”

“like that.”

she stared at you, eyebrows furrowed. “baby, i kinda have to breathe.”

“yes, but not like a fucking horse.”

she was holding her breath after that, hoping it wouldn’t end in another fight.

she thought it’d only bother you while you’re awake. she was wrong about that.

to be fair, not being able to sleep is bad enough already. but not being able to sleep because someone is sawing logs? horrible. the worst. wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.

now you, heavily pregnant and tired and unable to sleep, were stuck in the same bed as someone who just wouldn’t stop snoring. nat usually didn’t snore unless she was sick, but tonight, the odds were stacked against you.

you suffered through her obnoxious freight train-imitation for about five minutes. when not even poking her side or nudging her helped, you reached for the pillow under your head and slapped it over her face. she woke up gasping for air.

“did you just try to smother me in my sleep?!”

“…you were snoring.” (at that point, you felt bad)

“so you thought, ‘oh, let’s try and kill her’??”

“if i wanted you dead, you would be.”

she just stared. after this, she made sure to sleep on her side.

with you, it was either the cold shoulder or full blown rage. natasha never knew what to expect, so she was always left guessing. like a surprise menu, except that you were either serving the silent treatment or absolute war.

nat hated both, but the first option was worse. you wouldn’t even do so much as tell her what she did, so she couldn’t even apologize for whatever she did.

then, the screaming. the fighting. the random accusations. once the hormones wore off, you’d feel horrible — but in those moments, you didn’t care. all you knew was natasha did something inexcusable (she literally left an empty glass in the sink), and that was enough to set you off. explosive arguments over the most random stuff, usually ending in you first sobbing, and then cuddling nat because the guilt suddenly hit. your mood changed so quickly sometimes it actually gave her whiplash.

like, you’d threaten to gut her like a fish. you’d threaten her entire bloodline. and then you’d just suddenly get all sweet and loving and kiss her face, and nat had no choice but to sit there and accept the fact that, until this baby is born, she’ll have to endure this. (and she gladly did, even if she sometimes feared for her life)

[cairis-in-the-field]

Cairis grinned at Raz.

"Starving, actually - and, yes, please, a room to sleep in would be lovely. Thanks to you and Aeon both."

A Very Needed Break

It was one of those nights when Raz actually went out of his spaceship to a bar. Usually, he'd be waiting for a client or a contact, but not today. Today, he needed to get his mind off things for a while.

He paid for some drinks, and then searched the darkest corner and sat down on his coils, his wings pressed against the wall, observing the crowd as he drank.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 1

General Masterlist fratboy!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future. A/n: omggg my first series!!! i'm so so so excited for this one, i literally wrote this sooo fast cause i was soooo excited! i hope you all like this too! let me know any feedback you may have. Thanks to my one and only @eileenrry for being my designated proof reader 💖 Word count: 3.4k Warnings: This part has a lot of angst, and the series WILL HAVE smut, so +18 (not on this part tho). Mentions of alcohol, smoking, betrayal.

“Do you want to sit with me?” Said a soft voice, tiny, cutest at it’s best. Your tiny hands were clenched around the straps of your oversized backpack, and even though you were small too, everything around you felt impossibly big—the chairs, the poster boards on the wall, the toys lined up in the back of the room. You felt like the smallest, quietest flea. You weren’t the kind to make noise; you liked to keep to yourself, tucked safely behind your mother’s legs, where the world couldn’t quite reach you.

So when your parents sat you down and said you’d be moving to another city, the world tilted. Everything became a blur of cardboard boxes and goodbyes. You had to choose which plushies to keep, which ones to let go—and somehow, even at that age, you knew those choices mattered. You were so young, but you remember it like it was yesterday. Not just because it was the first time life ever truly scared you, but because it was also the beginning of something. Because that’s how you met Harry.

So when that tiny voice said, “Do you want to sit with me?” you turned your head and saw him—a curly-haired boy with big green eyes and lashes so long they looked like they’d been painted on. He was just looking at you, calm and curious. And all you could do was nod and take the empty seat beside him.

His table was a mess of color and chaos—crayons scattered everywhere, a pencil poorly sharpened on both ends, and an eraser that had once been white but was now stained with every color imaginable. His workbook lay open, half-filled with scribbles and drawings, and across the top in big, uneven letters, it read: Harry.

“Y/N,” you whispered, barely louder than a breath, unsure if he even heard you.

He glanced up, then gave a small nod and a crooked smile. He didn’t say anything, but it was enough. He seemed a little shy too—not as much as you, of course—but just enough to make you feel like maybe you weren’t alone.

🌷

Shy questions turned into giggles soon enough. It turned out you had more in common than you ever expected—both from different cities, both fans of mixing vanilla and strawberry ice cream, and both a little hopeless at math. It was the kind of quiet connection that didn’t need much explaining; it just was.

"Can you lend me the pink crayon?" he asked, eyes focused on the page in front of him, carefully coloring inside the lines of his workbook.

"No," you said, without hesitation.

He looked up, clearly offended. "Why not?"

You shrugged, holding the crayon a little closer. "Because it’s my favorite one."

He blinked at you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to be mad—then smiled like he’d just learned something important about you.

🌷 The class pictures from the early years of middle school began to pile up, slowly forming a little bundle alongside birthday snapshots and silly, candid moments. What once were debates over whether dolls were better than dinosaurs had turned into whispered promises of being best friends forever.

There was a problem with that. It was called high school—or maybe it was called hormones, or growing up, or feelings, or the chaos of social interactions. It was trying alcohol for the first time, coughing behind Harry’s house after taking a sip that burned too much. It was wheezing with laughter after trying a cigarette he somehow managed to swipe from an old lady at the bus stop.

There were countless school dances where the two of you showed up as best friends—even when a girl got the courage to ask Harry, and he politely turned her down. It was like a secret everyone knew, yet somehow, not fully spoken. Something unconfirmed, but undeniable. You two were untouchable in the eyes of the rest of the school—not in a popular, flashy way, but in a quiet, unbreakable one. No one ever teased you about being a couple, but, They knew. Harry knew.

You? You were a bit oblivious.

And then it happened—at a definitely not parent-supervised party—your first kiss. His first kiss. But not with each other.

"Y/N! Your turn!" called Aria —the redheaded girl who, after Harry, was the one you trusted most. She was the one you talked to about period stuff, what to wear, the latest makeup trends, and gossip about the newest hot celebrity.

You looked at the bottle spinning in front of you. Classic. You weren’t even sure why you agreed to join the game in the first place—but then again, most teenagers don’t really know why they say yes to things at parties. Especially when alcohol is disguised as “Just flavored water, Dad, I swear.”

The bottle spun in what felt like slow motion—maybe because of the flavored water in the red cup you were holding, or maybe because you were too busy scanning the circle, trying to figure out which of the guys would be the least awful choice for your first kiss. Of course, there was Harry—though at the time, you were completely oblivious to how nervous he looked. You wouldn’t have minded kissing him; actually, in the roulette spinning inside your head, he was your first choice. But not because you wanted to kiss him—more like, because you really didn’t want to kiss any of the others.

When the bottle finally stopped, the tip pointed at Phil. You gave a small, nervous smile. Not because it was Phil. Not even because it wasn’t Harry. Just because it was your first kiss. And as the group broke into a chorus of “oooh!”s, you leaned in and had it—your first kiss.

It was short. Dry. No spark. Just a kiss.

And kind of the same thing happened with Harry.

When it was his turn, the bottle also seemed to spin in slow motion—at least for you. Your brain kicked into the same overthinking mode, running through the roulette of girls he could possibly kiss. The only one you didn’t mind was Ivy—the shy new girl who was moving away soon, so it didn’t really matter in the long run. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until the bottle landed on her, and you exhaled quietly, telling yourself it was fine.

What you didn’t stop to question was why you’d been thinking all of that. Or why your chest felt tight and hot with jealousy when you watched Harry lean in and press his lips to Ivy’s.

It was quick. Innocent. But still, it stung.

After the kiss, Harry didn’t even glance at Ivy. He looked straight at you. And you looked right back, both of you smiling—soft, uncertain. No words needed. At this time it was like you both telepathically communicated. The OMG we just had our first kisses. It was written all over your faces.

As time passed and 10th year rolled around, everything seemed pretty normal between the two of you—or at least, you thought it was. Nothing about Harry felt off. Nothing seemed different. Until that one Math class.

"The next assignment will be in pairs. Choose and write your names on this list on your way out," the teacher announced. The classroom erupted in whispers and shifting chairs as everyone scanned the room for their ideal partner. But you didn’t even glance around—you didn’t need to. You and Harry were always partners. Always. It was just a given.

But then, you heard his voice beside you. Heard the sound of his finger tapping on Theo’s shoulder in front of him. And then the words that made your stomach twist.

"Do you want to be partners?" Harry asked.

Theo looked just as confused as you felt. He even glanced back at you for a second, like he was waiting for some kind of explanation. But you had nothing to offer—your face mirrored his.

"Uh… yeah?" Theo replied, hesitant.

"Perfect. I’ll text you after school," Harry said with a shrug, already moving on.

You sat there, mouth slightly open, heart racing with that slow, creeping sting of being blindsided.

"What was that?" you asked.

"What was what?" he said, feigning innocence—but you knew him too well. He knew exactly what he did.

"Why did you ask Theo? What about me?"

He shrugged again. "What about you?"

"What—Harry, we’re always partners."

"I know… it’s just..." He sighed. "We’re both kinda bad at math, and I figured I should pair with someone who can, you know… help me out a bit."

You stared at him. That wasn’t the truth. Not fully. You knew it. You felt it.

But the clock was ticking, and you didn’t have time to process it—let alone find a partner who wasn’t a complete disaster. So you swallowed it. The confusion. The hurt. The shift. And kept moving.

You tried to brush it off the first time. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Then he transferred to different classes entirely. Each time came with the same excuse: “I’m just trying new things.” You questioned him—of course you did. Over and over. But it was all nonsense. Every conversation either turned into a fight or ended with one of his hollow, careless excuses.

So you stopped. You decided not to waste any more time chasing someone who clearly didn’t want to be caught.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Him sitting at different tables during lunch? Level 1. Choosing other people for group assignments? Not answering your texts? Level 2. Taking a completely different route home just to avoid walking with you? Level 3. Laughing—no, giggling—like he was having the time of his life with people who weren’t you? Level 4.

There were tears. So many tears. And there were questions. A constant, suffocating loop of them. Was it something I said? Something I did? Was I a bad friend? But no answer ever came. Just more silence. And more tears.

You weren’t technically alone. You had other friends. But you didn’t have Harry. You didn’t have the one who could read you with a glance. The one who could sense your mood from just the tone of your “hello” in the morning. You didn’t have the one you wanted.

Harry wasn’t there anymore. Not for the 3 a.m. calls when you couldn’t sleep. Not to debrief the daily drama. Not to groan through math class or whisper jokes behind textbooks. And worst of all…As time passed, he wasn’t there for your first heartbreak. He wasn’t there for prom. He wasn’t there to hold your hand when you both tossed the graduation caps into the sky.

He was gone.

🌷

It wasn’t really a surprise when you both looked up and locked eyes in the same introductory group on the first day of college.

Neither of you had talked about which colleges you were applying to. Neither of you knew what the other wanted. Because by then, communication had been reduced to absolutely nothing—0%. Silence and space had taken over. So no, it wasn’t exactly shocking when you ended up in the same college. Same career path. Same group. Because the truth was—you’d always been similar.

You’d dreamed similar dreams. Wanted similar things. And no matter how hard you tried not to be, you were always pulled in by each other’s gravity. Even if you didn’t want to admit it. Even if you swore you were over it. Even if you told yourself it didn’t matter anymore.

There he was. Harry.

And suddenly, the air between you was thick with everything unspoken.

Either of you could’ve asked to transfer. Changed groups. Switched classes. Taken the easy way out.

But neither of you did.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the silent, mutual attempt to prove there was nothing left between you. That you were both mature enough. That you could handle being around each other. Just classmates. Just two people, casually coexisting in the same space.

But the truth?

The truth was that something deeper—something neither of you could name or admit—was keeping you both exactly where you were. You swore it was you just being mad but maybe there was a kind of magnetic pull that wasn’t strong enough to bring you together, but just strong enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t even tried to talk to him, or even look at him, always avoiding as much as you could, 

Your roommate, Juliet, noticed it from day one. The way your entire posture shifted when Harry entered the room. And of course, how you never actually looked at him, not for longer than a blink.

Juliet was bold, blunt, and had a talent for digging into things you weren’t ready to unearth.

“You two have history,” she said one night, cross-legged on her bed, spooning peanut butter out of the jar like it was therapy. “You don’t flinch like that for someone you barely know.”

You rolled your eyes. “We used to be friends. That’s all.” not even bothering to look up from the book in your hands

“Right,” she said, dragging the word out like it had a hundred letters. “And I ‘used to be’ a vegetarian”

She didn’t let it go. She was always trying to get you to talk to him. “Just say hi like a human,” she’d whisper. Or “What’s the worst that could happen? You explode?”

But she didn’t know the weight of it all. She didn’t know that silence between you and Harry wasn’t empty—it was loaded. History, hurt, heartbreak—all packed into every glance, every ignored moment.

Still, Juliet was relentless. And part of you—maybe the part that still remembered how it felt to laugh with him—was kind of glad she was. Beneath all that pain and being mad at it, there he was your Harry, your best friend.

You stopped going to college parties. At first, it was subtle. A few “maybe next time”s.A couple of “I have a headache”s. But Juliet caught on fast.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said one Friday night, standing in front of a mirror, fixing her hair while you curled up under your blanket like it was a shield. “You’re not going because of him, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because the idea of walking into a room and locking eyes with Harry—of pretending you didn’t notice each other, or worse, pretending you were fine—made your stomach twist.

“I just don’t want it to be awkward,” you muttered.

Juliet scoffed. “It’s college. Everything’s awkward. You think Harry’s out there dancing on tables and living his best life?” She paused. “He never goes either, you know.”

That made you sit up and frown “What?”

“I’ve literally never seen him at a single party. Not even the ones his friends throw,” she said. “You two are like magnets repelling each other, except you’re both convinced the other one wants nothing to do with you.”

You stayed quiet, but her words stuck. Because you hadn’t considered that maybe—just maybe—he was avoiding it too. Not because he didn’t want to see you… But because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Of course it was. He was Harry.

That realization didn’t make things easier. It just made your heart ache in a different way.

🌷

It was just another Thursday. Gray skies outside the window, students half-asleep in their chairs, laptops open but barely touched. You were already zoning out when Professor Merrick’s voice cut through the hum of the classroom.

“For your next assignment,” she said, tapping a stack of handouts on her desk, “you’ll be creating a personal narrative. Think of it as storytelling with a purpose—an exploration of the moments that have shaped you.”

You blinked. “What kind of moments?” someone asked from the back.

“Anything that’s changed you,” Merrick replied. “A loss. A revelation. A success story. A moment of heartbreak or clarity. Something real. Something raw.”

A collective groan passed through the room.

“And,” she added, lips twitching into the faintest smile, “you may do it solo, or… in pairs. Your choice. But if you choose to work with someone, the project must reflect both stories—how they intersect, mirror, or clash.”

You felt your stomach drop. This was the kind of assignment you hated. Not because you couldn’t do it, but because you could. You had too much material. And you knew exactly what your story would be… if you were brave enough to tell it. You didn’t look at Harry, who sat two rows across and one seat behind. But you could feel him. That weird awareness that never really went away.

Juliet leaned over, whispering, “You’re doing it solo, right?”

“Obviously,” you whispered back, already scribbling ideas down just to look busy.

But still, your heart thudded louder than before. Because even if you hadn’t looked at Harry, he had looked at you.

Professor Merrick began passing the handouts down each row, but you barely glanced at the paper when it reached your desk. The words blurred together—“personal narrative,” “emotional depth,” “authentic voice”—all sounding a little too close to home.

“As always,” she said, stepping back in front of the board, “I’ll be sending the full assignment details to your emails this evening. Requirements, due dates, guidelines—all there. This is not just about writing well. It’s about honesty. And trust me, I’ll know when it’s not real.” A low murmur rippled through the class again.

“You have until Monday to choose whether you’re working solo or with someone. If you pick a partner, let me know by then. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re flying solo.” She smiled faintly, but there was something knowing in her expression.  Like she enjoyed watching students squirm under the weight of their own unspoken stories.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped the floor as people stood up, stretching and groaning. You shoved the handout into your bag without a second glance.

Juliet nudged you as you walked out. “Maybe this is your sign.”

You frowned. “Sign for what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To tell the story you’ve been dying not to tell.”

You didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed your mind. And because behind you, Harry was still sitting at his desk, staring at the same sheet of paper you hadn’t read either.

🌷

Days later, you were curled up on your bed, laptop perched on your knees, the soft hum of lo-fi music playing from your phone. The Word document on your screen was still blank—just a blinking cursor mocking you, waiting for the first sentence that refused to come.

You had typed and deleted the same line four different times. Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right. Your story was too tangled. 

And then, like some cruel joke, your email pinged.

New Message: STORYTELLING PROJECT CLASS 305 — Personal Narrative From: Harry Styles To: Class 305

You stared at the subject line, confused. You hadn’t spoken in weeks—not even a polite nod in the hallway. Why would he be—

Then you clicked.

And everything shifted.

The message wasn’t meant for you. It wasn’t meant for the whole class. It was clearly written for one person—Noah. He was asking if Noah would be his partner, saying he didn’t want to do the project alone.

“I was thinking of writing about losing my best friend. Her name’s Y/N. She’s also in the class. I was in love with her. I never told her. I pushed her away because I thought if I kept my distance, the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. I made it worse, got out of my hands, I lost her anyway. But of course i can’t mention her name or make it too obvious it’s about her so i figured i could use a partner to help”

Your heart stopped. Again.

“Anyway, It was my fault. I thought I was protecting something, but I ended up breaking it. I don’t know if your story’s anything like that. Just figured I’d ask. Also, can I get your number?”

You sat frozen. For a second, your brain refused to process what your eyes had read. The story. The feelings. The name. Your name.

And then you realized it—he had clicked Reply All. You weren’t supposed to see this. No one in the class was supposed to see this.

You blinked, staring at your screen in disbelief, heart pounding loud in your chest. It was like someone had dropped a confession straight into your lap, and now you didn’t know what to do with it.Because the problem wasn’t that Harry had sent it everyone

The problem was…Everything in it was true. PART 2

Taglist: @hermionelove

[bigfatbreak]

I don’t know if you have answered this question before, but in your Dad villain au, what dream Gabriel and Emilie took from Natalie? Or is it an spoiler? Lov all your aus! I’m a big fan!

In short, Gabe and Emelie had been stringing Nathalie along as a third wheel for a WHILE, just for the sake of using her both for work and as an emotional crutch. All she wanted from them was an honest truth, and in the end, she wouldn't have minded being in an open relationship with them if they offered, but they only implied such a thing and always kept her in the dark. She would've even taken them having a full friendship-whatship breakup with her, but she wanted truth and communication, which they never gave.

By the time she started to come to her senses about how her two best friends were treating her, she felt like she was locked into a permanent situationship with them due to how much of her work history was reliant on their grace (if she quit and they hated it, which they would, she couldn't use the last 15+ years as a reference) and how hostile they would seem to get if she had any notion of dating. (Both of them are selfish about Nathalie, and won't hesitate throwing a "tantrum" of sorts if they discover she's with someone.) She felt as though she couldn't have a family or a lover, instead trapped by two extremely affluent people who could puppet her life on strings.

Then Adrien starts acting... different, and reliant on her, and asking for help from her, and there's something sort of wonderful about being an almost-mother to a boy who has parents - parents who are terrible at being parents, but obsess over BEING parents.

If they were going to ice her out of having a relationship, she's going to ice them out of raising their child. simple as that.

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bruce Wayne & His Kids, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne, Clark Kent Additional Tags: Crack, Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, very briefly, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Lazarus Pit (DCU), No Lazarus Pit Madness (DCU), Age Regression/De-Aging, POV Bruce Wayne, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), 5 Times, 5+1 Things, no beta we die like jason todd Summary:

"Fill in the Pit with lead, all the way up to the entrance. I don’t care how expensive it is.”

“It’s tiny, I mean, you could barely fit a grown man in it. Shouldn’t take more than a few trips.” Tim trails off, head tilting to the side again. “Hey B.”

“Yeah?” Bruce asks.

“How tall are you these days?”

or, five things Bruce loses when his family keeps dunking him in a Lazarus Pit, and one thing he gains.

[zevrra]

i know you're on a prof!jayce kick rn so i raise you prof!jayce punishing you for getting a bad grade on a test :3

AAAAAA UGHHHHHSKSHJDHJHSHJDHHUAA,,

so uh yeah,,,i had fun writing this ,,,

[prof!jayce x fem!reader / nsfw / mdni]

professor talis definitely had a few ways of punishing you for failing in his class. he had agreed upon being friends with benefits with only one real rule(other than don’t get caught); which was no failing.

it didn’t happen very often but when it did…well jayce was a little harsher than usual. the first time you failed an assignment, he kept you late after class; bent you over his knee and told you to redo the entire assignment. where he could watch over your work. and for every wrong answer, he spanked you.

his big hands skimmed down the small of your back, over the round of your ass, and between the plump of your thighs. trailing his fingers along the curve of your cunt, where he started with slowly rubbing circles along your panties. he teased you as he watched over your work, forcing you into desperation with the more he slipped his fingers against you. he listened closely to your answers while his eyes would skim over the answer key as you went, the first wrong answer he tore his hand away from your cunt and full palmed spanked you.

the pain blossomed beautifully; like a burning fire licking across your skin. it ripped a low groan from within your chest, body trembling at the punishment. when you correct the answer, professor talis returns to rubbing his fingers against your core. but when you get the next question right? his thick fingers slide your underwear to the side where he then pushes a single digit inside of you. he’s slow to thrust his finger in and out, curling it every so often, giving you just the tiniest bit of relief from the pain. but with the next wrong answer, he’d stop his fingering all together, retract his hand, and give you a harsher smack across your ass than last time.

and he does this for as long as it takes you to completely ace all of the homework. and by the end of it, you’re ass is certainly a pretty red for him to admire. your cunt dripping and drooling onto the thick of his thigh. the sight must’ve drove him wild because jayce kisses you then before fucking you rough against his desk; forcing you to promise not to fail again.

the second time you fail an assignment, jayce is the quiet kind of upset. where he probably considered calling off any further “engagements” between you two. yet instead, he keeps you late again after class. when the sky is dark and it’s just the two of you inside the campus; he slowly undoes the knot in his tie before slipping off the fabric altogether. turning it around and using it to tie your wrists together. he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up onto his forearms as he stands between your parted thighs, contemplating on what to do with you.

he retrieves a toy from within his desk, one you had put there in case of…emergencies. now instead of using it for some fun, it would be used as a punishment for yet another failed grade on your homework.

he refuses to touch you at all. only brushes the tip of the toy along your exposed skin. he begins with just teasing you. constantly circles around the edge of your underwear with the toy, touching everything except for what you truly wanted. but any begging that slips from your lips falls on deaf ears. he wasn’t listening or accepting a single word coming out of your mouth; not this time.

after some time of teasing you has passed, jayce finally removes your underwear and sets them off to the side. and you think maybe he’s going to give you some satisfaction, he had been teasing you for so long you needed something, anything. instead jayce slaps across your needy pussy. the pain tingles across your lower half, forces you to gasp and jerk against your restraints. you sob softly, expecting him to say something but he doesn’t; just stays quiet before returning to teasing you with the tip of the toy. and jayce uses the toy to edge you for what feels like hours. constantly smoothing the tip along your lower half, edging it slowly inside your aching cunt— just the tip— before drawing the toy back out. repeating the motion again and again until you’re practically dripping wet onto his desk. broken moans echo inside the room but jayce doesn’t want to hear it; the hand not holding the toy grabs your underwear he had slipped off of you early, using them now as a gag inside your own mouth.

big, beautiful hazel eyes stare directly into your own as he thrusts the toy fully inside of you. “this is punishment. you’re not to enjoy it.” jayce mutters softly, a sinister glint to his pretty eyes. he leaves you then, tied up, silenced, toy left deep within your aching pussy. he plans to go grab a “quick” coffee but leaves you in the open, hands tied up, with the order to not cum until he gets back.

and he leaves you alone for longer than he had teased you. an hour or maybe more goes by but it feels like an eternity to you and your drooling cunt. it was incredibly hard but you manage to keep your promise not to have an orgasm until he comes back, expecting a reward when he enters back into his lecture room with his cup of coffee. yet he still doesn’t allow you to cum upon his return. he instead removes the toy, tosses the throughly wet item inside the bag it came out of, planning to clean it at home, before he takes back his tie. slips off the fabric around your wrists and tosses his tie back into his bag as well before returning to stand between your thighs. and normally it would end with him bending you over his desk and fucking you into the wood but he doesn’t reward you like that tonight. failing this time leaves you high and dry and he makes that clear. “put your cute little panties back on and go home sweetheart. i will see you tomorrow.” he whispers as he takes out your gag, tossing your underwear into your lap.

and with that, he sends you home on the promise of; no more failing.

but the one time it failed for both of you— it was the first time you had flunked out on a quiz. professor talis was…not happy to say the least. he had this disappointing look to his eyes when he asked you to stay late to help him grade a few other tests from another class. and when the time came, he sits in his chair and places you into his lap, his belt undone and his underwear shoved down— with your panties yanked off to the side and his stiff cock buried deep inside of your cunt. a large hand grips your waist, forcing you to keep still.

a stack of seemingly endless tests is pushed off to the corner of his desk. the very first paper sits before you, barely touched as you sit with him throbbing deep inside of you. this was your punishment; to cockwarm him while staying completely still until you finished grading all of the tests. as if you could focus on anything other than just fucking him. you bite your bottom lip, gripping the pen he had given you for dear life as you attempt to mark wrong and right answers.

and after what feels like an eternity of him throbbing inside of you and you drooling down the entire length of his cock; you’ve managed to get maybe nine or ten papers graded. your thighs burn and your core aches. he sits so perfectly inside of you, shaping you, forming you into a little mold that would forever and always fit him. fuck if your entire body didn’t tremble with the raw feeling of just being full. with him so deep inside, concentrating on anything other than wanting jayce to move was incredibly hard.

but you didn’t have to want it for too long before jayce himself is breaking and bending his own rules.

his large hands slide up against the back of your thighs as he tucks your knees close into your chest. somehow, your body bends to his command— he stretches you out, reaches even deeper inside of you, stuffing his cock into every sensitive spot within you. he bites down into the crook of your neck, grunting against your skin. “can’t take it anymore.” he groans, gripping your skin hard enough to leave pretty bruises as his hips begin to move. he sways you with his momentum, using his grip on your thighs to jerk you upwards as his hips lift erratically to meet your body half way.

he fucks into you— unable to hold himself back anymore. it was almost nice to know you weren’t the only one who had been suffering the entire time but the thought didn’t help in the slightest at the moment. the sudden jerking of his hips had your mouth falling open with a silent scream. you were beyond sensitive right now, after being completely full and unmoving moments ago. could feel your pussy swell and you clench around him with a sob; jayce whines into your skin at how tight you squeeze around him. both of you succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure coursing through your veins.

it doesn’t take much stimulation before your orgasm is rushing up inside of you. your pussy clenches tighter around him, your entire body convulsing as you cum with him buried deep. you cry out his name, eyes fluttering with the threat of passing out from the sheer power of your sudden orgasm. somehow you stay awake though, luckily, just long enough to feel jayce reach his own orgasm. hips jerking as he fills you up completely. he cums deep inside, breeds you with a high whine of your own name rolling from his tongue. and he doesn’t stop until your pussy leaks and smears with his white cum, marking you as his.

when he finally stops moving, he unfolds you carefully, tenderly. rests your legs back down against his own, curls his arms around you and gently squeezes as he buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “you’re still in trouble.” jayce huffs in a quiet voice. as if he’s trying to convince you…and himself.

you didn’t want to fail or particularly liked it…but every once and awhile…it was very rewarding.

[dresshistorynerd]

this might be the silliest question you’ll be asked. As someone who enjoys period dramas and studied history (though not fashion) so notices inaccuracies like fasteners and availability of dyes etc, I nonetheless can dive into the world presented.

I notice the wearing of outerwear the most. In a program set in Regency England, in outdoor scenes, a) you rarely see more than a Spencer jacket or a cape, and b) in a group scene the coverage varies wildly from lady to lady. As if I was out walking with friend wearing a tank top while I had on a turtleneck and fleece vest.

I get costumes tell a lot about the characters but wouldn’t a person look daft and either cold or hot and out of place?

This is not silly! This is actually a very good question! Regency media is often very much confused and inconsistent about what was appropriate in the given situation to wear, but to be fair, it was actually very confusing.

I have seen a lot of people, and I have repeated this before as well, perpetuate the idea that Regency Era had the same concept of casual and formal wear - split to morning, day and evening wear, where the earlier in the day it was the more the dress covered. However, the Regency concept of casual/formal wear followed much closer to the previous era of 18th century. Instead of morning, day and evening wear they had undress, half dress and full dress, which had a bit to do with how much was covered but not much. They were much less formalized than the equivalent concepts of the socially rigid Victorian Era. Which also makes it much more confusing. Undress was usually worn at home or during morning walks and it had long sleeves. Usually it was a pelisse or dressing gown, or could be a simple round gown. Though most garments were not inherently undress, half dress of full dress, since it was much more relevant simple or flashy the garment in question was. A simple redingote could also be undress for cold morning walks. Hair was often covered in undress as well, usually with a cap, but this wasn't necessary for young unmarried ladies. Full dress was basically ball gown - so the most formal dress, short sleeves etc. - and there fore easiest to grasp. Though sometimes other occasions besides balls were as formal and then full dress would be used as well, but not all evening occasions were as formal as balls. Half dress is basically everything else and easily the most confusing and unclear category. Half dress could have short sleeves or long sleeves, used outdoors or indoors, used for less formal evening occasions and promenade walks and visiting casually a close friend and picnic and so on. Basically half dress was anything more formal than the casual home wear and less formal than the fancy ball gown. It was a collection of several different types of gowns really, but the reason they were in the same category was that there was no hard rules on how they should be worn.

At some point I'll make a post on the Regency casual/formal wear etiquette where I go deeper into this.

What specifically sort of half dress someone wore had more to do with age, marital status and weather than the specific occasion (though that could still matter as well), since most garments could be styled in multiple different usages especially by combining them with different garments. Married women and older women were expected to use more covering clothing, while younger women and girls could use less coverage even on a more casual occasion. So for example on a summer outing an older married woman might wear a long sleeved round gown or a light pelisse, while their unmarried daughter might wear a short sleeved gown. But these were not hard rules either. It was sort of closer to how etiquette works today, much more vibe based than rule based. Here's couple of examples from art depicting different scenes, where women are wearing quite different sort of half dresses.

The first one here is from 1815-1820. I'm not sure what the setting is for this harp playing, since the women seem to be wearing outdoor clothing (all are wearing bonnets and one of them is wearing a redingote), maybe they are playing outside? Anyway, the two ladies have short sleeved gowns, one of them has open neckline, the other a chemisette covering her neckline, while the third has a covering redingote.

First image here is a painting named "A young person hesitating to play the piano in front of her family" from 1805. Here's a casual gathering among family on a terrace, perhaps after the dinner (the sun seems to be setting), where the young lady is dressed in short sleeved gown, while presumably her mother and grandmother are dressed on gowns with longer sleeves and covered hair. The second image here is painting of three teenagers preparing to play music on a casual musical evening from c. 1810. The girls are roughly the same age, yet one of them is wearing long sleeves and covered neckline, while the other is not, demonstrating how there was no exact rules with half dress.

The first image below is an illustration "In a cafe" from 1810. The ladies are out, two of them are wearing short sleeved and decollete revealing dresses, while their third (likely married) friend is wearing long sleeves and covered hair and decollete. The second image is an illustration from 1814, and depicts a casual gathering where young people are playing party games. Again there's a mix of long and short sleeves.

So it would not be inherently inaccurate to have Regency women in a group wear garments of varying sleeve length, but Regency media very rarely does it in a way that follows the nuances of the Regency social norms, because it very much depended on the situation. For example no lady would wear long sleeves in a ball. I don't remember every scene but what I do remember of the 2020 Emma they do the whole etiquette really well. And of course Pride and Prejudice 1995 nails it. Still after trying to figure out the nuances of Regency etiquette myself and still quite not getting all of them, I'm much more understanding of movies and tv shows for fucking it up. It really is very hard to pin down. Not that it prevents me from getting annoyed by very obvious mistakes.

[xiaq]

Have you ever talked about LRPD’s title? Is it inspired by the Hozier song?

[wow this ended up being long]

Yes! Like Real People Do’s title came from the Hozier song.

To me, the song is about two traumatized people wishing they could love with the simple of ease of the “ordinary” and I know I’m not the only queer person to take that interpretation.

See, I knew intimately what it was like to look at someone and think I could love them, maybe, but also recognize that the process of finding out wouldn’t be simple purely because that person shared my gender.

I recall a pretty terrible moment of recognition when I was a teenager; being bisexual, I’d had a handful of crushes at that point. But when I had a crush on a boy, the scariest thing about it was if I flirted and he wasn’t interested. If he was, the rest was easy—dates and kisses and getting to know each other.

But with a girl, I wasn’t even sure what the scariest thing could be. There wasn’t just the risk of her not returning my interest. If she WAS interested, that would be far more dangerous. How would we maintain our relationship in secret? What if we were discovered? We’d certainly be kicked out of our very conservative private school. But would we also be kicked out of our homes? Would we be sent away to special schools or conversion therapy? Would our lives irrevocably be changed purely because we wanted to experience the simple teenage pleasure of falling in love?

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t we just kiss like real people do?

And even when I moved away from home and went to college, that fear [not to mention the boatload of religious trauma] followed me and colored my interactions as I cautiously started seeking out queer spaces.

The first time I heard the song, I had an almost visceral reaction to it—I was catapulted back to being a teenager struggling with this yearning that existed within me that I felt I could tell no one without cataclysmic risk.

When I wrote Like Real People Do in my early 20’s I was still very much grappling with that feeling and I put a lot of that yearning into Alex’s character. And while I’m not sure the book does justice to the title, I certainly thought the title encapsulated the excitement-tempered-by-fear vibe I was going for with Alex and Eli’s romance.

(I had another formative moment, many years later, after I moved to the Gayborhood in Dallas [mentioned in book 4!]. It was the opposite scenario, where I found myself waiting outside the S4 club, looking around at so many unapologetically queer people and feeling like I could kiss anyone I wanted on the street without fear. And god do I wish everyone felt that way all the fucking time.)

[unwilling-survivor]

Brows shot up at that voice, even if she stayed still. That… was not Simon. Well— it might be Simon, but it wasn’t Simon. Holy shit.

Sam stayed quiet for a moment, considering her words. She wanted to step forward, to press her eye to the closet door and try to peek out, but didn’t want to go clacking about.

Too many things to ask. Simon had made it clear he didn’t remember his time as the wolf, but did the wolf remember its time as Simon? “…Do you know me?” she asked carefully.

[into the wolf’s den >:} ft. @facesofthefog ]