#to have any margin for error

[pinkcadillaccas]

Just saw someone define chatgpt as the "most refined calculator" and that's literally... Not true like not to be a fan of maths or anything but sure it works fine 9/10 for arithmetic (so I've heard, never actually used it) but you're telling me that it's better than complex calculus calculators (either online or regular) designed for mathematical input with a special keyboard and designed to show you the working process because it has the actual mathematical formulas programmed in???? That's just not true!

[cowboyabunga]

do people know Al Gore lost the election not because people voted third party but because the supreme court literally interfered and told florida they couldnt recount votes or do ppl just have that big of a hard on for any excuse to vote for kamala

[miserye]

also everyone i drove my car for the first time in over a month and she was fine!!!!! no issues w anything tire pressure (or at least i didn't get a warning), battery, etc. it was beautiful and marvelous i love my car

[shimmershifts]

an open letter to those who have not yet shifted.

i don't know how many of you will see this, let alone how many will read it entirely. this letter is for those who have been trying to shift for two years, five years, more. those who cannot give up, and those who will not give up, and maybe even those who already have. to preface, this letter will not rehash everything you already know. you've scrolled every forum, you've seen every method, you've read every tip. you've trialed, and errored, and persevered... but you're still here. law of assumption, manifestation, belief, intention. but you're still here. you've been told all about shifting... right? you already know what shifting is... right? you should already know how to shift... right? but you're still here.

this letter is not intended to debase or invalidate those who do already believe in those things and who are satisfied with that. this is for those who have been trying that way for 2 years, 5 years, and more, and still haven't shifted. this is for those who might want an alternative perspective.

what you've been told

in my personal opinion, the online shifting community as it currently stands is very... rigid. narrow. there are a few dominant views, and then the many who drown out any possible dissent or disagreement. i do understand why this happens. reality shifting is already a marginal belief, hounded by anti-shifters and disbelieved and debunked on all sides, so it makes sense that people feel the instinct to close ranks at any sign of an outsider. unfortunately, this has led to a community that raises its hackles at even other reality shifters who simply don't believe the exact same way that you do. law of assumption. manifestation. intent. (and dare i say it, the multiverse.)

i don't believe in any of that, in the context of shifting.

now, wait! don't go yet, stay with me. it's okay if you do. i'm not intending to change the minds of those who already believe in these things. i'm not going to go at anyone and say "i'm right, you're wrong, and you must change your mind to agree with me!" that would be silly, and counterproductive. let's lower our guards, and extend an olive branch, please. if you feel these things serve your journey, then carry on. you're allowed to disagree with me, i won't be upset. you're allowed to think i'm wrong, if you want. literally no worries at all.

but i am a little tired frankly of certain ideas being treated as the only options, and often in a rude or hostile manner. if you are someone who has spent five years trying to shift, and you see yet another post that boils down to "all you have to do is want it hard enough" does that not hurt your soul? the following sections of this post are for those who these ideas have not been working for. for those who have not yet shifted. it's been two years. five years. more. and you're still here. are you open to another possibility?

what is reality shifting?

i've told you what i don't believe, but what about what i do? i'll try to keep this as concise as possible for the sake of brevity and comprehension, knowing i could potentially clarify in future posts. but please continue with the understanding that im a chronic overexplainer, and my curse is the fact that the extra words don't always actually increase understanding. bear with me.

reality shifting: broadly speaking, this refers to shifting your linear experience of reality from one, to another. this has been known by many other names in the past, across continents and cultures, even in pre-agriculture societies. i'd include ideas like persistent realms, quantum jumping, focus 21, etc. language is subjective, and people may describe or understand the same experience in different ways.

i believe reality shifting is a haphazard side effect of our limited ability to perceive and comprehend reality. let me explain. space, as we understand it, is three dimensional. but reality isn't. it's our bodies and minds limiting our perception and understanding that makes all of reality seem that way to us at surface level.

1D: let's consider a hypothetical one dimensional existence. everything would a straight line, and the only way to perceive anything else would be as a single point directly in front or directly behind you. forwards and backward. the 2D and 3D are beyond your limited ability to physically sense or feel, let alone to comprehend. Forget about the 4D (time). due to your lack of comprehension, you cannot move at will in two dimensional planes, let alone three dimensional space or even time. you are static, a single point.

2D: let's consider a hypothetical two dimensional existence. it would be a flat, infinite planar expanse. you might be a square, or a circle. you can move freely in two dimensional directions (forward, backwards, side to side), but not in the 3D. No up, no down. If you tried to perceive a three dimensional object, you would only be able to comprehend it as linear, a line on the horizon where it intersects your 2 dimensional plane. you would perceive the 3D as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it. the 4D, or time, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

3D: what about our three dimensional existence? congratulations, you now are a form, such as a sphere, or a cube. you can move freely in a voluminous, infinite three dimensional space. Forward, backwards, side to side, up, and down. if you *try* to perceive the fourth dimension (time), you can only comprehend it as linear, a line where it intersects your 3 dimensional space. You perceive it as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it yourself. any dimensions higher than that, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

quick 4D sidebar: clearing this one up now because this will confuse some of you who are involved in other communities. in many law of assumption and manifestation communities, "4D" has been used to refer to your imagination, inner world, a bridge to "higher vibrational states", etc. i don't use it that way. i use it in the sense of the mathematical concept, or linking three-dimensional space with time. 4D=time.

4D and 5D: so, time is the fourth dimension. that means it is four dimensional, yet due to our limitations as 3D creatures, we can only perceive it as linear. we perceive it as moving around us, without our direction, forwards, (or backwards in some cultures). what about the 5th dimension? the static one? the one we can only perceive one point of at a time? let's call this 5th dimension... reality. due to our limited perception, it may not seem like it, but time and reality are just like space in that all of it exists at once. if you were a 5th dimensional creature, you wouldn't see a bunch of different realities, you'd just see one the way we just see one 3D universe around us right now.

tip: think of it this way, if a three dimensional creature moving through time is only able to perceive it linearly, it may think that each point of time exists separately, passing by in chronological order. this would be like a character in a book, the character experiences each page one at a time as we turn the page. but we know that actually, the entire book exists all at the same time, and already did exist before we picked it up and started reading it, and continues to exist even when we set it down. the same is true of time, and reality. even if we perceive it as linear, or a point, all of it actually exists simultaneously, like space.

still, we can only perceive one point of reality at a time. i believe when we reality shift, we are by some freak of nature (or nurture) finding a way to trigger a "movement" in this "5th dimension," and therefor shifting our linear experience of time and our singular perceptual experience of one reality to another. ("movement" is a bit of an abstraction here, as movement generally refers to 3D space. you're not actually moving anywhere, you're already there, you just... can't see it at the same time as this.)

ok, so how the heavens do i shift?

if you read through all of the above, i assume that's what you're asking by now. "get to the point shimmer! how do i shift?" if you don't need intention, belief, assumption, manifestation, three gallons of water, crystals, or anything else then what do you need to shift?

if we boil shifting down to its absolute core, all you need to do in order to shift is to shift. (put down the pitch forks, and the flaming feathers and tar. i'll elaborate.)

shifting involves finding a way for us 3 dimensional creatures to trigger a shift in a dimensional direction that we do not have the capacity to perceive. so what i mean by "all you have to do to shift, is to shift" is that there is no physical movement, or secret password we can whisper that makes us shift, not inherently. it's sort of like being told to find your invisible and non corporeal primordial tail, and then swish it in a direction that doesn't spatially exist. find your "move in the 5D button", and then press it. except, there is no button.

so how do we "move" from one point of reality to the other? well, the first clue to this is in noticing what part of us is actually doing the "moving".

you don't make it happen with your three dimensional form. there is no body part or mass or motor function in your 3D body that triggers a shift. there's nothing that allows a three dimensional form to move in five dimensional directions... you just can't. your body stays here. that's good news actually, in my opinion. there is no need to force yourself into strange bodily positions, or chug water, or whatever else. your 3D body is irrelevant, because it's not going anywhere. you don't have to do anything with your body to shift. some people can shift awake, asleep, in the shower, walking around, etc.

you also don't necessarily do it with the fourth dimension, time. there is no specific amount of time that you'll shift after. it might seem you've spent a lot of time trying to shift, but the actual shift itself is instantaneous. some people shift their first try, and some of you might be on your second decade of attempts. again, the time factor being irrelevant is good news because this means it doesn't have to take time.

i also don't think we do it with just intent or belief. the intention word gets used so much it basically means nothing, but the general idea is that intent is the driving force that manifests your desired outcome. in the context of shifting, people use it like "set your intention to shift, and you will" or "intent makes you shift." or the dreaded "you just have to believe harder." personally, i don't think that's true. i don't think intention makes you shift. if it did, you all would have shifted by now, right? i think looking anyone who's been trying to shift for 4 years dead in the eye and telling them they just haven't intended to shift yet is honestly a bit cruel and unusual. some people who intend to shift will shift, but in my opinion, its a case of correlation, and not causation. there are also people who shift without intending to, or who intend to shift but don't.

it's also not really our thoughts that shift. or our mind as a concept, or our entire self. we know this because you don't turn into a comatose vegetable when you shift to a different reality. your thoughts, mind, and self here are unaffected by your awareness shifting away from it. if you successfully "permashifted" to hogwarts tonight, your self here would still wake up in the morning and go to work.

so what does shift? only our linear experience of our own awareness. so in order to reality shift, we just need to find a way to trigger our awareness to shift from one point of reality to another in a non linear fashion, and then integrate that into our linear experience. aha! you think. great! now how do i do that...? unfortunately, this is not an exact science (yet.) once you begin shifting regularly, i think it gets "easier" in some regards because you get a sense for how your awareness "feels" and what works for you. for those who haven't shifted, i can't say "take three deep breaths and recite the secret words, and then you'll shift." there is nothing specific you can physically do that will for certain make you shift. there's no secret passwords.

there is no key to shifting. the good news is, this means there is also no lock.

what we can do is get ourselves primed, into a state that increases the chances our awareness is triggered to shift. ie, find the "move in the 5D" button, (you know, the one that doesn't exist) and learn how to press it. and because it is our awareness that shifts, my "methods" have to do with priming your awareness for shifting. you don't need to believe, which is a good thing because it means doubts won't hold you back. you don't necessarily need to intend, which is a good thing because it means there are no secret blockages in your way. no "subconscious", no "reprogramming", no "delusion is the solution." you don't need any of that. you also don't have to do anything specific with your body or space unless you feel like it and want to. you don't need a script, but you can make one if you want. it's whatever, it's irrelevant darling, it's non-consequential.

these three methods below basically encompass all shifting methods out there. i might expand on techniques for these methods later, but for now i'll go over the basics.

method one: pure awareness

it basically boils down to two steps. get into a state of pure awareness, and then shift.

the first step for this method is actually a simple one, sort of, but i think it's unkind to call it easy. it can be easy, if you just happen to have a perfect technique that works for you on your first try. if so, congrats! if not, don't despair. it comes more naturally to some than others, at first. you can probably build the skills and try different techniques necessary for you to get there.

but what is pure awareness? it's currently very often being called "the void state", but i'm not using that term for a few reasons. one, i think using the term "the void state" or calling it "the void" is making people think it's some sort of place that they're trying to go. it's not. it's not a physical place at all, and that's kind of the point. most of the time, your awareness is perceiving reality through the confines concept of 3D reality, because that's the data input it's receiving from your brain and body. that grounds you in this reality, and allows you to go about your day to day life. your goal with the pure awareness method is to focus on just your awareness, absent of all 3D distraction data and input. that way, your awareness is primed to be triggered to shift its focus to the 3D perception of a different point of reality when you come out of that state.

i might make a post about techniques for getting into the state of pure awareness, but this post is already long enough.

method two: destabilization of awareness

this method gets over complicated, but it basically boils down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift.

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, "symptoms", and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift.

method three: absence of awareness

sleep method gang, rise up. i'm serious. this method involves reducing your awareness to zero, or as close to it as possible, another potentially prime state to trigger a shift. (and by sleep method, i don't mean lucid dreamers or SATS, i mean simply going to sleep here, having a period of complete unawareness, like totally dreamless sleep, and then waking up in your DR.)

this absence of awareness during sleep is (in my experience) the most common cause of accidental or unintentional shifts, but you might be one of those who can trigger a shift to desired realities with this too.

sleeping is not the only way to get to the state of the lack of awareness. i'd say total distraction methods also count for this. you're not asleep, your body is awake, but you're so "zoned out" (or alternatively in a meditative state such that) you're absolutely not aware of the 3D experience of this point of reality anymore.

this is completely different from the state of pure awareness by the way, because in the state of pure awareness you are aware. like, in pure awareness you have a full train of thought and total control. the absence of awareness is the opposite. it feels sort of like a "blip" where reality time and space passed you by and you were not aware of it.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Level 7: I don't know shit fuck about Linguistics as a science but I use words all the time and keep mixing these two words up because they're shaped too similar so I'm going to start using new terms that sound both different enough and right and by accident, the arbitrarily chosen new terms ARE true cognates .

Level 1: I didn't assume that these two words with similar spellings and related meanings share a common origin because I don't think about things like that.

Level 2: I'm completely certain these two words with similar spellings and related meanings share a common origin because it's fucking obvious just from looking at them, you absolute simpleton.

Level 3: I didn't assume that these two words with similar spellings and related meanings share a common origin because I know what a false cognate is.

[official-virtual-hug-dealer]

People of Tumblr, tell me if I'm crazy or entitled or whatever here, but is it not expected that when a teacher proposes a solution to a minor problem, they should warn you if that solution comes with a penalty???

(explanation/mild rant in tags)

[leupagus]

Tuesday's House Budget Vote and what you may not have heard about

I'm reposting this from a reblog of a really great post about the work that Representatives Mullin and Pettersen did in voting against the GOP budget on February 25th, because I don't want to detract from that message.

Instead, I want to talk about the larger implications of H. Con. Res. 14 itself, and why the Democrats risked so much (in Mullin's and Pettersen's cases, actual harm) in order to show up for this vote.

The vote in question is starting the first of quite a few votes for the upcoming GOP budget; it's not a done deal by any means, this was just the vote to get it started, so to speak. But it was still a very, very, VERY important vote, because not only would failure be catastrophic, but so would a win that just barely squeaked by.

And this one squeaked like a fucking mouse in Murray's Cheese Shop.

Speaker Johnson has been waffling on putting this to a vote because there were several outspoken GOP members who talked a big game about opposing it. Usually this doesn't matter, since most bills get some bipartisanship, but at present the House is in GOP hands with only a three-member margin of error, with two seats vacant (note: those two vacancies are FL 1 and 6, which are holding their special elections on April 1 — lol — and which are EXTREMELY unlikely to flip but hey miracles happen! Donate or phonebank if you'd like!). And Democratic representatives have been voting in a bloc against...well pretty much everything the GOP's been pushing through since Trump took office. Not only that, but this budget is legit unpopular with a number of Republicans, so much so that Johnson pulled the vote at first on Tuesday because he knew it would fail if the GOP members who'd threatened to vote against it actually went through with it. What he needed was to either convince them all to fall in line, or resort to cheating.

So he did both!

He and Trump strongarmed all but one of the GOP holdouts into voting yes (Congressman Massie is in many ways a turd in a toilet, and his reasons for voting no were bad, but he did stick to his guns, I'll give him that). Reports of Trump actually screaming at one of the (female, naturally) GOP holdouts are...well, unsurprising, but that's how panicked they were about getting this bill started. Usually the Whip does this work, but Tom Emmer's been laughably bad at it and so they had to get Trump to actually do some work. Which is itself sort of astonishing. But even then, they weren't sure they could get it done.

Which leads us to part two of Johnson's plan: blatant cheating. During Pelosi's last session as Speaker, she allowed for proxy voting in light of COVID and, you know, the general state of things, but the second the GOP got back the gavel they nixed it right in the bud. This puts the Dems at a disadvantage right now because at least three of them are out for medical reasons — Mullin and Pettersen, as well as Congressman Raúl Grijalva who's fighting cancer at present. (He was the only Democrat who couldn't get to the floor for this vote, fwiw, and anyone who insists he should've can suck my left tit.)

So Johnson adjourned the House for the evening, sending everyone home, but told the GOP members to stay and then tried to rush through the vote before the Dems realized what was happening. His hope was that enough Dems would be caught flat-footed/not see the recall notice/be asleep watching Taskmaster (whoops that was me) by the time they got the message to get back to the floor. That way he could lose the holdouts but still pass the budget onto the next phase.

However! While Nancy Pelosi no longer rules the Democratic caucus with her iron fist and fabulous coats, my man Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries learned quite a lot from her (and is pretty fucking genius himself). Not only did he and the other House leadership expect this kind of chicanery from Johnson, they had planned on it.

Because here's the thing: Mullin and Pettersen didn't get on a plane at the last minute on Tuesday; they'd gotten to DC on Monday, without telling anyone they were in town. They actually hid from the GOP members all day Tuesday in order to lull Johnson into thinking he had more of a margin than he did; if the GOP holdouts really had voted against the budget, then it would've failed. Which would have been a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump.

As it is, it's still a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump, because now they know just how razor-thin their margin is. More importantly, they also now know that the Dems will fuck with them just as much (if not more) as they will fuck with Dems. Congress (and the USA in general) has operated for years on the assumption that Democrats operate in good faith, while taking it for granted that of course the GOP ratfuck as much as humanly possible.

This moment is a chilling one for the GOP; they can't assume anymore that Dems will play fair or fight clean. Which seems like a very small thing in the larger picture right now, I know, and I also know that people would love for their Democratic representatives and senators to be more vocal and angry in public ways. I get that!

But this move on Tuesday night? Is actually going to have far bigger consequences than any meme or viral video or clever soundbite from a politician. Democrats are no longer playing by the rules that the GOP's ignored for years (if not decades); they're playing by the GOP's own rules, and they just might win.

[earthtooz]

jealous ratio because i really like him like that, fluff, reader is a menace

“who gave you those flowers?” 

ratio’s voice is demanding and snarky, eyes ablaze with a similar kind of disgust when you walk into your home with a bouquet in your arms. putting your keys on the counter, you greet him with your usual smile and prance over to place a kiss on his scowling expression.

which softens momentarily at the feel of your lips on his skin.

“hi, veritas,” you greet.

“welcome home, love,” he murmurs in return, smiling when looking at you, but the scowl returns when he makes eye contact with the flowers. “who gave you these?”

“aventurine did.”

the world freezes over with ratio’s silent rage and you’re the only one untouched despite being the catalyst. searching for a vase nearby, you’re more than content to let his possessiveness simmer, in fact, it’s something you are used to now.

when you manage to dig up an empty vase from a cabinet nearby, ratio’s footsteps scurry towards you.

“you’re keeping them?” he asks.

“why wouldn’t i? they’re a gift.”

“a gift? 

he’s fuming, absolutely fuming now as he watches you fret over the bouquet, trimming the ends, putting water in the bot, arranging them to look nice and lovely, all whilst your lover stared at you hawkishly. you pretend not to notice the way his eye twitches occasionally, allowing him to watch you work.

his mind must be working at a million thoughts per second, so you’ll just let him be until he can talk to you again.

“why did he give you flowers? there must be an occasion that i am unaware of.”

after finishing your final touches, you turn around with all the garbage in your hands and walk past the scholar. he follows. “to say thanks. he recently consulted me for one of his projects and the results were fruitful, so he bought me a bouquet in gratitude.” 

pink roses. last time ratio read, they were supposed to symbolise gratitude, the ideal choice to send to someone who has helped you. 

“well. if that’s the case then he owes me a planet’s worth of flowers.”

“lighten up, veritas, he was just being friendly.”

“friendly?” he all but snaps. 

“yes, friendly. is there an issue with that?” 

“that gambler being friendly implies to him being up to no good.” he attaches himself to your hip, hovering over you as you make a mug of coffee. “he is a menace, an undesirable anomaly, a type one error, i advise you keep your interactions with him limited. only one of us should need to deal with his antics so i suppose i’ll have to bite the bullet on this one, darling.”

“you are so brave, my hero. are you done? anymore talk about aventurine and i might just think you’re in love with him.” ratio splutters at your wild accusations, missing the way you smile under your breath. then, you throw your arms around the scholar and he doesn’t return the embrace, still dumbfounded. “i missed you and the first thing you do when i come home is talk about another man.”

he scoffs, lifting you up onto the kitchen counter. there, he rests his hands on either sides of the counter beside you. “your mouth is twice as foul as his.”

“and yet you still love me.”

“marginally.”

“you!”

tomorrow, you return home to a luxurious bouquet of red roses sitting on the kitchen island.

i'm writing this as a pregame to the diluc fic i have in the works.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[annoyingalchemist]

Does anybody have some good resources on current theories about the colonization of the Americas? Like, not the European one, the native American one- it's very frustrating trying to look into it when almost every source either says something like "Native Americans got here by the land bridge like 5 minutes ago and were essentially in cultural and technological stasis until like 3 seconds before Europeans got here", a blatantly offensive and discredited theory, they're going to at least cite people who called native Americans savages.

Or like, "Native Americans have been here the whole time, actually, and you're racist for wanting a more in depth explanation of that" which end up actually citing more recent and credible evidence but uses it to argue for bizzare and problematic conclusions (if Native Americans were here before ~50k years ago they'd have to be a different species) and usually mentions something about natives being innately superior to Europeans (they're going to repeat the myth that Europeans didn't know about bathing at the very least).

So I'd love something that actually explains what the current consensus among archeologists is without being so biased that I actually end up less sure that anything I agree with them on is true.

[haeiheart]

LEE DONGHYUCK | NOT A BIG DEAL

LEE DONGHYUCK

SUMMARY: You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. Best friends who stick together through every minor inconvenience, every 2 AM fast-food run, and especially every party. Their little deal? If they’re both single and drunk at a party, they make out for a good time and purely to avoid awkward hookups with strangers. No feelings, no complications. It’s a good deal no? But when a new guy, Jeno, enters y/n life just like that. They both feel that for the first time, their “not a big deal” deal feels like it might’ve always been something bigger.

GENRE: friends to lovers - kind of fwb hyuckyn - jealous avoidant hyuck! - sweet jeno - minimal angst - slight reader x jeno.

NOTES: first time releasing a full written fic… bye im scared pls be kind (◞‸◟；) also first time making a header? design?? hehehehe. I hope you guys enjoy this though, i personally enjoyed written it so i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed making it for you guys!! :3 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY IF THERES ANY ERRORS >_<

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

BEFORE THE PARTY

You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. The best of friends. The kind who finish each other’s sentences, send texts at the exact same time, and know each other’s go-to orders at every café on campus. It’s always been easy with hyuck. You don’t overthink things with him.

That’s why your little pact made perfect sense.

“If we’re both single, and we’re both at a party, and we’re both drunk, we find each other.”

It wasn’t some deep, life changing agreement. It was just a way to keep each other from making bad decisions with strangers. A safety net, nothing more. It always worked. Every single time. It was the perfect deal after all, you both get the pleasure needed in a fun night out. No commitment, no feelings.

Until tonight. But let’s rewind back a couple of weeks.

The day you met Lee Jeno.

3 WEEKS AGO @NCU CAMPUS

College life has always been a blur of assignments, late-night food runs, and whatever chaos Hyuck drags you into. Between classes and parties, your days feel like a well-balanced mix of stress and fun. Thank goodness you had your best friend to keep you sane right?

You first met Jeno during an elective course, one of those random classes you picked to fill credits unfortunately. He was the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but somehow made every conversation feel important. You sat next to him out of convenience, and it wasn’t until the next few classes that you really spoke to him, which was currently right now.

“Do you always write your notes like that?” he had asked, glancing at your mess of shorthand scribbles and little doodles in the margins. You could tell he wanted to laugh at it.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”

He grinned. “It’s interesting. You do know this is a literature class, right? Because your notes look more like a doodle coloring book for toddlers my baby brother's age rather than actual notes.”

You snorted. “Well, you look like you should be in an engineering class, not here.”

“I was forced to take a humanities elective,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad. I like the class.”

“Because of the material or because of me?” you teased, raising a brow.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Jeno slipped into your life.

The thing about him was that he never tried too hard, he didn’t force his presence, didn’t demand attention the way Hyuck did. He was just… there. Reliable. Easy to talk to. It was easy to get hooked on a guy like Jeno.

You started walking out of class together, grabbing coffee before your next lectures. You studied together, shared snacks, exchanged casual texts that eventually turned into daily check-ins. Somewhere along the way, you got comfortable with him. But it wasn’t until one particular afternoon that you noticed something else.

OPEN FIELD STUDY AREA @NCU CAMPUS

It was another dreadful afternoon, pilled with assignments you swore just appeared in front of your face. You and Jeno were sitting outside on campus, reviewing notes. Though half the time you guys were mostly making corny jokes and laughing at shared interests. That was until Hyuck showed up unannounced, like he always did, dropping himself onto the bench next to you with a dramatic sigh.

“What’s up, losers?” he greeted, snatching one of your fries before you could react, looking as happy as always to mess with your little head.

You rolled your eyes as a faint smile appears on your face. It’s been awhile since you saw him. “Hyuck, this is a study session. You know, where people focus?”

“Sounds lame,” he deadpanned, then turned to Jeno. “So, how do you put up with this one?”

Jeno smirked. “I think she puts up with me.”

Hyuck’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight pause—the way his fingers drummed against his knee a little too fast, the way his jaw tightened for just a second. It was so quick that you almost missed it. Almost.

But then, as fast as it came, it was gone. Hyuck smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Well, good luck, man. She’s a handful.” You smacked his arm, rolling your eyes again, but the feeling lingered. Hyuck only stuck around for a short while and you never questioned it, but the odd part was he was too quick to leave the setting as well. Feeling lost as he suddenly got up and fled the scene after saying his byes and ruffling your hair.

After that, things felt… different. Not drastically. Not in a way you could point to and say, this is where everything changed. But the subtle things. Like how Hyuck stopped crashing your study sessions with Jeno as often. How he’d make jokes about you “ditching” him but never say it outright. How he seemed to drink more at parties, getting reckless in a way that made you worry.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, buried beneath layers of laughter and banter. And maybe you noticed it too late.

@NEOCAFE - 127 DISTRICT

Hyuck doesn’t text first anymore.

That’s the first thing you notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, you’ve been busy anyway. School, assignments, late-night study sessions with Jeno. But the silence sits in your chest like a weight, pressing down heavier each day. You truly did miss your best friend, nobody else was as much of a dork loser like he was.

You still see him around. In class, at parties, in the spaces you used to share. But it’s different now.

No more texts that say where are you? when you take too long to respond. No more arms slung over your shoulder as he drags you out of the library for a “much-needed” break. No more late-night walks, just because neither of you wanted to go home yet. God you truly did miss lee donghyuck.

The worst part? You know it’s your fault. You were the one who stopped looking for him first. You were the one who let the space between you grow. And now, you don’t know how to close it.

Jeno Notices “You’ve been quiet lately.” Jeno’s voice is gentle, his eyes scanning your face as you stare blankly at your untouched coffee. It’s the third time he’s caught you zoning out in the past hour and he was getting worried.

You blink, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the way he tilts his head, studying you. “It’s about Hyuck, isn’t it?” The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You exhale, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just nods, as if he already knew. And maybe he did. Maybe everyone did. You’ve spent so much time pretending things are fine that you almost forgot Jeno sees right through you.

So when he reaches out, fingers brushing over yours, you don’t pull away. Infact you allow yourself to get embraced by his comfort. Was Jeno’s comfort what you needed all this time?

@YOUR APARTMENT

The thing about Jeno is that he never rushes anything.

Not his words, not his movements, nothing. He lets things happen as they are, as if he trusts time to work things out on its own. Which is probably why being around him feels so easy, you always had a smile on your face when you were with him.

Like now, for example. You’re both sitting on the floor of your dorm, backs against the couch, a half-empty bag of chips between you. You’ve been talking for what feels like hours—about everything and nothing all at once.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeno says, holding up a hand to stop you mid-story, his eyes already crinkling in amusement. “You mean to tell me you climbed a tree to save a cat, but then got stuck yourself?”

You groan, covering your face. “Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no, I need to process this.” He grins, resting his chin on his palm. “How long were you up there?”

“Like… twenty minutes?” you mumble, cheeks burning from embarrassment clearly…

Jeno loses it. He tilts his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake. You gotta admit that laugh of his does wonders to girls. He was a real catch. A once in a lifetime cutie, you should consider yourself lucky to have him around right?

You huff, crossing your arms. “Are you done?”

He wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh man. I- yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.” He snickers again. “Twenty minutes. Amazing.”

You try to glare at him, but his laugh is infectious, and soon enough, you’re giggling too.

Jeno turns to look at you, a soft smile lingering on his lips. “Y’know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’re always talking about Hyuck or your friends, but I like hearing about you.” He leans against the couch, watching you. “Your dumb little childhood stories. Your love for cats. Your terrible decision-making skills.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I might.”

Jeno tilts his head, studying you for a second. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, but Jeno has always been good at seeing through people. So you exhale, looking down at your hands.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just feel… lost.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just shifts a little closer, his knee bumping against yours. You don’t realize how much you needed that until it happens.

“I get that,” he finally says. “Sometimes it feels like you’re walking through fog, and you don’t know where you’re going. But…” He nudges you lightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, warm and genuine. “I’m here.” You don’t know what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the way his voice is so steady, so sure. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re important. But before you can overthink it, you lean in.

Jeno’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips quirk up in amusement.

“You’re not about to kiss me mid-existential crisis, are you?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Shut up.”

But he’s still grinning when he finally closes the distance. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first. But then you feel him smile against your lips, and suddenly, it’s all laughter and warmth and the taste of leftover chips.

You break apart for air, and Jeno chuckles. “That was—”

You groan, covering your face. “Don’t say it.”

“— surprisingly nice for two people who just ate sour cream and onion chips.”

You swat at him, laughing. “You ruined it.”

He catches your wrist, grinning. “Nah. That made it better.”

You shake your head, still breathless, still here. Jeno doesn’t fail to make your day once again, as he leans in, continuing where you both had left off as if it was almost natural.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel so lost.

PRESENT TIME

And this is how your weeks have been spent. With Lee Jeno. Full of kisses, laughter, playfulness, and comfort. Jeno arrives with an armful of snacks, two sodas balanced precariously on top. “Alright, before we do anything, I have to ask…why do you have like, seven different cat towers in your apartment? Are they that spoiled?” as he takes in his surroundings once again.

You shut the door behind him and scoff. “Excuse you, my children deserve the best.”

Jeno grins, setting the snacks down. “How many do you have again?”

“Three.” You sigh dramatically. “But honestly, I think my oldest cat hates me.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“Because I accidentally stepped on her tail when she was a kitten, and she’s never forgiven me.” You flop onto the couch, pouting. “Now every time I call her, she looks at me like I owe her child support.” Jeno bursts out laughing, nearly knocking over the bag of chips. “That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Oh, shut up. You’ve definitely done worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Doubt it.”

“Oh really? What’s the dumbest injury you’ve ever had?”

He thinks for a moment before admitting, “I once tried to jump over my couch but tripped, hit my head on the armrest, and passed out.”

You gasp. “Wait—like, fully unconscious?”

“Yup.” He sighs. “Woke up two minutes later to my mom yelling at me for being stupid.”

You’re already laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “Okay, okay, once, when I was seven, I thought I could ride my bike down the biggest hill in my neighborhood with my eyes closed.”

Jeno’s eyes widen. “No. No.”

“Yes,” you wheeze. “Flew straight into a bush. My mom had to pull twigs out of my hair for an hour.”

He practically collapses against the couch, laughing until his shoulders shake. “You’re actually crazy as a kid.”

“Thank you,” you say proudly.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Jeno leans back, staring at the ceiling. “You know, I never really asked—but what was Hyuck like when you were kids?”

You hesitate, but the memories come easily. “Chaotic. Loud. Got us into trouble, like, every other day. He would drag me into the most ridiculous situations and it wasn’t even my fault.”

Jeno smirks. “Sounds about right.”

You smile softly. “One time, we thought we could build a pillow fort. We barely even got the first pillow up before the entire thing collapsed and we both fell.”

He laughs. “Did you get hurt?”

“Surprisingly, no. But Hyuck cried for a full hour because he swore it was sabotage.”

Jeno shakes his head, amused. “He hasn’t changed at all, has he?”

“Nope.” You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He’s always been… Hyuck.”

There’s a pause, but Jeno doesn’t push. He just watches you, waiting.

You clear your throat. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He hums, tapping his chin. “Alright. You know how everyone thinks I’m all sporty and serious?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” He leans in like he’s about to share a top-secret confession. “I used to write fanfiction.”

You choke on your drink. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” He sighs dramatically. “It was about superheroes.”

“What kind? Marvel? DC?”

“Neither. Completely original characters. I had a whole series.”

You clutch your stomach from laughing so hard. “Jeno. Are you telling me you were a self-insert superhero fanfic writer?”

He groans, covering his face. “Look, I was twelve—”

“NO, THIS IS AMAZING.” You grab his arm. “Did you give yourself powers? A tragic backstory?”

He peeks at you between his fingers. “…Both.”

You collapse into the couch, wheezing. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

He grins. “Alright, your turn. What’s your cringiest secret?”

You pause, then admit, “Okay this might not be cringy… but i had a harry potter phase.”

Jeno gasps, clutching his chest. “What house were you in?”

“…Slytherin.”

He high-fives you. “Respect.”

The conversation keeps flowing, lighthearted and easy. You talk about everything, old childhood memories, embarrassing moments, ridiculous hypothetical scenarios (what would you do if you woke up as a worm?), and somehow, even the meaning of life.

It’s fun. It’s comfortable.

But beneath it all, there’s something bittersweet.

Because you both know this is goodbye.

Eventually, the night slows down. The laughter fades, leaving only the quiet hum of the TV in the background. You shift, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “Jeno…”

He already knows. You can see it in his expression.

Still, he lets you say it.

“I have to go find him,” you admit softly.

A beat of silence.

Then he smiles? He smiles. A small, knowing smile. “Yeah.”

You swallow hard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” His voice is gentle. “You never had to say it, y/n. I knew.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly. “But… can I ask for one last thing?”

You nod, already knowing what it is.

“One last kiss,” he murmurs.

So you kiss him.

It’s soft, lingering. A silent thank you. A quiet goodbye.

When you pull away, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That was a solid 9/10.”

You snort. “Only 9?”

“Could’ve been a 10, but my foot fell asleep.”

You smack his arm, laughing. “Shut up.”

He grins. “Go. Before I change my mind and challenge Hyuck to a duel.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for your shoes.

And as you step out the door, heart racing, you realize—

This time, you’re going to run toward Hyuck.

Because he’s always been the one and it’s about time you told him.

@HYUCKS HOUSE

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

Actually, scratch that—you do know why.

Because this is Hyuck.

Because it’s been weeks. Because you let the distance grow, and now you’re about to do the most humiliating thing possible: show up at his door in the middle of the night, probably looking like a disaster, and pour your heart out.

Great plan. Really solid. No notes.

Still, you knock.

And the second the door swings open, all your thoughts evaporate.

Hyuck stands there, hoodie slightly rumpled, his hair sticking up like he was asleep before you interrupted. His face is groggy, blinking at you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

“…y/n?”

You open your mouth.

And immediately start crying.

Like, full-on tears. Embarrassing.

Hyuck panics. “Wait, huh, are you okay??”

You sniff, waving your hands wildly. “I— hiccup— I don’t know why I’m crying!”

His hands move without hesitation, reaching for your arms, steadying you. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” His grip is warm, grounding. “Did something happen?”

You shake your head rapidly, but the tears won’t stop. God you really missed him.

Hyuck makes a helpless noise before sighing and tugging you against him. His arms wrap around you, firm but careful, like he’s worried you might break.

You bury your face in his hoodie, gripping the fabric tightly.

Hyuck rubs your back in slow circles. “Okay. Just—breathe, yeah?”

You sniffle, nodding against his chest. His warmth seeps into your skin, comforting in a way nothing else has been these past few weeks.

And then, before he can say anything else, the words just spill out.

“I just— Hyuck, I missed you.”

His hold on you tightens for a second before he pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His brows furrow, but he stays quiet, letting you talk.

“You’re— you’re so important to me, okay? And I hate that I let us drift apart. And I hate that I didn’t realize sooner that you are—” You hiccup again, rubbing at your face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, I just miss you so much, and everything sucks without you, and I—”

Hyuck suddenly squints at you. “…Are you drunk?”

You freeze. “What?”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.” His lips twitch like he’s holding back laughter. “You have to be drunk.”

You gape at him. “I am not drunk, you absolute—”

“I dunno…” He crosses his arms, pretending to analyze you as he leans closer to your face. “Messy hair, teary eyes, emotional confessions in the dead of night… this is very intoxicated behavior.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “I swear I’m sober—”

“Alright, c’mon, Crybaby.” He snickers, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. “At least cry in my room instead of my doorstep.”

You let him drag you in, still sniffling as he kicks the door shut behind you.

And just like that, you’re home.

Hyuck flops onto his bed, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, you baby.” You roll your eyes but sit down anyway, pulling your knees to your chest.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward, not tense. Just… there.

Hyuck sighs, tilting his head toward you. “You really missed me that much?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a moment, then scoffs lightly. “Idiot. I was always here, y’know.”

Your heart clenches. “I know. I was just—”

“Being dumb?”

You groan. “Yes, okay! I was being dumb.”

Hyuck smirks, but it softens as he nudges your knee with his. “It sucked without you, too.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

“Obviously.” He huffs, looking away like admitting it pains him. “Who else was gonna make me leave my apartment and go on stupid 2AM snack runs?”

You let out a small laugh. “You love those snack runs.”

“Yeah, but I love them with you.”

You freeze.

Hyuck doesn’t seem to notice what he just said, or maybe he does, because he clears his throat quickly and sits up straighter. “Anyway. What was up with that dramatic monologue outside? You really that miserable without me?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He blinks.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “Hyuck, you’re— you’re my person.” You glance at him, eyes searching. “You always have been.” You meant it.

Something shifts in his expression.

For the first time all night, he’s quiet.

Your heart pounds. “I—”

“Wait.” He suddenly lifts a hand, stopping you. Then, deadpan— “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

You groan, shoving his face away. “Hyuck!”

He bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners.

And even though you’re this close to smacking him, you realize—

This is why you came back.

Because no one makes your heart race and your soul feel alive like Lee Donghyuck. You don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until his laughter fades, leaving only the soft hum of the night around you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he leans in.

And you meet him halfway.

The kiss is warm, slow— like a quiet understanding. Like something that had always been there, waiting to be noticed. It wasn’t like all the other kisses, the party hookups. This was real.

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just a little, enough to make your breath hitch.

When you finally pull away, he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…Yup.” He grins. “You definitely weren’t supposed to kiss me like that if you were drunk.”

You laugh softly, still slightly breathless. “Shut up.”

He hums, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Not a chance.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, neither of you stop to think.

Because for once, nothing else matters.

NOTES: I wouldve wrote longer but my brain fogged oops but i hope you guys enjoyed!!

[cherryredstars]

Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink

A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!

You know there is a process.

And you know this isn't it.

There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.

And yet...

You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.

But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.

You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.

Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.

He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.

You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.

"Got to make sure it takes."

Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?

Part 2 Part 3

[lauralot89]

For this year's Dracula Daily I am reading along using Leslie S. Klinger's The New Annotated Dracula, which is an annotated version of the text that treats the novel as if it is a recounting of real events compiled by Bram Stoker using documents from Jonathan Harker et al. Which is fun and a cute bit of kayfabe, but I just finished reading the foreword and I am in love with the idea Klinger puts forth that Dracula inserted himself into the writing process to have final say:

Dracula himself approached Stoker. Realising that it was too late to suppress the Harker Papers entirely, Dracula pressured Stoker—presumably with threats against his person and his family—into distorting the papers, hiding the facts essential to permit (or induce) readers to track the vampire.

The foreword then goes onto speculate that any egregious behavior or incredibly moronic decisions from the heroes are a result of Dracula's editing, and that geographical/factual errors are because Stoker was made to change those details. It's then suggested that a 1901 abridged version of the text in which the lead characters are a bit nicer happened because the Crew of Light contacted Stoker to complain.

Dracula going through the Harker papers with a red pen and scribbling LIES in the margins sounds one hundred percent legit, though I do wonder why he allowed the bit about his stupid hat to go to print

[kitasgloves]

— ♬ NSFW

How about Incubus! DAZAI OSAMU who feeds on the erotic dreams of humans. He would enter a mortal's dream and feed on the sexual energy emitting from their erotic dreams. During the modern age, there were plentiful choices for Dazai to feed on now wet dreams are becoming common among humans. Mostly, he hasn't encountered any complications during his night feeding until he sets his sights on you.

Initially, you seemed like any typical adult human that he can suck sexual energy from during your slumber. You were unsuspecting and an easy target in the incubus' eyes. However, when Dazai sneaks into your bedroom at midnight and spawns inside your dream, he is dumbfounded. Your dream was lackluster and plotless. It made no sense. He huffed, where's the wet dream? What the hell is he going to feed on here?

The following night he makes another attempt, but you had a dreamless sleep, meaning Dazai was stuck in a dark void with nothing to eat. He could just move on and find another human to feed on but he refuses since he finds your lack of wet dreams fascinating. So, Dazai sets on a conquest to find out why.

You raised a brow at the new guy at work. He has a tall stature brown hair and eyes. Everyone at work was charmed by his natural good looks. Yet you can't help but find the man eerie. You could've sworn you could feel him staring at you unblinkingly in the corner of your eye. And how he subtly makes advances at you like touching your arm or leaning his body close to yours when he tries to talk with you. He was horrible at his job and your boss had to appoint you to help him whip into shape.

Dazai couldn't understand why you were frustrated with him. He wasn't sensing any drop of lust from you when he was flirting with you, unlike the rest of your co-workers. While it was easy for him to cast bedroom eyes and send a sensual smirk toward them, you seem indifferent to it all. It seemed like you were immune to anything sexual that it was absurd!

"Ugh, no. You have to fix your text and margin. Make sure there's an appropriate space between the paragraphs..."

You were teaching him how to do a stupid report, Dazai couldn't care less until you leaned forward and placed your hand on top of his as you guided him with the mouse. Your other hand begins to re-type all his grammatical errors while scolding him for writing unprofessional sentences. An incubus' senses are superior to a human's so Dazai can sense all of you. The smell of your skin, the sound of your steady heartbeat, and the touch of your hand on top of his. His eyes trailed down to your lips, all that was missing was the taste of you.

"Did you get all of that? I need a report done by the end of the day"

You told him as you pulled away, he almost whined at the loss of contact. Somehow, the incubus decided to obey you by doing the stupid report. You were pleasantly surprised at how he did well with the report that you had to give him a smile and a lollipop from your desk as a reward.

"You did well, Dazai! Keep it up"

How unusual. Dazai's face felt unnaturally flushed at your encouragement. He decides he likes to see your smile more. He tries to do well with work and gets acquainted with you as friends. The incubus has forgotten his original plan to conjure sexual dreams from you. Dazai seems distracted when you smile and laugh at him. He finds himself craving for your innocent affection. You were so naive and free-spirited that he can't help but want it all for himself.

He does try to woo you like a normal human. He left flowers at your desk, gifted you chocolates during lunch, and he even surprised you with an adorable cat plush toy. Eventually, his hunger catches up to him and he's suddenly reminded of his origin. Dazai temporarily feeds on other humans but somehow he never feels satisfied. Their dreams aren't erotic enough. He needed your sexual dreams. Frustrated, he decided if you can't give him any wet dreams to feast on, he's just gonna force them out of you.

After all, you're merely a human. Humans are weak to the call of the flesh. If he has to fuck the dream version of you so he could eat, he will. Dazai has become desperate at this point. What he wasn't expecting though, as he waited outside of your bedroom door, was the overwhelming smell of lust. It was so sudden that it sent the incubus to his knees. Dazai clutches his chest as his legs wobble. The scent of lust coming from inside your bedroom was overpowering him and it made him drool. Fuck, that smells delectable. He needs a taste of that right now.

When he quietly opens your bedroom door and peeks inside, Dazai's breath comes to a screeching halt. He felt the sweat covering him from all over as he watched your half-naked figure with wide and unblinking eyes. You were sprawled out on your bed with your fingers inside of you, vigorously pumping them in and out while your arousal coated your fingers and stained your bedsheets. Dazai gulped as he watched with greedy eyes. Your hair was all over the place, and your chest heaved out while you let out breathy moans. Fuck, there was no way the incubus wasn't turned on by all of this.

All of that insatiable lust came from you.

Your eyes were shut with your eyebrows knitted, he found it both hot and adorable when you tried to rip an orgasm out of yourself. Dazai examined both your face and your fingers making nasty sounds by fucking your cunt. You were probably ready to sleep, with the way your pajamas were pulled down to your ankles. And no panties too? The drool reaches down Dazai's chin.

Who are you lusting after?

The question made the incubus involuntarily envious. Who pathetic and lucky human have you found attractive? Was his human form not hot enough for you? Dazai snaps out of his thoughts when he hears a high-pitched moan from you. He can tell you're approaching your release. Fuck, he wished he was there to help you. He'll fuck his fingers deep and steal orgasm after orgasm from you. Or he'll use his mouth to eat you out and fuck his tongue deep inside of you. Or he'll ram his cock deep into your cunt and paint your walls with his seed. There are so many possibilities that it makes the incubus delirious.

Your whimpering was getting louder as your back arched like a cat. The scent of lust emitting from you wasn't like anything Dazai had encountered before and it made him lightheaded. Suddenly, you let out a choked sob and throw your head back while your release takes full control of you. Goddamn, you looked beautiful. Your eyes were rolled to the back of your skull, and your body was spasming, and you were screaming.

"Dazai! Oh fuck!—Hngh, Dazai..."

Your orgasm slowly passes and the incubus is motionless. His jaw drops to the floor. He heard that right, didn't he? You called out his name while you came? The revelation sends him into a frenzy as a devilish grin decorates his face. How lucky he was you were lusting after him. At that moment, Dazai realizes that your wet dreams won't be enough for his appetite, he wants the real thing. He wants to bend you in half and pound you senseless. He wants to hear you scream his name until the heavens rumble. He needs to consume you.

You were catching your breath when you heard your bedroom door creak open.

edit: here's part 2 lol

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

[just-a-sketchbook]

First Quilt!

It has been a lot of fun and a lot of trial and error but it's done!!!

It's roughly 1.20 x 1.20m (which is a number of feet I can't be bothered to look up but let's say it's about child sized and it'll be great to chill on the couch).

I want to thank @langdon813 who I've never talked to (sorry if you hate being tagged) but whose gorgeous Drunkard path quilts made me wanna do it too :)

I had never done any quilting before (but I did sew), so here's what I've learned, if any beginner is interested in jumping off the deep end the way I did and wants advice from someone who has freshly acquired experience but will also not use any confusing technical terms (with pictures!) :

Fabric picking : so most advice I read was to go for pre-selected bundles of fabric that already go together, but I'm contrary and like to do my own thing so I used wax fabric (the blue ones on top the pile) I had laying around, which I strongly recommend: it's very easy to cut due to it being waxed, and I added a few fat squares from the shop, plus I also had the orange and blue floral and I based the coulour scheme on it. One thing that's true is it would have been easier to work with fabric of the same thickness, and the floral was givne to me by my ma who got in on trip to Thailand and it was alot thinner than the rest which didn't help.

Cutting: I got a rotary cutter for the occasion and it's great! Do not maybe push too hard on it and give yourself nerve damage the way I did (temporary but still), it's actually ery sharp and easy to use, so long as your template doesn't slip you're fine

Piecing :Yes you can do curved piecing even if you have zero experience, you just gotta make a template and

pin it a lot.

1/4 inch margins is the standard so I rolled with it because I don't like converting, but when you're strictly metric it is kind of annoying but doable because my machine does have a 1/4 inch mark and if you stick a length of tape along it it's pretty easy to follow, even for curved piecing.

Layout: At some point you've got to decide the layout is done, because I've re-arranged the blocks at least 6 times and it's a very good way to go insane. (For rough reference, my plan was to have no repeat fabrics in any of the circle-in-a-square blocks, and I only made one mistake which I clocked too late to change)

Chain piecing!! Meaning you pile your blocks together in a specific order (that I personnaly wrote straight up on each piece with a very sophisticated letter/numbers down/across system) and then just sew them together in a line without having to cut the thread between each pair. Looks a little like a fanion banner and at some point it feels like you'll be forever tangled into it but then it's magic :) It's not that hard actually and will save you a lot of time + there's a lot of online tutorials you can use.

Basting! (which it took me while to understand is the part where you attach the backing, the fluff and the quilt top together) : you need more safety pins. Safety pins will save you from the wrinkles and the unfortunate oopsies of realising you've caught your backing double folded into your quilting stitch, which I did a good three times and was not fun to undo. Also, I forgot to tape the backing to the floor and it probably would have helped with the wrinkling...

Backing : I used an old linen table cloth I got for 10€ at a charity shop, and I've still got about 2/3 of it left, so I recommend that, it's sturdy but soft enough, doesn't thread easily and can be washed at very high temps, if that's a thing you do.

Quilting! Well, my machine came with a quilting foot for free motion quilting (which means you're the one moving the fabric along in whichever direction and you can sort of draw with your stitches) and it seemed fun so I did that, and here's what I learned : curves are hard but doable, also my machine doesn't like to go back (kept skipping sitiches for some reason) so it involves a lot of shifting the quilt around, which isn't easy considering the bulk. And also, drawing the quilting pattern you want so you can follow it while quilting actually does help, I used an iron/heat-erasable pen and it worked just fine. Check your stitch tension, mine was too loose and I realised too late so there's spots where I could pull on the thread and it looped, had to stitch back over that.

Quilitng pattern : I wasn't sure what to do, supposedly your batting (aka: the fluff) comes with instructions on how tight you should quilt to avoid it coming apart through use but I got mine cut at the fabric shop and forgot to ask so I just rolled with a rough 10cm maximum distance in between stitching lines but tried to do less in most places. According to many blogs : the tighter your lines the stiffer your quilt, so I kept it loose for comfort. (Picture is halfway done, I added a smaller square/circle inside each square/circle and if you look at it you'll see it's actually diagonal lines form one end of the fabric to the other.)

Binding is boring, and there's nothing to it. I got a length of pre-cut bias binding, machine-sewed it front to front to the quilt top side of the quilt and the folded it back and secured it by hand to the back with a ladder stitch. Took me roughly and entire rewatch of the Last Of Us. There's a trick to doing the corners that's fairly simple but I've lost the tutorial...

Overall : I got myself a quilting book with techinques and such and it helped, but there's a ton of stuff online, and once you get over the very Christian American mum vibe of most of the blogs, it's all very helpful (and gorgeous!) (no offense meant to Christian American mums, it's just a bit of a culture shock from where I'm standing).

[wednesdayschildswitchcraft]

I have a personal headcanon that all of the bats in the batfamily can cook, but to differing degrees.

Alfred: God among Men, high brow and low brow, man lived with post-war rationing and army meals, can also lay out a 5 course gourmet meal of any type of cuisine, only weakness is waffles, just can't get the timing and consistency correct.

Bruce: can cook, but only if he focuses on it, if he gets distracted, he will burn it whatever it is. Will still eat it because he doesn't actually care about taste. Eating is annoying type of autistic

Dick: has a solid 5 to 10 things he can consistently cook well that's mostly just basics with one 'special occasions' meal, otherwise, human garbage disposal that eats mostly carnival foods if left to his own devises.

Jason: solid cook, learned a lot from Alfred, mostly cooks poor/street food type things from around the world, but can elevate it to gourmet if needed. May or may not have worked as a line cook at one point. Prone to using too much rosemary/garlic/paprika according to people with a weaker palette

Tim: the best stoner food ever. 10/10 no notes. Gives line cook energy after 48hrs awake. Also, on the rare occasion he can get his brain out of casework, pastries. It's chemistry but for food with razor-thin margins of error and painstaking attention to detail, so it's like a little treat for himself

Steph: normal basic cooking. Crockpot and casserole supremacy, cookies and basic cakes. Nothing fancy, no frills, has definitely worked as a fry cook at one point.

Cass: learned from Dick, 5-10 basics, and a chili that is deemed a health hazard in 26 of the 48 continental states plus Alaska. Pain is a competition and she is winning.

Damian: Arabic, Nepalese, and Chinese vegetarian dishes, entirely because that's what he wanted to learn to cook.

Duke: All-around solid cook much like Steph, good at soul food and struggle foods, also, incredible sandwiches. Like god-tier homemade subs.

The Fox family: soul food, but kinda bougie. Secret family fried chicken recipe that multiple people would be willing to kill for.

Harper Row: struggle meals. Like condiments and stale crackers turned into something incredible type of magic bs. Cullen has learned some, but Harper is Queen

Babs: jail, puts raisins in the potatoe salad, jello mold bitch. Makes a mean meatloaf, though. Still asked to bring plates and napkins to family potlucks/cookouts