#cheap flowers delivered

[dcxdpdabbles]

The Undead Florist

Anon said: Basically, I just wanted Danny to deliver flowers to the Justice League heroes from his fans. If you can include Everlasting Trio. U can add whatever crack you think would be best! Thank you!

Clark is in the middle of blocking a heat ray attack from a robot that copies the powers of any Justice League member when the unexpected happens. A kid, no older than fourteen, boldly walks into the battlefield carrying a lavish bouquet of red roses and trigger lilies.

He's dressed in a worker uniform: light brown khakis, a black shirt with a light-born vest, and a black baseball hat resting neatly on his head. There is a company logo on the upper right of his vest but Clark does not recognize the stylized D.

There was a still moment when Clark's super speed could see the exact second Amazo spotted the child. The boy wasn't paying attention, staring at his phone screen, which had the faint details of a map, and had two headphones in his ear.

Clark's eyes widen in horror, and he opens his mouth to try to shout a warning—though he doubts the kid could hear him over the loud music playing in his ear—but before he can, Amazo flung out an arm straight at the kid's head, still pinning Clark down with a cheap version of his own laser ray eyes.

No! No, please, he's so young! He pleads mentally, frozen in horror as the robot's hand goes right through the kid's head. It took a solid minute for Clark to realize that Amazo's hand hadn't ripped through the skull of the child but rather had passed through him as if the boy was not physically there.

From underneath a black baseball cap, brim, electric blue eyes stare at Amazo. Gesturing vaguely to the arm going through his head, the boy frowns. "Rude much?"

"Access: Black Canary," Amazo says in response, his jaw opening wider as a super-powered scream is released, pointing black at the kid's face.

The frown on the worker deepens as the boy reaches up and- slaps the android in the face? "Dude, I'm trying to work. I have like eight flower deliveries today. Also, that was a weak imitation. This is a real Ghostly Wail."

He opens his jaw, letting out a sound that wasn't as loud as Black Canary or Amazo but somehow worse.

And the sound—the unholy screech that releases from the child sends Clark to his knees, quivering in his boots as Amazo disintegrates right before his eyes. The only thing left of the android is a smothering pair of robotic legs that fall over with a loud thump.

The boy huffs, paying no mind to the fact that he took out the enemy the league had spent the last six hours fighting before Clark tried to lure it away from the city. He merely glances back at his phone, following the little moving icon on the map until he stands before the fallen hero.

"Hi! Are you Superman?" The kid asks in a polite, chipper tone. It's such a whiplash change between his normal voice and his customer service voice that it sets in. This is really just a Tuesday for him.

Clark opens and closes his mouth with a weak "Yes" and is pushed out.

The kid's smile grows as he pushes the flowers into his arms. Clark nearly drops the vase, scrambling to get a good hold of them as the kid pulls out a harmonica and plays a little jingle. It sounds like a mix between Happy Birthday and Ring Around the Roses.

Once he is done, the boy holds out his arms wide open and loudly proclaims, in a very obvious Transatlantic accent, which makes him sound... rather otherwordly: "These flowers are sent by your fan Kattie Longsmith in Metropolis, wishing to thank you for rescuing her mother and brother from a fire. She wants to remind you that she is your biggest fan and hopes you have a lovely day. Thank you for selecting the Undead Florist as your means of flora travel!"

With a theatric bow, the boy blinks out of existence.

Clark is left kneeling alone in a destroyed cornfield, beating black and blue, while holding a vase of lavished roses and lilies. He is unsure how long he will stay there, trying to process what he just saw as the Batplane flies onto the scene, Bruce jumping out of it with a cry of his name.

Batman growls upon taking in the scene before his friend rushes to his side. "What happened?"

"I ugh...I got a flower delivery." He manages to utter, eyes still trained on the spot of the strange kid.

"What?"

"Trust me, I'm as confused."

It turns out that Clark's delivery is not an isolated incident. Over the past three months, various Justice League members have reported similar interactions with the Undead Florist.

Flash got a bouquet while trying to stop Captain Cold. The kid had wandered in the middle of a fight, unfreezing the speedster to hand over yellow lilies and sunflowers from a little boy named Teddy Smith in Central City. He had melted the freeze ray that was shot at him while Barry was in the middle of a panic, thinking he would watch a child die.

One little jingle and message was delivered in a Transatlantic accent later, and the boy was gone without a trace again. Bruce had gone to the scene, trying to find anything that could give him some clue, but he disputed the clear picture of his face and the recording of his voice. Nothing about the boy came up in their systems.

Wonder Woman was next, receiving two large bouquets of roses from a fellow woman she had rescued named Trix Cooperman. Her jingle was slightly smoother jazz , and the message leaned towards romantic than gratitude from a fan, but the boy had delivered it nonetheless.

He also took out Cheetah with a well-placed punch, highly impressing Diana. He had the makings of a warrior.

Then Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Martian Man Hunter, Batman, Martian Man Hunter, Hawkgirl, Aquaman, Zatanna, and surprisingly Vigilante each got their own flower grams.

None of them were able to get any information about the child, seeing as he only appeared when the members were in the middle of a fight, which was driving Bruce mad.

Of course, they had tracked down all the clients but met a dead end when each claimed they had never placed an order with Undead Florist. Even when Diana was holding her rope, the people gave the same answer.

They had no idea why Undead Florist was delivering flowers in their name or where the message that came along with the flowers appeared from. The chilling part was that the messages did actively represent their emotions and feelings towards the heroes, but how the overpowered child knew that was left unanswered.

The other thing that bothered Bruce was that the Undead Florist only appeared when they were in battle.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know how to find you otherwise," Nightwing suggested at the Justice League-wide meeting.

"He uses a GPS that is locked into the heroes." Batman grunts, not dismissing the suggestion but challenging it, which causes his eldest son to shrug.

"Undead could be following online tips or something. It's not like the Leauge is seen just strolling around the cities, but people tweak when they do happen to see us."

"We could test that. Have a group of heroes just relaxing at a cafe or something. See where he appears and if there is a pattern after monitoring social media." Red Robin suggests, rubbing his chin.

Batman considers it before nodding. "I shall divide the teams."

The Justice League goes out, doing as instructed, and sure enough, they find the Undead Florist appearing more and more. Red Robing happily puts together the pattern, pointing to social media generated by the younger generation's demographics.

Undead Florist is an actual teenager using DCtweets to find heroes to bring flowers to. They have enough proof of that to show he's harmless if one ignores his more than impressive battle skills.

"Now all we need to do is catch him," Clark announces. "We don't want to scare him, but the Justice League really needs to know how he's doing all of this. It could be a security risk."

Meanwhile, Danny chills in his haunt, watching Sam tend to the flowers in a large greenhouse he placed for her. Tucker is typing away on a ghost zone-powered supercomputer, looking at all the Soul orders their business is getting.

The Ghost Zone didn't have a formal currency; they had Deals instead. Even small unconscious deals—like wishing on a shooting star, throwing a coin in a fountain, or sending a prayer or two—could be turned into deals if a higher being encountered them.

Luckily for those people, Danny and his lovers are very kind higher beings and choose to complete their requests in a way that satisfies all of their obsessions without stealing souls.

Sam got to spread her greenery across worlds, Tucker got to spend time with tech from different universes and Danny was able to explore and protect the souls of humans.

That Danny could exchange these Soul orders for gold was no one business but their own.

"Ohhh, another order, Red Robin, from Universe Nine!" Tucker crows. "It's roses in the shape of a heart from Kon-el. Aw, he's in love with his best friend!"

"That's sweet." Danny smiles, leaning over his boyfriend's shoulder to read the message he must memorize when he struts into Gotham. "I know how much fun dating best friends is."

"Let's help those losers confess then!" Sam calls, raising her hands as roses of various colors burst to life around her.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #everlasting trio #Dimension travel #The JL are confused #Danny is a flower delivery boy running a business with his boyfriend and girlfriend #Crack #Just imagine this scranny looking kid wander around #This is after Phantom Planet but no reveal #Just poly powerup #Deals are currency in ghost zone

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Always Watching, Done Waiting

Yandere Stalker x Terrified Fem Reader

TW: paranoia, psychological horror, STALKING, horror, yandere themes, unhealthy behavior that should never be romanticized, Your STALKER is not attractive

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.” (Your name) wept into her knees when that haunting melody began to echo throughout her home. No doubt from the same radio it had played from countless times before late in the night…

The young woman trembled in the confines of her closet while heavy foot steps echoed down her hall. If she kept herself as small a possible, would (your name) be able to avoid being caught by this psycho?

For months she had been harassed by a mysterious man… a man who would not take no as an answer.

At first it was innocent! It was small bouquets of cheap flowers, the kinds that one could buy at a grocery store for under ten dollars. Then it was boxes of her favorite candies. Simple gifts that once brought her joy since she’s never really received such flattering attention… but then it quickly began to snowball into a darker matter. This was no simple puppy love, this was an obsession.

Notes made from magazine clippings for each letters so he couldn’t be recognized through his handwriting, dozens of intimate pictures of her placed in envelopes, and body parts of the local cats she fed all had littered her doorstep over the last two months. Each ‘present’ inspired dread within (your name).

Then began the break ins, the holes in her walls and ceilings that could fit an eye in there to peep, the notes delivered to her job, the isolation from all of her friends and family, and the paranoia. There was not a single place that felt safe to her any longer… and the police wouldn’t help since her stalker had never done anything to harm her.

What on earth could he possibly want from her? Her first born? Maybe he wanted to harvest her organs and sell them on the black market? No… even someone as dense as a rock knew this stalker was utterly obsessed.

“And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

The nursery rhyme continued to echo down her hall as her pursuer continued to explore her home with agonizing slow steps. (Your name) had gotten rid of her spare key so how was he able to get in? Had he been staying here prior? God, she didn’t want to think about what this sicko was capable of.

Creak!

(Your name) silently scooted herself into the corner of her closet when she heard her bedroom door creak open. The young woman placed her hands over her mouth to prevent any noise from escaping despite the desire to scream. Hot tears fell down her cheeks, her body trembled like she was in below freezing temperatures. Oh god… she was about to die.

And that’s when the door was swung open to reveal a greasy man around her age. His dark hair greasy and his face covered in stubble and acne scars. (Your name) had seen this man before… he was the guy she gave a few sandwiches to last year! He was so drunk and lost, she felt bad for him… oh god. Was that small act of kindness her catalyst to her fate?

“My darling girlfriend!” The man bent down in front of her and set the radio beside him. His hands snatched hers up in a tight grip. He brought her knuckles up to his chapped lips to press kisses on them. “You’re so skittish… it’s just me!”

“W-who are you?” The man threw back his head and laughed before he gave her a small smile.

“It’s me, silly. Malachi? Your boyfriend of a year?” (Your name) remained as still as stone. A million thoughts ran through her head while this mad man continued to ramble. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to fetch you sooner but money has been tight.”

(Your name) was suddenly pulled into a hug, the young woman tried her best not to gag from the heavy scent of musk and cigarettes that permeated from Malachi. “It was hard to stop drinking, but you were worth it! You were always so kind to me with your pretty smile and your sandwiches… I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you!”

“W-what-“ (your name) nearly fainted when her eyes met his crazed blue ones. How could someone hold so much emotion in their eyes?

“I got my life together and I found a nice place for us… it’s perfect!” Malachi pressed his nose against hers. “It’s away from all of the weird men that harass you in the convenience store and away from all those nasty animals. It’ll be our little safe haven!”

(Your name) snapped out of her stupor when he said that. She had to get away… she needed to run!

The young woman tried to pull away from Malachi but his grip on her was stronger than an anacondas.

“I know it’s a really big step, but it’s been a year now! And I’m tired of waiting for us to take bigger steps! I know you liked my gifts! You never threw any of them away!” Because she needed evidence to give to the police! The same people who wouldn’t protect her…

(Your name) gulped when she felt Malachi press his hips into hers. Something large pressed against her that made her stomach drop. “I’ve been watching you for so long… and I’m done waiting.”

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #ugly yandere #yandere obsession #yandere horror #horror short story #horror short #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #stalker yandere #stalker #yandere stalker #tw.stalking #tw.dark content #psychological horror #yandere original character #yandere concept #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere idea #original work #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere loser

[444lec33]

The Arrangement // Mafia!Lando x Reader

Part 2 can be found here

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: none that I can think of

No descriptions of reader's physical appearance

Author's note: This was so fun to write, I hope you guys enjoy it 🧡

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” you sighed looking incredulously up at the ceiling. 

“Well believe it because he’ll be here any minute,” your father said sitting behind his desk. 

There was a quick knock on the office door before it parted to reveal your mother standing there, an exaggerated grin on her face. She beckoned you closer and you went to her begrudgingly. She grabbed your chin looking you over and started smoothing out your outfit. 

“You know how much this means for both our families. Don't embarrass us now, sweetie.” 

You rolled your eyes and refused to respond as he three of you trekked the halls leading to wherever your soon-to-be husband was. 

He was standing there looking rather curiously at the art work that adorned the ornate dining room. 

You hated the sound of your name on his lips and the cheeky grin that accompanied it as he turned around. Your arms were folded in irritation as you gave a simple greeting, letting the awkwardness grow.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you show Lando the rose garden?” Your mother chided hopefully, knowing that without being prompted you would never move things along for Lando’s visit. You were going to make a joke about the future kingpin’s disinterest in flowers before Lando spoke up with a playful tone. 

“I would love that.” Oh he was eating this up. 

“It’ll be good for you two to have some alone time before the wedding.” Your father remained silent as your overzealous mother aligned the pieces to connect your family to the most notorious mob in the country. 

Lando was all too excited to appease your mother’s wishes. A rough palm reached out and collected your hand dragging you towards the back entrance of your home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know anything about you.” 

Your finance rolled his eyes before responding to your claim. “We’ve known each other for years, and this” he motioned between the two of you. “Was something we always knew would happen. No point in complaining,” he shrugged seeming as carefree as he always appeared for someone in his position. 

But Lando was right. You’d both grown up in relative proximity to one another, your families’ mafia ties linking the two of you in ways that ran deeper than you’d ever comprehend. 

“Alright fine,” you threw up your hands while standing up in front of him. “If we’re gonna do this we’re doing it my way.” 

Lando nodded, the appearance of his dimples telling you how comical he found your sudden interest in your present circumstances. “Ask away, love. Whatever you want and it’s yours.”

You hummed before rattling off the shortlist of needs you’d like to be met before you walked down the aisle to marry the mafia prince.

“Well for starters I want a ring. I big one. Like really big. Do not get me anything princess cut. Too predictable and cheap looking.” Lando was going to interject but you continued. “I don’t care if it’s gold or silver as long as it looks classy. Maybe a nice cushion cut or a Marquise. Dutch marquise,” you quickly added. “Oh and I wear a size 7.”

Lando took your brief pause as an opportunity to speak. “Should I be taking notes on all this,” he laughed and licked his lips clearly having fun with your pre-wedding demands. “Alright, now that I know what you want I promise I’ll deliver.” You knew he wasn’t lying. The Norris’ family was one of the wealthiest around, their fortune managed to dwarf the elaborate lifestyle your family’s own mob ties afforded you. 

“Okay, good. Glad we got that out of the way. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you pointed your thumb in the direction of your home, “I’d like to get back to enjoying the rest of my night.”

Lando was quick to his feet, his hand catching your wrist as you started towards the large mansion. “We’ve spent all night going over what you want, don’t you even care about what I’d like?” He questioned with a playful glimmer in his watercolored eyes.

“I couldn’t care less,” you turned and began walking again before Lando stopped you, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you to face him.

“That really hurts you know.” You rolled your eyes and glared at him. Leave it to Lando to make this situation into a joke. 

“Fine, what do you want? Separate houses? A girlfriend on the side? Whatever it is I really don’t care.”

“Honestly…” he trailed off, his hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “I want us to give this a shot.” The words had barely left his mouth before you’d started laughing. “Okay, sure laugh at me but I’m being serious. Think about it this way; in a few weeks time we’ll be legally bound to each other and all the other bullshit that entails for the rest of our lives. You’ll probably, no definitely, be the mother of my kids.”

His words were making you feel things you wish you didn’t. As irritated as you were with this entire scheme your two families created you knew there was nothing you could ever do to escape it. Would leaning into it really be so bad? What’s the worst that could happen? Before you could interject with one of the million and one reasons you could think of to not forge a real relationship Lando spoke again. 

“You don’t have to decide now, whatever decision you make I’ll respect it.” You swallowed the lump that had grown heavy in your throat. “Oh and what you said earlier? I don’t want some girl on the side or whatever you want to call it. I’m actually willing to give us a try and I hope you’ll do the same.” 

You gaped at him, eyes wide. No dick on the side, no way. The words refused to leave your mouth but you nodded, hoping to bring the conversation to a close. 

“I have eyes everywhere, but I’m sure you already know that. If I were you I’d tie up any loose ends before the wedding.” It took a moment for you to realize what he was indicating. But how could you ever forget who Lando Norris truly was. If you were to ever go behind his back he would know, and from the looks of it things wouldn’t end to well for you or your paramour. 

“Okay fine, you win.” 

A shit-eating grin spread across his perfectly structured face. “I win,” he said more to himself, clearly enjoying the taste of the words in his mouth. “I do have one more condition before we really do this.”

Your eyes didn’t deviate from his as you waited for him to get on with it. “I want a kiss.”

“Alright great talk but no. Have a great night!” You were practically sprinting to get inside but Lando was quick on his feet catching you almost instantly. “You know you really need to stop running away all the time. That’s something we’ll need to work on.” The proximity between the two of you was closer than ever. If it weren’t for his tight grip you would have squirmed under Lando’s heavy gaze. 

He reached out to grab you chin making sure your eyes were trained on him. “Better now than the first one be in front of everyone we know. Let’s consider this practice for D-day.”

Practice. Sure. 

“Okay,” you whispered before your better judgement could stop you. Lando was confident taking the lead as his lips came close to yours. Nothing could have prepared you for the feel of his plush lips against your. As the kiss dragged on you slowly felt the tension you’d harbored before leaving your body. Why did he have to be such a good kisser. 

It felt like forever before the two of you separated, an awkward pause hanging in the air as you tried to separate your hate for your pre-planned life from the growing lust you were feeling for your future husband. Lando removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. He pulled you close to him as he guided you the short trek from the rose garden to your home. 

If you looked even half as disoriented as you felt it was probably best to stave off the embarrassment and head straight upstairs. You reluctantly turned around at the sound of your fiancé calling your name. You cast your gaze down to the end of the spiral stairwell where he stood. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

There were question marks swarming your head as you tried to figure out what he was talking about. Tonight was intense enough, what else would he need to see you for?

Lando swiped his hand against his facial hair barely trying to hide the pleasure he felt by catching you off guard. He tilted his head to the side, dimples more prominent than ever. 

“Saturday night. Our engagement party.” 

Oh. Ohhhh.

“Right. Okay, yeah.” You mentally kicked yourself for forgetting the second most important date on your calendar for the foreseeable future. 

“I think a week should give you enough time to think about our little chat.” You were more likely to be ruminating over that kiss. 

At this point you were drained. Words were too much so you just flashed him a thumbs up and trusted one of the maids to show him out. “Goodbye Lando,” you called over your shoulder ready to hide away in your room for the rest of eternity. 

“Goodnight wifey.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you finally reached your room you found yourself drawn to the window. You opened it up, not so subtly peaking at your fiancé’s black McLaren as it exited the gates. The sound of your phone vibrating on your bed pulled your attention from the sleek car growing distant from your home. You plopped down on your bed, body still wrapped in the warm jacket Lando covered you with. Looking at the device you noted several missed messages and calls. Some from your girl friends, and even more from your friends friends. You pulled a throw pillow close to you as you got comfortable scanning through your messages. 

Charles 

Still on for tomorrow?

Lewis 

Missed FaceTime 

Max

2 Missed calls. 1 Voicemail.

Time to tie up those loose ends…

~~~~~~~~

Part 2 can be found here

#lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 x you #woc!reader #f1 x black!reader #lando norris x black!reader

[moongreenlight]

More childhood best friend!Gaz headcanons because I cannot stop thinking about him

He’s your valentine every single year. Started as his dad trying to teach him proper etiquette when he was young and just never stopped. A bouquet of flowers on your stoop and a cheap card he scratches a note into. Never signs his name. Just ends ‘xx.’

He chaperoned your first real date in high school because your dad paid for his tank of gas. The guy you were keen on never called you back after. It took you until you were seventeen to realize that it was probably because Kyle was sitting on the same side of the booth as you and spoon feeding you bites of dinner.

He also ruined your first real relationship when he beat your boyfriend to asking you to formal (a full two months early). You tried to explain that it didn’t mean anything, but he just couldn’t understand. Kyle said it was for the better while you sobbed into his shoulder. “Tosser can’t cope with the fact he’ll always be second place. Better not to waste your time.”

His basic training was 26 weeks away from home. He went immediately after picking up his diploma. It was the most miserable summer of your entire life. Spent primarily waiting by the mailbox for the postman to deliver your daily letters back and forth. He’s started signing off “Garrick. x.”

Both of your families went to his graduation, but his mother insisted you were the one to tap him out. You barely recognized him, like the summer where his family took a month long vacation and he came back a full four inches taller. He’s bigger now, his shoulders permanently rolled back, but he still carries himself with that same cool ease.

He barely stays long enough to say his hello’s to everyone until he takes you back to the car and lays you out in the backseat. Griping the whole way about how “you’d be in a hurry, too. Couldn’t even get away with a wank in the shower.” And “s’your duty to the country. You wanna thank me for my service, don’t you?” You swear the two of you fit easier six months ago, but now he’s cramped between the seats. Caged in tight. His head bumps the window each time he snaps his hips into you.

You seriously considered moving close to base when you found out he was being permanently relocated after joining the task force, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it.

So you settle on sending each other disposable cameras back and forth. You’ve got a picture of him on a mission in Amsterdam framed up in your hall. He’s got a cigarette hanging out of his big, toothy smile, posing like an overexcited tourist in front of a lingerie shop with a display window that made your ears hot when you first saw it.

He called you a few days after his incident with the helo in Urzikstan. Boasted his adventure with only a whispering tremble on the soft underside of his tough facade. Carried on until you wretched dryly into the receiver. Working yourself up into sick with worry even though he promised he was fine, just sticking to the ground for a bit.

Even though you’re seeing him less nowadays, he’s still somehow coming between you and any romantic pursuits you make. You chalk it up to coincidence most of the time, but a blind eye can only be turned so far.

He seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re on a date or a one night stand. Sending texts and pictures that could be misconstrued as flirty to someone who didn’t know the dynamic at just the wrong moment every time. And there was the one time where he sent flowers to your desk at work just a few days after you’d said something about a coworker getting sweet on you.

It happened so often that you eventually decided that the dating scene just wasn’t for you. Resigned to focus on work and friends. Adopting a new mantra of “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

You’ve got no idea why Kyle is so pleased to hear about the conclusion you’ve come to. Or why he’s suddenly coming back home for a few weeks.

#he is rotting my brain from the inside out I need him carnally #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz smut #gaz smut #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz call of duty #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick smut #cbf!gaz

[harunayuuka2060]

Satan: What did you come here for?

Mammon: I'm searching for a sincere gift.

Satan: And you chose Gehenna? Hahaha! Who is it for? I might be able to help you with that.

Mammon: *smiles* Thank you. It's for a human I'm fond of.

Satan: Human?

Mammon: Yes.

Satan: Hm. Well, what are they like?

Mammon: They're sweet, calm, and sometimes devious in their own right.

Satan: Ah, I see. Sitri!

Sitri: Yes, Your Majesty Satan.

Satan: Mammon needs a sincere gift for someone sweet, calm, and devious.

Sitri: *nods* I would suggest a journal for that person.

Mammon: *raises an eyebrow* A journal?

Satan: Yes. Not the typical gift someone would receive from you.

Mammon: But still-

Satan: You were looking for a SINCERE gift. Not an expensive one.

MC: What's this? Haven't you given me enough already? *smiles*

Mammon: You didn't seem to enjoy them.

Mammon: However, I don't feel confident about this one.

MC: *chuckles* I'm surprised you had the control to buy me a single journal.

MC: It might've been a truck of them. What a relief.

Mammon: Does that mean you like this?

MC: *nods* It's a sincere gift. *smiles* I will treasure this.

Mammon: ...

Bimet: Sir Majesty Mammon, I'm here to deliver my report.

Mammon: Go on.

Bimet: MC seems to have taken a liking to the journal you have gifted them.

Mammon: Is that all?

Bimet: No. Apparently, they caught us and asked us to give this to you.

Mammon: ...

Mammon: A flower bookmark?

Bimet: Yes. Though I don't quite understand why they would give you such a cheap item...

Mammon: ...

Mammon: *smiles, staring at it*

Bimet: ...

Bimet: *mutters* Oh please...

"What are you doing?"

MC: I'm writing on my journal.

"..."

"What for?"

MC: For someone.

"...How about the contract?"

MC: Don't worry. I will never break my word.

"That's good to know. We're excited to have you soon in Hades."

#what in hell is bad #whb mc #whb mammon #whb bimet #whb florist mc x mammon #whb satan #whb sitri

[lokirulzart]

WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

#welcome home #wally darling #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #Eddie dear #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #sally starlet #welcome home oc #cowboy AU #western AU #wild west AU #horses

[anonymous-dentist]

A snippet from the Star Wars AU:

-

Cellbit, first off, doesn't even know what the Force is. It's an abstract concept, like childhood. Or peace. Or the moons.

Cellbit's home planet of Favela had five moons. By the time he was launched across the galaxy into the war, Favela was down to three.

Now, as Cellbit slits yet another throat under the too-warm Favela sun, there is only one moon left, and it's set to be demolished by the Empire in a week's time.

Grimacing at the smell, Cellbit powers off his knife and tucks it away. He drops the corpse unceremoniously, wrinkling his nose at the way its fingers limply cling to the front of his jacket. He brushes them off; gross.

The job was supposed to be a simple one: meet up with Forever and drop off a ROM for him to deliver to the Resistance he definitely isn't part of. From there, Cellbit would pick up Richarlyson and get him off-planet just in case the Empire's laser causes more destruction than anticipated.

But, well, news travels fast, especially when it comes to Cellbit. Because everybody on Favela's heard all about the young Jedi apprentice who went to war a child and came home a Sith Lord, and Cellbit really doesn't know how to tell them that he's never even held a lightsaber. Honestly, he doesn't know how the rumor started, but it's fucking annoying because he can't so much as breathe in his home planet's direction without getting a laser rifle pointed at his face.

Cellbit picks up the dead man's rifle off the ground and slings it over his shoulder. It's empty, but Forever's a bit of a collector; if he doesn't want it, his "friend" The Demon will.

There's a rustle from behind a nearby building. At the same time, Cellbit's comm rings.

A simple man, Cellbit opens the call in his earpiece.

"Gatinho!" he hears, and he smiles despite the gun starting to peek its way into the street aimed towards him.

Cellbit pulls his knife back out and powers it back on. It hums in his hand. His fingers start to tingle; he needs to get Mike to reseal the handle again, the laser's starting to leak through.

"Guapito," he cheerfully responds, "how are you?"

"Fine, fine, I just had a question about the flowers."

The flowers, right. For the wedding.

In two months, Cellbit is going to get married to the love of his life. He and Roier already have the venue booked, and now they're working on the rest of it. Cellbit has a suit fitting booked for a week from now, and Roier supposedly already has his picked out.

The color scheme is red and white. That being said...

Click!

"What about amaranths?" Cellbit suggests.

He ducks just as the rifle fires. Its bullet singes his hair, fucking asshole.

Scowling, Cellbit charges the bastard and swings at them with his knife. They just barely dodge out of the way. The knife cuts through their pristine white helmet, revealing a scarred smile and blank, empty eyes.

"I mean, yeah, obviously," Roier scoffs. "But what else? Roses, maybe?"

The soldier butts the end of their rifle into Cellbit's stomach and pushes him away, and then they pull their rifle back and level it at his face and they pull the trigger and-

"I don't know, aren't those kind of cliche?" Cellbit asks, tumbling to the side and just narrowly avoiding a laser to the face. He falls into a roll and ducks behind a wall. "Like, they're fine, but I think your dad would kill me if we went with something cheap."

"Roses aren't fucking cheap, man. In this economy?"

Cellbit lets out a labored breath, and it's just a bit too loud because Roier goes deathly quiet on his end of the line.

"Fine," Cellbit pants. "Roses are fine. I said they were fine."

Another volley of bullets pepper the wall behind him. A few go right through the wall and mark the building opposite with smoking black dots.

A beep from the comm marks the end of the call. Fuck.

Cellbit adjusts his grip on his knife.

"You know," he calls, hoping the Empire soldier can hear him, "you're going to want me to kill you now."

No response. Figures. It's kind of hard to speak when you were born without a mouth.

One more round of gunfire, and now they need to reload their gun and-

Cellbit leaps out from behind the wall with an animalistic snarl, pouncing upon the soldier and knocking them to the ground. They twist in his grasp, kicking and punching with the hand not holding their rifle.

He presses his knife to their throat, and they freeze.

"You know who I am," he says. "Nod for 'yes'."

The soldier nods. Good. So they can hear.

"You're one of Cucurucho's," Cellbit says. It isn't a question; he could recognize one of Cucurucho's personalized clones from a light-year away.

Another nod, this one more frantic.

"Is Cucurucho on-planet?"

A shake of the head.

"Did Cucurucho send you?"

Nothing.

Cellbit presses the knife in enough for it to start cutting through the soldier's armor, melting it. No response. Seems they've accepted their fate, then.

There's no higher honor for a soldier than to die in the heat of battle. Cellbit may not respect the Empire worth a damn, but he respects the art of war enough to let a soldier die the way the universe intended.

Cellbit drags his knife across the soldier's throat and watches the little life left behind drain out of their eyes. Once they're dead, he stands, and he pulls out his comm to call his fiancé back, his back turned to the dead soldier.

Roier doesn't pick up, but-

PEW!!

Cellbit gasps a scream as a laser shoots through his shoulder. Instinctively, he drops his knife to clutch at his arm, spinning around to face the soldier he had just killed with wide confused eyes, what the fuck?

"You're dead," he tells them. This is new. "You're- hold on."

Entirely disregarding the rifle pointed at his chest, Cellbit struggles to pull out his camera from off of his belt. He could use this! Maybe it's just a fluke, but maybe Cucurucho finally-

"Get away from my husband, you piece of shit!"

Cellbit looks up just in time to watch a red beam of light stab right through the soldier's chest. Over their shoulder, he can see the messy, annoyed face of his very handsome fiancé, who was supposed to stay on the ship to finish getting it ready for Richarlyson.

Roier pulls his lightsaber out and spins it once in his hand before powering it off and tucking it away. He spits on the soldier's corpse as it falls, and then he kicks it for good measure. His eyes almost seem to glow gold for a moment, for just a second, but then he looks up at Cellbit and his face melts into a smile.

"Gatinho!" he cheers.

He jumps over the body and tackles Cellbit in a hug, picking him up and spinning him in a circle before setting him back down and proceeding to lightly smack the back Cellbit's head with a frown.

"You said you would be fine on your own," he pouts.

"I was fine!" Cellbit protests. But he can't hide the wince as Roier's hand brushes against his shoulder, and he can't hide the scent of burning flesh.

"Uh-huh," Roier flatly says.

Cellbit rolls his eyes and shrugs his way out of his fiancé's hold. He bends down to pick his knife up and frowns at the new dent in its handle. Mike's gonna kill him...

"I guess you'll just need me to protect you from now on," Roier sighs.

"My knife..." Cellbit whines. He looks down at it sadly.

"Fuck your knife, it couldn't even kill that guy!"

"It tried its best!"

"Just get a new knife. That way you won't get shot like an idiot the next time you go out on a job by yourself."

Roier grumbles and swoops Cellbit into another hug, this time not letting go as Cellbit squirms in his arms. He mutters loving insults into Cellbit's hair and pinches his ear once before letting go and taking his hand, allowing Cellbit to put his poor dented knife away.

It's only then in that moment of quiet that Cellbit realizes something.

He looks down at Roier with a wide grin. "You called me your husband."

Roier's cheeks redden just slightly. Just slightly, barely noticeable under the red Favela sun.

"I was just practicing, you know?" he says. "For later."

Cellbit's heart skips a beat. He can't help it. He kisses Roier, and he laughs into Roier's mouth as Roier starts swearing at him about PDA and not kissing in front of dead bodies.

"I love you," Cellbit whispers.

Roier pulls his face free from Cellbit's and puts his lips next to Cellbit's ear: "I know."

And that's all Cellbit needs to know.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #qsmp space wizards au #not too happy with this but i had the idea and i wanted it out yk?

[aphroditeslover11]

Can You Hear The Music?

I apologise for the cheap title grab, but I was out of ideas! Some preferences for how some of the boys would react to having a musician as a partner, I’m a violinist so this is kind of based around my experiences. Anyway, enjoy!!

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol, I didnt proofread this, sorry!

Tommy Shelby:

He would almost certainly be there to support you. The only thing that would stop him would be if there was some really urgent business he needed to attend to. He would be there, probably sat on the front row so that he had the best view of you that he possible could. He’d turn up after the performance and insist on carrying all of your bags for you, case and all, with a bouquet of roses like an absolute sop. He wouldn’t have a musical bone in his body, so the fact that his partner did never ceased to amaze him and would make him the proudest man on earth. He’d always comment on how brave he thought you were, even though he was the one that actually went out fighting in France.

Neil Lewis:

The first time he heard you play was when you were practicing, thinking that you were in the house alone. Since then, he had taken to sending random bits of film music on YouTube your way asking if you could play it. He’d drop anything to come along to your concerts, he’d always be sat there with a stupid smile on his face and he’d tell anyone that was with him that you were his. He’d be your biggest support and would always rave over you once you came off the stage. I feel like he would end up with a tradition of dragging you back to the video-store and making you watch ‘The Red Violin’ or something after, probably with a couple of beers, to celebrate.

Robert Fischer:

If you were with this man then there is no doubt that he would have gifted you an instrument worth many thousands of pounds as soon as he saw that you were serious about your music. There would be a rack of designer black dresses and matching heels in your wardrobe as he would insist that you needed a new one for each concert. On the evening he would definitely be there, he’d send flowers ahead of him and you would have to go through the embarrassment of his driver delivering them to your door. He’d probably sit somewhere random in the middle of the crowd so that he didn’t distract you or take any attention away from you if anyone spotted him - he’d be quite conspicuous in a perfect suit having come straight from work. Afterwards he would insist on celebrating, he’d arrange for a car to take you out and there would be a bottle of Moët and a platter of oysters waiting for when you arrived at the bar.

Oppie:

Performing in front of this man would be absolutely terrifying - he isn’t remotely musical but he listens to a lot of classical so he will know if you go wrong. I see him as that annoying person that likes to sit around and watch you practice and gives you irritating pointers when he thinks you are wrong despite having never picked your instrument up before. Even so, he would still be there whenever he could to watch you in concerts. A lot of his friends were musical so you ended up forming little groups with them, especially his brother Frank who was good enough to be a professional on the flute. It would become a fixture that you would get together for informal concerts at the university and then go back to Robert’s for martinis. He was never one to dish out much praise, but he always made sure that he knew he was proud of you when he saw you after a concert. You’d also find the odd piece of fresh sheet music left on your stand when he found something that he thought you would like to play.

Jim (The Delinquent Season):

He would absolutely adore having a musical partner, he’d probably play a bit of piano and guitar himself. He loved to spend an evening mucking about with some fold music together with a glass of wine. Rather than playing classical music like you were more used to Jim would probably have encouraged you to take up some folk music as you were in Ireland. Once a month or so you would try and make it to a folk evening at a local pub, taking your instruments with you. This was your favourite type of performing - informal and relaxed and surrounded by friends with him by your side.

#american prometheus #oppenheimer #cillian murphy #oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #robert fischer x reader #inception #christopher nolan #jim x reader #the delinquent season #neil lewis x reader #watching the detectives #can you hear the music #music #fanfiction

[mc-lukanette]

"Same time next week?" Marinette asked Luka as they stopped on the sidewalk, ready to part ways. She leaned up and grabbed his shoulder for support, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Mhm," he hummed affirmatively, kissing her cheek in return. "Looking forward to it."

It had become their routine by now, and Marinette loved the idea of having a routine. It represented a sense of stability, consistency, and (most importantly) getting to spend time with her boyfriend. She knew the feeling of his lips on her skin, his warmth banishing her cold, and fingers caressing her cheek.

She also knew the feeling of him taking her hand and the corners of a box gently pressing into her palm soon after.

"Oh." She looked down, turning the present in her hands as she asked, "F...for me?"

Luka frowned, hearing the nervousness in her voice. "Is something wrong with it?"

"N-no! No, not at all! Not even a little!" She whined, now fidgeting with it rather than simply examining it. "But... I don't know if I really deserve it, and—"

Her words were cut off by her own squeaking as Luka held her bangs to the side in order to give her a loving kiss on the forehead. She met his gaze, seeing only his affectionate staring back.

"You deserve everything, Marinette," he told her with a smile, "every note of the song."

She swallowed as she watched him go, a blush on her face and her feet rooted in place until he turned a corner, going completely out of her sight.

Finally, she bit her lower lip, almost crushing the gift with worry as she finished in her head, And... this is the tenth thing you've given me this month.

——

Marinette couldn't stop her leg from bouncing as she watched Kagami look over the various gifts with a discerning eye. Luka had gotten her an entire range of gifts from a cute tea mug shaped like a sheep, to special glasses for eye strain whenever she worked late nights on her website's design, to plushes that matched the cat one on her bed. Of course, she knew she shouldn't complain about being showered in gifts by a doting boyfriend, but there was an underlying worry as well.

Kagami, standing and holding the gifted flower necklace to the light, confirmed as much. "These definitely aren't cheap. He must've found a quality store."

Marinette groaned, hunching over until she was laying her upper body on her legs, arms slumped down toward the floor. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Kagami said, the eyebrow raise evident in her tone even if Marinette couldn't see. "Why would you want him to buy you cheap gifts?"

"I-I don't!" Marinette pushed herself back up, hands clenched into fists. "I mean, money's not everything and a gift's a gift, but he only works part-time delivering pizza! What if he's spending all of his money on me?"

"Couldn't you ask his sister?" Kagami wondered aloud.

"She'd just steal his wallet out of worry to look," Marinette replied, shaking her head in disapproval. "I don't want to invade his privacy, I just want to know why."

Kagami hummed neutrally, though her expression said it all: she had a hard time grasping the dilemma even if she was trying her best.

Rich people, Marinette thought in her head, complete with a mental sigh and gulp of imaginary tea. "I guess you and Adrien made a game about it, huh? You give each other gifts all the time."

At that, Kagami bristled. She took a wide stance, pointing a finger at Marinette as she proclaimed, "It's not a game, Marinette! It's a merciless competition between a boyfriend and girlfriend!" She turned her back to her with a small huff, bringing her thumbnail to her teeth in deep thought. "I'm still planning my next move. He won't know what hit him."

"Right, a competition. Sorry!" Marinette assured with a sheepish grin. I don't think Adrien sees it as a competition though.

Marinette supposed that their relationships weren't comparable though, which was fine. Kagami and Adrien thrived on a little tension, but she and Luka were a lot more mellow. Adrien was a lot more about grand gestures and Kagami reflected that right back at him. They'd already exchanged gifts openly in public when everyone was hanging out, and Marinette would just happily snuggle up with Luka off to the side, watching them—

Wait, she realized. That... could that be it...?

——

Marinette massaged her shoulder as she headed up the stairs to her room. It was a long, long day, involving her going all over Paris looking for the exact things that she needed. Luka had called and figured it out of course (he always had a way of sensing when she was in distress) but she rejected the offer to have him ride her everywhere. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted his help, but after the revelation of why he might've been showering her with gifts, she didn't know how to talk to him about it.

Her whole week had ended up feeling extra long because of it.

As she opened the trapdoor to her room, Marinette froze as the sound of a guitar hit her ears, the music seeming to come from her balcony. No way, she thought with a smile, because even if she'd been awkward with Luka it wasn't that she didn't want to see him.

With a little more energy in her steps that she hadn't thought she still had, she hurried across her room, up the stairs to her bed, and finally peeked out at her balcony.

Luka was in the lounge chair, playing a comforting tune on his guitar. Scented candles were set out on a table, along with a few snacks and drinks.

"Jule told me you were having a bad day," he explained simply.

Marinette pouted. It was mean of him to do all this when they needed to have a serious talk. If he weren't so sweet then she'd just take Kagami's advice and tell him bluntly how she felt, but she didn't have the heart to do it when his intentions were undoubtedly pure.

Unable to resist him, she pushed herself up onto the balcony. Luka was quick to move his guitar aside, freeing his lap so she could sit there and straddle him. She grabbed his face and he got up enough to meet her halfway in a kiss. Holding it, his hands slid down her back to rest against her sides while hers went underneath his hoodie to massage his shoulders.

Marinette giggled as she pulled back, just enough to look at his face. "What were you going to do if it rained?"

"Your parents let me borrow all of their umbrellas."

She collapsed against this chest, trying to contain herself at the mental image of Luka putting up umbrellas to protect the lounge chair and their table. Her legs shifted against him, unintentionally squeezing his sides from her body tensing with laughter.

Unfortunately, the universe had also decided to remind her of her goal, as her leg brushed Luka's pocket in the process. She could feel something inside that she was almost certain was yet another gift he planned on giving her.

"...Marinette?" Luka called in concern. He must've noticed that she'd stilled all of a sudden.

"Um." She hesitated, toying with the fabric of his shirt. Then, relenting to what she had to do, she pushed herself up and admitted, "I want to talk to you about something."

He frowned. "I'm sorry I went into your room when you weren't in there—"

"No." She sighed, looking away and rubbing the back of her neck. "It's about all the gifts."

Luka was quiet, but she could imagine what he was thinking. It was rare enough for them to not see each other for almost a week that there had to have been something on her mind.

"You—you put so much into all the gifts you give, but they're... a little much?" She twiddles her fingers, feeling awkward for bringing him up him even if they were long past that by now. "And... since we always see Adrien giving Kagami gifts, I thought that maybe you felt like—"

"Wait." Luka sat up, though had to adjust accordingly due to a combination of the lounge chair and an entire Marinette on his lap straddling him. He gripped her shoulder, insisting, "I already know you love me, Marinette."

"Y-yeah, but—"

"I'm not worried about us, not at all." He shook his head. "I haven't been since we got together. I never held how you felt against you, and you moved on from him so long ago anyway."

"...Then why?" She rubbed the side of her head, even more confused. "I-I know you love me too, but—"

At that, Luka paused, a rare vulnerability showing in his eyes. She gripped his hand on her shoulder and he averted his gaze from her, his lips twitching tentatively.

"It's me," he finally confessed. "I don't think you're shallow enough to love me more over some presents, and I know you don't like Adrien either, but I..." He pulled his hand away from hers, ruffling his hair in his embarrassment. "I still wanted to be able to give you anything Adrien could."

"Oh. O-oh, Luka—!"

All at once, relief flooded Marinette's body followed by affection. She leaned in, kissing Luka again, then once more just for good measure. He looked confused by the reaction, but she was insistent that he let himself be kissed.

"You don't have to do any of that!" She knew that he knew that, but she wasn't exactly thinking coherently at the moment. "I love how much you put into buying stuff for me, but I don't want you emptying your wallet for them! Isn't it enough just to..." She shrugged sheepishly. "spend time together?"

He stared, then sighed and plopped back down against the lounge chair. Smiling up at her, he replied, "I know, and I'm sorry I worried you so much. You're right."

"Of course I'm right!" she said, lightly hitting his chest. "And apology accepted, but you can't be buying me more gifts, okay? At least not as much."

"Alright."

"I mean it too!" She crossed her arms in front of her chest, huffing out, "Or—or I won't kiss you anymore! I might’ve kissed you a lot a second ago, but starting now!" Then, disheartened, she added desperately, "And I don't want to not kiss you, so..."

He nodded, voice low and eyes fond. "I promise."

She pouted, reminded again of how unfair he could be. He'd really made her concerned that he was doubting his worth in their relationship, yet he looked up at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and her worry for him only made her more attractive.

Casting a glance at the drinks on the table, she asked, "Those aren't hot, are they?"

"No," he confirmed.

"Good. I didn't want to ruin your work." She laid herself back on his chest, mischievously playing with his bangs. "I meant what I said."

He grinned, his arms going around her back. "About not kissing me if I didn't stop giving you so many gifts? Or not wanting to not kiss m—"

She cut him off with another kiss.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #((Adrimi is mentioned but that's it.))

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

kay maliksi ulit hehe || hmm modern au music rec is glue song

highschool sweet hearts sila tas nagkita ulit tas ikaw na bahala ate? (ate ka ba)

saranghe (napapagod ka na ba sakin)

((HAHAHA. Hala ka, ate ba ako? Hulaan nyo xD))

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi and Makisig. Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto. All involved characters are adults. Self insert? Might be. Char.

Genre: FLUFF

NON- #PhilMytCrea related AU.

Maliksi softly hums a tune that's been playing on his earphones as he started watering the potted chrysanthemums in front of his shop. It's been 3 months since he inherited the family's flower shop business because his Kuya Makisig wanted to pursue his career as a pilot instead. He didn't mind as he's more than happy to work at his own pace and without someone to boss him around.

He wouldn't admit it to others, but despite him being snarky and sarcastic most of the time, he's actually a gentle guy who loved peace and quiet- the only thing the plants and flowers on his shop absolutely gives everyday.

Maliksi was almost done watering the flowers when he remembered that he had some gypsophila delivered earlier. He smiled as he unloaded the pots and placed it gently in a sunny spot near the windows.

Gypsophila-

How nostalgic.

He can still remember how he begged his Kuya Makisig to teach him how to make flower arrangements- they both practiced using the shop's prettiest flowers- except their parents made him pay out of his allowance but he's already spent half of it on the local arcade earlier that week. In the end, their parents refused to let him keep the bouquet they made.

Maliksi sulked so much that his Kuya Makisig ended up sneaking him a gypsophila bouquet to school the next day- their parents never found out since gypsophila is usually just used as fillers on floral arrangements and it's quite cheap, yet his Kuya Makisig just knew how to make it look like it's one of the more expensive types of bouquet.

He can still remember how happy you looked and how red your face was when he handed you flowers on the last Valentine's Day of your highschool journey. You were the top of your class and Maliksi always hated how he always came second. All your highschool years were you two trying to see who will one up one another be it academics or extracurricular activities.

You were his rival- until you're not.

During your third year, you both were chosen to play as the famous Romeo and Juliet. All the late after school practice, the pancit canton chilimansi fueled all-nighters, and the endless phone calls with one another to have the perfect play also ended up with you two getting closer- not that you'll have it any other way.

After graduating, your family had to move back to the province due to your father's work. Maliksi ended up losing contact with you after a few months and that's it. Such fleeting first love.

He can only softly chuckle to himself as he reminisced those good old days.

"Excuse me...What are those called?"

Maliksi's attention snapped back to reality and at the short highschool boy who is now standing inside the shop, pointing at the flowers he's currently holding.

"Uhh.. these? Gypsophila."

The boy nervously looked around the shop once again, twiddling his thumbs before speaking.

"M...my Ate has a bouquet of that kind and she's got it preserved for a very long time...but I destroyed it accidentally when I was playing with my soccer ball in her room."

That's so cute and sweet.

Maliksi smiled, "I can recreate the bouquet for you. Do you remember what other flowers is in there?"

The boy shook his head before pointing at the flowers in Maliksi's hand "Nothing else. Just that." The boy started fumbling along his pockets before finding three crumpled 100 peso bills and some change. "I saved this from my allowance. Do you think you can do it with this?"

It was clearly not enough but Maliksi didn't mind since he also used to be a highschool student who relied on weekly allowance for stuff he wanted to buy. "Of course, buddy. Let me get your sister's bouquet started."

Maliksi prepared some cotton paper and pastel pink cellophane and started to masterfully arrange the flowers- making a very pretty bouquet that anyone is bound to swoon over. It is a skill he's developed while growing up and occasionally helping hie parents at the shop during holidays. Once he's done, the boy stared at the bouquet in awe, eyes twinkling in admiration.

"It's so pretty! Prettier than the one I accidentally destroyed."

Maliksi smirked at the kid before softly chuckling. "What? I don't think I ever made an ugly bouquet my whole life."

"I...How much do I need to add if I'll have it delivered at my Ate's work? I have a soccer game in 10 minutes."

"You know what, I'll make it free delivery if you promise me you'll win your soccer game, deal?"

"Deal!"

"My ate works at the bank. She'll be out at 5:30pm. If you see some woman with curly hair, around your age and is wearing a cute dress- that's her. Thank you so much!"

The boy left right away for his soccer game, leaving Maliksi with the bouquet. He then started closing the flower shop before grabbing his black hoodie and wearing it above his plain white shirt paired with his grey sweatpants- he's not really up to dress up right now since it'll be too much work when he'll just be delivering a bouquet to some stranger.

Three minutes before 5:30 - Maliksi was already outside the said workplace, leaning on his motorcycle with the bouquet in one hand, waiting for the boy's sister.

You glance at the huge wall clock, waiting for it to struck 5:30 so you can get out of this place already. Your youngest brother has a soccer game going on right now, yet you've been ignoring him for a whole week now after he sneaked into your room and accidentally broke some stuff.

Maybe I should buy him something and him on his game? But he might get embarrassed since he's at that angsty teenager pace...

You walked out of your work, eyes on the ground as you deliberately think if you should sneak on your brother's game to watch him-

"Excuse me, I believe this is for you- Y/n?!"

You quickly looked up to where the voice came from and hurriedly ran towards him with an embrace. "Maliksi!" He made sure to catch you in his arms while you both giggle like two kids as he spins you around before setting you down.

"Ah, it's been so long! I missed you!" You softly giggled before gently ruffling his hair like you used to do to him back in highschool.

Maliksi smiled, not bothering to hide the slight blush that has been forming in his cheeks while still holding you. "I missed you too. I never thought I'll see you here again. You told me yor family will be staying at the province for good."

"We're supposed to. But my brother wants to attend an engineering program for college so, here we are. Our parents stayed at the province though."

"Wait...your brother-"

"Jake, That chubby little kid who used to crawl all over our highschool projects!"

Maliksi's eyes widen in realization that the shy and goofy kid he was talking to earlier was the kid that often bothered him and Y/n's study time back in highschool.

"He's grown! I've met him earlier. He wants me to give you this, because apparently, you were mad that he accidentally ruined the original one."

You can feel your cheeks heating up as if you were caught red-handed to be cherishing that one bouquet you received from Maliksi back in high school very dearly that you went out of your way to preserve it after all these years.

Maliksi burst out chuckling at your flustered face, finding it as adorable as ever. "You could've just tried to look for me when you got back. I would've made you a bouquet for each Valentine's Day we missed since high school."

((I'LL MAKE A PART TWOOO! I'M SO SORRY, I'VE BEEN SICK AND MY BRAIN IS SO SABAW FROM ALL THE ANTIHISTAMINES I'VE BEEN TAKING))

ALSOOO- I'll melt if someone tells those lines to me helppp. AND LOOK AT THAT FACE----- IMAGINE THAT RUNNING TO HUG YOUUUU AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Art is by: @ask-emilz-de-philz , please support them! <3

#planet puto #philmytcrea #planetputo #rp tamawo #maliksithetamawo #rp maliksi #writers on tumblr #ianewrites

[sixminutestoriesblog]

vinegar valentines

It's February 14th, Valentine's Day, and love is in the air. Today is the day to send flowers, share chocolates and, perhaps most famous of all, to find the perfect card to express your deepest feelings to the ones who have been on your mind forever.

Welcome to yet another tradition of the Victorian era that lasted from the 1840s to the 1940s.

That's right, for the price of only a penny, you could send scathing 'valentines' to the people you felt deserved it. Some friends took advantage of this to send joking cuts to their fellows. Most Victorians took it a bit more seriously however.

The nicknamed 'vinegar valentines' were usually printed like postcards, single-side on cheap paper and could be sent through the mail. There were occasions when a postmaster or mail carrier would refuse to deliver them but that was rare.

Anyone that didn't fit into society's expectations of the time was subject to them, bullying through the mail long before doing it online was available.

Granted, sending the valentines was often considered outside of polite society too, so most of these cards were sent anonymously. One would hate to get a 'valentine' of their own for being catty.

Eventually, the tradition fell out of favor and then out of the public's memory. These days any salty valentines we send to our friends are usually done in good humor.

The anonymous ridicule is saved for online.

#valentines #valentines day #valentines cards #vinegar valentine #happy valentine's day #victorian era #cards #hate mail #just remember #love comes in many forms #today is the perfect day to share it with all the many ways you love others

[k-marzolf]

sugar, sugar;

—sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, jealousy, possessive behavior, explicit language, mentions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader—

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

x

He was angry as he pulled you by the wrist into Chanel after work, still in his suit and tie, having been set off the minute that man flirted with you at his office in Anvil.

You knew Billy never wanted to share you. But you didn’t know why. You were just a struggling college student. Not ugly, but plain. Quiet to a fault. And too focused on your bunny, Poppy. But the minute you’d offered him your umbrella during a downpour, he’d relentlessly pursued you.

Expensive bottles of wine, flowers delivered to your dinky little studio apartment, and even bunny food.

You’d said yes, not because of the money, but you’d never been on the receiving end of affection, rarely pursued, and usually by men that didn’t care about you. But Billy paid attention to you, and that was attractive.

He stepped beside you as you looked around. A few women gave you glances that screamed they thought you were a peasant in your cheap department store dress, and muddy boots.

Billy didn’t seem to give a fuck about them, though; “You’re going to pick something pretty out.” He husked in your ear, breath tickling your neck, fingers digging into your hip.

“Why?” You asked confused, wondering what this had to do with being flirted with.

“So that the next man who looks at you knows you belong to someone. To me.” He said roughly.

Oh.

You chewed your lip, “And then afterwards, I’m taking you home so I can make out with your pretty pussy.”

Your cheeks heated, and desire pooled in your gut.

He was going to be the death of you.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

[heaven-s-black-box]

Red at Night- Fukumori

Return to File

Recovery date: Feb 2nd, 2022

Description: Fukumori secret marriage

Notes: N/a

Word count: 1 153

Back to directory

Fukuzawa Yukichi, as Kunikida had come to learn, had a great many secrets. Some were inconsequential, like the man's incredible fondness for cats, and some were a great deal more important, like his former acquaintanceship with the port mafia’s boss. But Kunikida had come to understand that if it was important to the safety of the agency or Yokohama, the president would disclose any necessary information.

So when a bouquet of flowers was delivered one morning, addressed to the president, Kunikida brushed it off as just another simple secret. The colors were warm, and he couldn’t help but think of an old adage Kenji had told him: Red at night, sailors delight, red in the morning, sailor’s warning. It was likely a coincidence, but the yellows and reds painted the picture of a violent sunrise so early in the morning. But it was none of his business.

Fortunately for his curiosity, Dazai had no such filter.

“Kenji-kun!” Dazai called across the office once the delivery man had left. “What do those flowers mean?”

“Hm?” Kenji asked, perking up from where he was hunched doing paperwork.

“The flowers that were just delivered, what do they mean?”

“What makes you think they mean anything?” Kunikida snapped, not once looking up from his laptop. “Not to mention it’s none of our business.”

“Aww, Kunikida-kuuun, you’re no fun. Besides, call it a detective's intuition.” He posed, index finger pressed against his forehead and eyes closed pensively.

Kunikida just rolled his eyes.

“Hm, I think they were zinnias, carnations, and peonies. Yellow zinnias mean daily remembrance, and magenta zinnias mean lasting affection, but in a family kind of way. The other two are romantic, dark red carnations mean romantic love, and red peonies love, honor, and respect.”

“Wow, you know alot about flowers,” Atsushi commented in awe.

“That’s because I help the old lady a few blocks over with her shop sometimes, actually I think that delivery guy was from her shop.”

Despite his determination to leave the president's private life alone, Kunikida had two takeaways from that conversation: one, the sender was likely a lover, and two, the flowers were sent from a relatively cheap shop nearby.  A third less important takeaway was that Dazai was still as nosy as ever, not that he’d ever doubted that.

And so concluded the mystery of the flower delivery.

Until the following week when the same delivery boy delivered the same flowers, this time at the end of the day.

The office was still busy as Kunikida and the other agency members filled out paperwork given to them by the gifted special division in the aftermath of the guild conflict. Once again, Kunikida was reminded of the old adage.

A soft scoff sounded from Rampo’s desk where he sat munching on a box of pockies, but Kunikida wasn’t paying attention. Instead he noticed, as the president came out of his office to accept the floors, that the previous bouquet sat wilting in a vase on his desk. It wasn’t strange that they had begun to wilt, but it was quite the coincidence that a new bouquet arrived just as the last started quilting.

It was almost as if the sender knew they’d begun to wilt.

And so the case of the bouquet deliveries was once again reopened as Dazai called out-

“Another bouquet, president? Whoever sent them must really like you, maybe you should send some back!”

Kunikida’s shoulders hunched in as he grit his teeth. Dazai truly had no tact.

“Da-”

“Yes,” the president cut Kunikida off, stopping in front of the door to his office. He gently held a few petals as if examining them, a smile barely resting on his face. “Perhaps I should. Now get back to work, you still have a report on our partnership with the port mafia to finish.”

Dazai let out a groan at the reminder, sinking further into his chair, while the president reentered his office and closed the door behind himself.

“I still can’t believe you kept that from us,” Kunikida grumbled.

“What?”

“That you used to be a part of the port mafia, an executive no less! It never once occurred to you that that may be important information?”

Dazai just shrugged, and Kunikida was so busy scolding him for withholding such important information that he missed the amusement dancing in Rampo’s eyes. After all, if Kunikida thought Dazai had been withholding important information he’d blow a fuse when he found out who was sending the flowers.

And he did. Far sooner than Rampo thought he would, afterall the detective never expected Mori to show up so soon after nearly killing Fukuzawa.

But as the door to the agency opened and Mori Ougai, boss of the port mafia, stepped in, the entire agency jumped to defensive positions. All except Rampo, who continued sucking on a lollipop with his feet kicked up on his desk. He was glad Yosano was out for the day too, as even though she kept her mouth shut he knew she’d rather see Mori dead.

“Tired of sleeping on the couch?”He called, grinning at the confusion that echoed through the office.

“Yes, unfortunately it seems my words alone are not enough and so I have decided a proper apology dinner may be necessary.”

“He’s in his office.”

“Thank you, Rampo-san,” Mori nodded before slowly passing between the desk, wary of any attack that may be sent his way.

He reached the office door without incident, and as he reached for the handle Rampo waved Kunikida and Dazai down. Just as the two stepped closer to Atsushi and Kyouka’s desks, Mori opened the door and ducked as a knife was chucked out.

“I deserved that,” Mori said calmly before righting himself and stepping in.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dazai turned to Rampo.

“Really? Tanaeda-san sent me to my ex-boss' ex-husband?”

“Ex-hus-husband! What on earth makes you think they were married?!” Kunikida hissed as the other agency members rushed over to convene at Rampo’s desk.

“Mm,” Rampo took the sucker out of his mouth and waved it towards Fukuzawa’s office, “technically they never got divorced, that’s why Mori-san started sending flowers again when we teamed up to fight the guild.”

“The president was married to the port mafia’s boss?!” Atsushi yelled.

“What do you mean again?”

“Why are you so calm about this!”

Using his sucker to point, he went through each question.

First Atsushi’s. “Yes.”’ Then Tanizaki and Naomi’s. “Back when they were together Mori would send flowers all the time, usually I would get a box of sweets,” he pouted, “hey I didn’t get treats this time.” And finally Kunikida. “Because I was a witness.”

“And you never thought that was important to share?”

Rampo shrugged. “It wasn’t my business.”

“Since when do you care what is and isn’t your business?” Kyouka asked.

“Since watching Kunikida blow a fuse is funny.”

#researcher s's recovery #bungo stray dogs #bsd fukuzawa #bsd mori #bsd dazai #bsd ranpo #bsd atsushi #bsd kunikida #bsd kenji #bsd ada #zenki soukoku #fukumori #bungo stray dogs ensemble #fluff #oneshot #bsde oneshot

[yandere-to-express]

The wrong cranium

Gender neutral

Part 4

"He won't eat pickles," the harried mother said, one hand carrying a baby and the other feeding french fries to the bigger child, one by one, the grease coating all five fingers, bringing a dull, worn shine to the wrinkling skin, the blood-red lacquered nails. Her claws embedded into the crispy yellow sticks, she carried the great haul en-mass into the maw of the child, which opened languorously to accept the filial offering.

You could not avert your gaze from the repulsive sight. Your hands, which are holding a palm-sized notepad and a cheap dollar store pen, had gone stiff, shaking, holding back violent urges you had never felt before.

"I understand," you murmur robotically, letting yourself cling to the walls of your skin. Your hand writes down something. "I will bring a replacement."

"Wonderful," the mother praises. "What a good employee. Did you hear that, Tom? Don't cry anymore."

The child's eyes are hazy, his face slack except for the mouth. Tear tracks are lining his cheeks, but they have already gone dry and salty. You note, with a shiver going through you, that there is mucus leaking out of his nostrils, which means there will be used napkins left on the table. Please, put it in the plate. Put it in the plate. Put it in the plate, with the other messes.

"Sure thing," you talk aloud, not addressing anyone.

Absentminded, you make your way back to the kitchen. The line cook, Hannah, takes one look at you and grabs your notepad, skimming the orders and doing her work without a word of complaint or a whisper of friendliness. The notepad is stuffed back in your hands, and you're left to stand alone on the door threshold. The skin all over you has pebbled in aggression, the feeling astringent against your psyche.

You un-tense your shoulders, swallowing it down. How long has it been? All day, all you could do was watch the outside wistfully, tracking the shades of blue behind clouds drifting in and out. Darker and deeper it went, but never dark enough, never changing hue to the lovely orange that awaited the end of day. Your uniform has grown damp and saggy around your figure too. As a sweat drop drips down your temple, you notice the rigid curve of your spine, vertebrae packed tightly together.

No wonder. You feel smaller. The work has worn you down in more ways than one. You look down at your hands— and see your wrist bones, jutting out. Your veins are swollen under your skin, and when you turn them over, you can watch the visible proof of your pulse, desperate with each pump, blue and green intertwined.

Thump.

You trace it down your inner arm, dipping into your elbow. It jumps inside your bicep, like the whimper of a wound.

Thump.

Inside your neck, it climbs to your skull. You tilt your head back, unblinking, staring at the tiled ceiling and the sharp fluorescent light overhead, staring back at you. Dark flowers bloom in your vision.

…Thump.

Your neck cracks, bringing relief. You inhale, but the process is chopped. It clings to your throat before surrendering, disappearing into your lungs; you feel its function distinctly with every motion. Your chest rises almost exaggeratedly, and caves in with equal fanfare through every breath. Mechanical. A step in the algorithm.

It's a slow coming realization, impeded by exhaustion: there's no instinct to your body. It moves, it acts, but it doesn't know. It obeys you. But it doesn't obey as it has done for the past decades you've had it. It obeys because it's yours, because you know it should do certain processes in the background of your daily life. It's pure, unknowing, a blank slate of renewal and reduction both.

"It's not empty," you whisper. "I'm not empty. I'm okay."

A clatter draws your attention away. In the other room, TK is helping Hannah prepare orders, which reminds you of the hours and hours left of your shift. You hurry over to help them and deliver the dishes to their respective buyers, taking payments and receiving new orders. Cleaning abandoned tables.

In one, you stop in your tracks.

The slimy napkin you dreaded to death is sitting alone in the middle of the table. You can feel the disgusting paws of the sullen child all over it, soaked into the very air it is surrounded by.

Utilizing a second napkin, you pick it up. Drop it in the plate. Done, you tell yourself, wishing away the trembling. It's over.

You go back to the kitchen. You carry perhaps a dozen plates in one weak hand, though it doesn't quiver— it doesn't have the energy to. They're put beside the sink, just like every other dish that's passed into your hands. Without hesitation (but with a certain resignation) you start washing. Rinse, soap up, scrub, rinse. Metal wool, sometimes. Extra soap for grease. Twist furiously inside the mouths of cups, then let the frothing tap water outpour down the rims, bathing your hands dull beige.

As the water keeps running, you look at the vortex above the drain and exhale.

Chest caves in, rises back up.

It's dark inside. You can see the hint of dark, murky green, laden with moss or something worse that you cannot imagine, but you don't look away.

It's so… unending. You visualize a round, wide-open mouth in its place, and think of the amount gulped down its gullet. You cannot calculate it (too tired, too uninterested) but it makes you freeze and stare a little more intently. How parched, how hungry would you need to be, to consume so wholeheartedly?

You move the cup aside to see it more clearly. The drain keeps working, and the water keeps going, and the smell of wet metal wafts over to you. The vortex, over time, loses its color, then its lines…

Then its sound.

The drain is dark and quiet. There's no telling what lies inside it, but you know. You don't need to see to know, bu̟t̰ ̫y͙o͍̼u̻̪ ̠g̤a͎z̡e into its dept̶h̸s̶,̷ ̴d̸o̶w̵n̷,̴ ̵d̶o̷w̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̷p̶i̵p̴e̴,̸ ̶a̶n̸d̸ ̷s̵q̴u̸i̷s̴h̶̢͍e̶͚ḑ̸ ̷̳i̸̭̱n̴̦͍s̸̫̞i̵͚̠d̶̢ę̷ͅ ̴̣t̵̗̰h̶͔ę̸ ̸̩ț̷̘i̷̩g̷̪͉h̷͎t̵͎ ̶̖t̶͚̣u̴̢n̶̻ͅn̴͓e̵͖l̷̠̬s̷̢ ̶͜a̶̟ṋ̸̪d̴̘͓ ̷̖l̶̖̼a̴̺b̴͈̖y̷̥͙r̷̮̙i̶̙̼n̵̬̦t̵͉h̶̻̞i̶̫ṇ̴̱e̴̫ ̵͎̻n̶̮ḛ̸t̷̗̣w̸̠o̴͓r̷͓k̷͇ ̷̼̩o̵̢ͅf̴͇͜ ̸̡n̶͉o̴̡̞t̶̢̖h̵̥̝i̵̗n̸͍g̵̣̹n̸̫e̸͈͇s̴̯s̶̟̲,̴̼ ̶̲y̶̥o̴͉̫u̷̖̼ ̸͚f̶̖̩e̴ͅe̵̠̜l̷̤̹ ̴̰i̵̯t̵̮ ̴̧͎p̵̱u̴͉l̵͎̥s̴̨͍̖͉̤i̸̞̞ͅn̵̞̤g̸̖̘,̴̪̱̭̝ ̴͖c̶̮͔͕͜o̴̘̰̳̖n̸͔s̵̺̳t̷̗̩r̷̲̭̖͜i̵̩̜̯c̴̡̡̣̪ͅt̴̡͍͇ͅį̵̹͓̙n̶͇̼͎g̴̤̥̠̬.̸͚̘͎̤̼ ̸͖̦͔̗D̵̨̡̼̳r̷͕̗̣͖̜a̵̜̼g̶͙͍̫̤g̴̠̣̲ͅi̶̤̯̝̭͜n̵̨̬̠g̷̨̢͈͔̭ ̵̹̬̩̤̮d̵̡͍̺ͅͅȩ̷̳̣e̷̡̞̩p̴̝̲̳̪e̸̡̳r̴̖̯ͅ,̵̫̘̤̩ ̴̙̞͖̣̝f̶̢̡̼̼͇e̵̙͕̝̤e̷̗͈͕͍ḑ̶̜̭̝̮i̷̼͉̜̪ṉ̵͚ģ̶͍̼ ̴̱̟͙o̴̫n̵͚͉ ̸̡̦͉y̷̯o̶̢͕̣̲u̶̟͓—̷̢

01101000 01110101 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110011

||SAVE//:01100110 01100101 01100001 01110010||

You stumble back with a desperate, raspy inhale, your chest rising and stuttering in motion. Curled inward, you watch the running sink, the shards of a broken cup crunching beneath your feet.

Some animals eat their prey whole, don't they?

You shudder, sinking to your knees, uncaring for the shattered ceramic. The sharpness sinks into your skin, but doesn't break. Like how play-dough cannot be hurt, because it's not meant to be. You repeatedly and rapidly attempt to restart your breathing process, but something is not responding. The respiratory structures and organs below your neck aren't working.

There's no air. Why are you so calm?

You try to wheeze for a breath. It doesn't work. If anything, it's complicating your work. You try harder. It resists harder. You cannot breathe, you cannot breathe— you drag your hands along the floor where you're lying on your knees, thinking you could crawl away to safety.

"Hey."

You hear a voice, saying your name. It puts a new knot in your throat.

"Are you there? I heard—"

The door opens to let in TK, their eyes searching and worried. When they spot you, they are quick to run to your side.

"Oh my God," they whisper, horrified. Their hands hover for a moment, snapping left and right like they can't decide what to do, and then settle behind you, clutching your shoulder and rubbing your back. "Hey—" Your name, spilling so easily out of their lips. "Come on, calm down, it's okay. You're okay. I— Follow my breathing, okay?"

You stare at them with dead eyes, and unwilling flesh. Nevertheless, they narrow their eyes determination, and begin making their chest move. It rises, rib cage flaring, diaphragm flattening, blood rushing, and you try to follow the rhythm.

A wheeze of air passes through.

"That's it," TK encourages, voice alike a sob, as if mirroring your utter anguish. "The muscles tighten, air comes in… And they soften, air goes out."

Their chest falls back, pulse calming down. You can hear it moving inside them, the friction of bone and ligaments, and the relief of air, blooming into blood.

Your lungs let go. Air passes through, out, and when you breathe next, it goes in as it's supposed to, without error or stubbornness.

TK relaxes. "Yeah. Just like that. You're a natural, aren't you? Passed with flying colors." There's a placid, but worn lull in the atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

Are you ever? You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice— to not crackle or to not burst into wails, no idea which. You've never felt such a wild, discomfiting mix of emotions before; things that have no right lingering close had suddenly tangled together, all without your consciousness noticing.

You imagined that this is how a newborn baby, just out of the womb, would feel. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Lonely, yet not. Out of control, but simultaneously in control for the first time of its existence.

You settled on 'overwhelmed.'

"Good," TK replied, rubbing your back a bit more. "Wait, let me get you some water—"

They stood up to get it, carefully side-stepping the ceramic shards. You should probably ask them not to, but you couldn't even muster the strength to lift your head, so you couldn't protest when TK held the cup tilted for you, matching the flow to the speed of your gulps.

"Dehydration worsens everything," they said. "I remember my mom nagging me about it. She never let me leave the house without drinking a tall glass of water, and the habit stuck. Once I got into college and had my first taste of freedom, I decided I'd cut myself some slack and relax on routine."

"Didn't work?"

TK snorted. "Nope."

They took the cup and washed it at the sink. You remembered that your job won't wait for you, and the customers won't either, so you attempt to stand up… only to flinch away at the sound of clattering shards, falling from your limbs.

TK turns to look at you, but you can only stare at the debris and your unscathed arms. The fragments aren't safe— their edges are sharp, glinting like chef's knives spread out before stove fire, but despite this, as you turn your forearms over and back, you can only see unmarred flesh, without any scarring visible.

What the fuck happened to me, you think.

You were fine this morning. There was no complicated existence to panic about. While you sat beside Peter and talked about nothing, everything felt as pleasant as can be. And here you were now, frozen in fear. Unable to finish even one waiter shift because you were too busy stressing about a defective body.

"Hey," TK calls out to you, "I think you should clock out now."

"Huh?" You can't. The shift's not over yet. And in the game, wasn't today exceptionally busy? You couldn't leave TK to handle it alone— well, technically you could, but you'd feel guilty. You don't want to get used to someone picking up the slack for you, because there was a very real chance that you'd snowball down that rabbit hole.

"Thanks, TK, but I don't wanna push my luck today," you said, kneeling down, and started to collect the shards by the handful. If they didn't hurt you, why not use it to your advantage?

"Jesus— don't just scoop them up! Use a broom at least, what if you get hurt?"

"It's fine, they aren't sharp."

TK didn't seem convinced, but let you clean the mess anyway, taking over dish washing duty instead. You were grateful for that. You didn't know what looking at the drain again would do, and you intended to avoid that fate for as long as you could. Collecting all the fragments on your apron, you dropped them into the trash bin and swept the remaining dust off, rushing out to collect orders and clean tables.

 

 

All day, you slaved away in the restaurant; cleaning, serving, dealing with idiots. While you worked, you did your best to hold yourself together, to keep your pieces in one place until the time when you could fall apart, a shattered body all over the couch.

Your lifeline, as it were, was the promise of a nice night out. As you mopped the floor tiles, tidied tables, and topped up coffees along the counter row, your mind went out to the fantasy of a quiet, chilly night, the smell of earth and grass under an empty space. Maybe after the date, Peter could take you to the park? You resolved to ask him about it… once he came back.

You checked the hour: four thirty. Fifteen minutes left until your shift ends. When was he going to arrive? At the very end? That would be incredibly suspicious, and for his sake, you prayed to a higher power that he'd refrain. You didn't mind, per se, but you were the type to just blurt things out without care for propriety, and the more obvious Peter got, the more effort required to keep your fucking mouth shut and not give it away.

Sighing, you threw away an abandoned receipt into the trashcan below the register, and wondered whether it was worth it to keep quiet. He'd catch on eventually, and you'd have to talk.

That's what's scaring you, isn't it?

"Alright," came TK's voice, "out with it. What's up?"

"What's up… with me?"

"Yeah." Obviously, was what followed naturally, but you had learnt that TK had a modicum of tact, so of course they would leave it out. "You've been working here for weeks now, but never have I ever seen you sigh in all our time together— not even when the boss threatened to sack us without severance pay."

Okay, scary. Original Y/N was double scary. Props to whoever they were. "It's… kinda complicated, and I don't think I can explain it without sounding like a maniac."

They grinned. "A dash of intrigue? No prob. Just know that you can tell me any time, any day, alright?"

You seriously didn't deserve this person's kindness. You just didn't. This was such a fact that it didn't even make your heart twinge. When it all crashed down and your life was in shambles, you would have to send them some sort of consolation gift, to thank them for their care.

"Thanks, TK. I wish I could tell you."

"Glad to hear that. By the way, could you check in with Hannah? I think she needs a line chef in the kitchen— I'll handle the customers."

They glance out the window panes, squinting behind their glasses. "Oh, geez. Guess who's knocking on our door? The evening rush."

You turn to look, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar silhouette, barely visible behind the reflection. Same height, same shirt, same gangly limbs, and when you shifted for a better view, you were able to glimpse the face under the hood: a pair of wide-open, bright blue eyes, and a smile curving horrifically.

Yup. That's him.

"Is it me, or… is that guy looking in?" TK asked, discomfited.

"Lookin' in, sorry. That's, uh, my boyfriend."

"Your—" Their head span around in a perfect hundred-eighty degree to goggle at you. "Your— what? This guy? Your—"

They looked back, as though checking whether or not they were hallucinating the creep factor, but no, TK, you thought, that's one-hundred percent natural. All bio creep. No preservatives or artificial coloring added, honest-to-god, bona-fide creep. I'm so fucking sorry to subject you to this.

"Your boyfriend," they said.

"Yeah."

"Just so we're clear, it's not the eighty-year-old man leaning on the cane, but the two-meter tree branch with fangs, right?"

"You're absolutely correct."

TK stared at you speechlessly, mouth moving without words, and you let your vision zoom out into distant lands, resolutely watching the yellow leak stain on the ceiling. Please, end the conversation. Right now.

"You know what," TK said at last. "This is not my problem… If he turns out to be a serial killer, let me know and I'll call the police for you."

"TK, please stop talking. I'm dying."

"You will once he drags you into an alleyway."

You know what they say: first impressions last forever. In Peter's case, it seems he's ardently devoted to push this rule to its worst potential, constantly disturbing the peace in hopes on garnering even the slightest bit of distrust. Why was he watching you creepily at the diner when he could just hang out by your apartment window? That was perfectly private! This is public!

You caught his gaze through the glass, and waved at him. Despite his eerie appearance, Peter broke into an angelic smile, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and waved back. Seeing as you were paying attention, he began mouthing words: Hello. Something that looked like 'darling'. I'm here, followed by a pointed finger at his feet. Then, lifting his wrist and putting his index finger on it, miming a wristwatch. Okay?

Ah, was he trying to hurry you up? Was that a guilt-trip thing, or just an innocent 'Is your shift over?' You'll never know because you'll never ask, and even if you asked, he'd obviously answer with the latter just to gain brownie points. This wasn't the right time to be honest yet. For neither of you.

Before you could get tangled up in unnecessary thoughts, you sent him a thumbs-up and went back into the kitchens. Hannah did need help— there were simply too many orders at once, and Stephan just wasn't good enough of a multi-tasker to handle the extra load. You helped until the workload went back to normal, then clocked out, waving bye to TK as you went back to the entrance.

While you were gone, the sky had darkened, rain clouds gathering above to drizzle drop by drop. When you stepped a foot outside, you were immediately caught in a pair of arms, warmth swallowing you up.

"I missed you all day," your stalker whined, covering the top of your head with his chin. "How was it? Did you get fired?"

You relaxed into the heat, the embrace, releasing a frigid breath. Your head was silent for the first time since this morning, unburdened by worries or distractions. No clutter to push out… Nothing to sigh about.

Just Peter's scent, and his hug, and his excited, pleasant voice.

"Darling?" he asked concernedly. "Was it bad?"

You wrapped your arms around him in return. Mustering the energy to speak was impossible, so you sank further into the comfort, not even feeling the rain soaking your jacket.

"Heh, not that I'm not enjoying this… but are you okay? Do you need— Do we have to reschedule? I don't mind. We definitely can. Anything you want, okay? Just, will you please talk to me?" He sounded a bit shaky. "It's… ha ha, just, it's weird to not hear you when I chatter. You know?"

You force yourself to speak. "It was—"

s̨̺͇̝o̺̱̣ą̡̪͇͇p̨̥̹͎̹̳ ̨͓͕͜u͙̣̫p̥͍̻͙̠,͎ ̢̨̤̙̹͓s̝̼̝̲͜c̡͎̭̭͚r̡͎̗̞͙̥u̺b̧̢͙̬̠͜ ̪͚E̻̞͈̫̦͇X̙̦͓̱͙T̙͓̮R̙Ạ̭ ̧͓̩S̲̗̟͎͎Ǫ͇̲̲͖A̦͕͕͇P̗͇͜ ̘̝͖͇̞f̧͚̥̹o̖͔͈r̙͉̤̪ ͍G̟̺͖R̨͉̤̠̫͓E̲͚E̲̥E̟̯̹E͕̻͙̼̟ḚA̰̮̘͉͈̼S͙̞̳E̬̻ ̢̬͚̼̗̱01101111 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110111 01110011r͎̬̭ͅo̼̘̩̯ͅụn̗̱̹̝͈d̩,̨̪̦̭̝͕ ̧̤̜̱ͅw̡͈͖̬̙͕i̱͇d̨̠̯̙͍e̙-̰̳ọ̺̩͍͕̝p̦̦̘̙ȩ͍̹̳n̩͎ ̤͓͍m̢̡͚̣̫͍o̫̰u͙͚̞t̢̜͎̮ḩ̡̜ ͓̝̥̲F̙̘͇̠E̥̪̳͕E̤̲̫̗̯D̫͜ ͍̣M͔̩E̹͕̭ ̳T͍̗̜Ḥ͓͕̭ͅȨ̗̠ ͙W̻͈O̧R̨̙̱̥L̢̨̨̯͜D̥̲ ̞̤̖D̡̗͈̻ ̧̢͓̘D̹̗ ͍̫̙̮̝̬D̫̗͉͚͉ ͉̯̣̠̙T̨̪̮̙H̡̢͇̭͖̦E̘̲͖̜ ̦T͖̗̮H̺E̩̪̳ ̲̻͇̳͖̣T̲͖̞̺͈ͅH̦̠E̗̳ ̩͔̫̞͜I̯̙͓I͙͖̤̬I̧̬̲̱͕͕I̜I̧͕̭͚̭̳I̥I̬̝I͙̦̭̫̝͎I̡̘I̞̺͎̦̬I͎̻̻I̢̢̱̲̹I̡͎̘̰I̤̥I̻̺̞̖̖

d̷̢̢̟̏̂a̶̛̬̘͊͒̾ŗ̵̣̯͇̽͐͊̑k̷̤͎͙͙̎͑̑̌ ̶̻̞̞̻̏͊͑̏d̷̳͉̱̯̽́̆ạ̸̥͙̔͂̊̾r̷͇̿́k̶̥̼̲̐́̈̏ ̵̗̪̯̪̎͆d̴͍̤̞̓a̷̰̟͚͛̊͐r̶͇̋̈́͒k̸̺̻̰͎͆̿̄͠ ̸̡̹̊̀̾͗a̴͈͉̱̻̎̀d̵̝͈̄́̓ã̵̲̩͖r̵̪̞̗̓k̵̗̊͗̀̍ ̷̛̪̖͔̗͒̌ď̵͓̊̅̈́ǟ̴̡̜̈k̶̨̘͚̈̀́ȓ̴͓̽͑k̶̳̺̙̈́̐͛k̶̖͐ ̵̡̪̄͒́̄d̴͍̥́́ȃ̷̺ȓ̶̗k̶͎͊ ̴̯͕̀͑͠k̸͈̝̗̎̑̏f̷̠̳̭͉̍̒̀k̷̛͔̓̾k̵̞̃͋͝k̸̞̎̋k̸̝̀͛̓̕ ̶̟͚̩̈̀̇̀ḍ̸̙̫̣̋̕a̴̲̦͓͒r̵͙͑̂͗k̶̨̻̽̃ ̷̓͜d̶̢͍̳̔͌ã̴̧̬̠͖̉̈k̸̖̞̾͊̇͝r̵̲͔̼͝ ̷̘͚̀̒̿̕k̴̰͈͠d̴̜̭͇̙̐̂͋ã̵̤͔ṙ̷̯̭͂k̶͍̇̑̅̒ ̶̠̥̮̓͘d̵͈̖̃́̏̄á̷̳͔̲̏̈́̚r̶̦̋k̴̨͛ ̴͍͉̄̓d̴̯̓a̵̯̓͋̿ͅr̸̦̻̟̖̄̅̈́̄k̷̲̓̆ ̴̤̤̅d̴̢̖̀̀ͅã̷̡ͅk̷̢̢̥̬̒̿̆̽r̸̥̘͌̀͑͜ ̷̻̔͝W̴͙̱̬̮͒͋̏͝W̷̘͎͠W̸̖̺̃͌̇Ẅ̶̪͙͉́̈́́W̷̔́͋̀̀̈́̔͂̔̂̄̚͝͝͝W̵̍̓͛̂̒͘͠W̸͑̽̃̐̓̒̈́W̷͊̋͑̽̌̈̈́̀͗͊̈́̇́͘͠W̶̆̎̐̊̎́̈́̌̋̀̕̚W̵͌͆̃́̅̇͐̎̑͐͘Ŵ̸̛̀̈̈́͆̈́̎̆̒̀W̶̊̏̒̋̏̐̌̈́́̚W̸̉̋̅͑͆̍͘Ẁ̴͛̂͗̓͆̐͑͌͐͒̕W̶͝  and at the bottom of the drain, you stood, awaiting y̤̏̓̐̕̚͠o̘͆͝ú̢̞͚̲͈̟̲̅̾̄̓r͍̟̝̐̾̃ͅs̢͍̤͂́͝ḙ̰̆̓̿̾̕͝l̛̟͕̬̯̬̲͇̩f̩̻͚̫̽ in your own stomach /// when will you S̸̛̥T̵͖̚O̴̯͌P̸̪̅ ̸̫̀S̸͈͗T̵̲͆Ȯ̴̜P̶̪̑ ̷̲̐S̸̠͊T̷̖̊Õ̷̬P̷̤̉?̴͎͋ ̵̱̉?̸̳̎?̴̖́ fear consumes you, pushes you down its gullet, and you stand here wondering when did you die? M̸E̵E̴E̷E̶E̶ 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 E̵E̴E̸E̷E̶E̸E̶E̸E̸E̶E̵E̶E̶—

"—fine," you answer. You were stopped from lingering on it. You recognize it now. "I missed you too. All day."

"You did?" Peter asked. "Really? Missed me? When, how did that happen?"

"Do you want me to describe it like, a case report? Like an interrogation tape? 'Where were you last night, what was your purpose' style?"

"Why not?"

Well, there was it: why not? Maybe it'd make him happy.

"The first time," you started, burying your face into his shoulder. "I was taking orders, and this middle-aged lady came in and tried to ask for a second order on the house because she dropped the first one on the pavement. But in a really polite, aggravating way. You know how some rude people act well-mannered? I wanted to punt her into the curb."

"And then you thought about me?"

"Yeah. I wished you were there so I could get you a second order on my paycheck."

"…You mean, you weren't thinking of me because you wanted someone more reasonable, but because… actually, I don't know. Why did you think that?"

"Well," you murmured, "obviously, because I like you."

Suddenly craving contact, you removed your tired arms from around his waist and put them over his shoulders, around his neck. You had to stand on your tip-toes for that, but somehow, the position wasn't as taxing as it was in your before-life.

Luckily, Peter was there to support you. He crouched a little to reach your legs, then hauled you up under your thighs, carrying you on one bicep with no visible strain. 

...Woah.

You were abruptly eye to eye with him— and better, you were privy to the tender little flush on his face, close enough to savor the sight without shame.

"So you'd— put up with me being an asshole just cause you… like me."

You averted your eyes. This closeness seemed to be a two-way street, unfortunately. "Not exactly 'put up with'. I imagined you there and thought, even if you were being a jerk, I'd give you a meal cause you'd look cute eating it."

Was that weird? Double standards existed for everyone--- people would have different thresholds for different people, right? You weren't abnormal in that regard. Were it anyone else, you'd be insulted, exasperated, impatient— with him, your priorities lay somewhere else. You'd have rather died than compensate that customer, but somehow, the image of him stuffing his face full warmed you head to toe. 

Your mind flashed back to your dinner date last night. The glow of Peter's round cheeks, the happy sigh of relieved hunger, his languorous, steady heartbeat as it pulsed under your touch. A healthy, full heart. Flowing blood.

Uh, you thought, embarrassed for no reason. Let's not linger.

"You know what," you said. "This is mortifying. Let's talk about something else."

He made a cute little snort, then laughed with bared teeth, molars glinting in the street light. You could barely suppress the urge to smash your mouths together. How dare he smile like that? How dare he make you so happy, with only the movement of his face? You released the want through your breath, let it dissipate.

"Let's go to the van," Peter suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he started carrying you across the crosswalk, one hand gently braced on your hip.

"Peter? Peter! Oh God, I can walk, I can walk I can walk I can walk— let me down, people are gonna look!!"

He paid no heed to your desperate wails, merrily making his way down the road. What an asshole, what a bastard. Your heart was so warm, so squished, so warm.

#your boyfriend game #peter dunbar #yandere #yb #yb peter #your boyfriend #ybf #tw: yandere #yb fandom #yandere games #your boyfriend peter #ybgpeter #yb game #yb fanfic #your boyfriend fanfic #peter yb #peter king

[mariacallous]

On a stifling April afternoon in Ajmer, in the Indian state of Rajasthan, local politician Shakti Singh Rathore sat down in front of a greenscreen to shoot a short video. He looked nervous. It was his first time being cloned.

Wearing a crisp white shirt and a ceremonial saffron scarf bearing a lotus flower—the logo of the BJP, the country’s ruling party—Rathore pressed his palms together and greeted his audience in Hindi. “Namashkar,” he began. “To all my brothers—”

Before he could continue, the director of the shoot walked into the frame. Divyendra Singh Jadoun, a 31-year-old with a bald head and a thick black beard, told Rathore he was moving around too much on camera. Jadoun was trying to capture enough audio and video data to build an AI deepfake of Rathore that would convince 300,000 potential voters around Ajmer that they’d had a personalized conversation with him—but excess movement would break the algorithm. Jadoun told his subject to look straight into the camera and move only his lips. “Start again,” he said.

Right now, the world’s largest democracy is going to the polls. Close to a billion Indians are eligible to vote as part of the country’s general election, and deepfakes could play a decisive, and potentially divisive, role. India’s political parties have exploited AI to warp reality through cheap audio fakes, propaganda images, and AI parodies. But while the global discourse on deepfakes often focuses on misinformation, disinformation, and other societal harms, many Indian politicians are using the technology for a different purpose: voter outreach.

Across the ideological spectrum, they’re relying on AI to help them navigate the nation’s 22 official languages and thousands of regional dialects, and to deliver personalized messages in farther-flung communities. While the US recently made it illegal to use AI-generated voices for unsolicited calls, in India sanctioned deepfakes have become a $60 million business opportunity. More than 50 million AI-generated voice clone calls were made in the two months leading up to the start of the elections in April—and millions more will be made during voting, one of the country’s largest business messaging operators told WIRED.

Jadoun is the poster boy of this burgeoning industry. His firm, Polymath Synthetic Media Solutions, is one of many deepfake service providers from across India that have emerged to cater to the political class. This election season, Jadoun has delivered five AI campaigns so far, for which his company has been paid a total of $55,000. (He charges significantly less than the big political consultants—125,000 rupees [$1,500] to make a digital avatar, and 60,000 rupees [$720] for an audio clone.) He’s made deepfakes for Prem Singh Tamang, the chief minister of the Himalayan state of Sikkim, and resurrected Y. S. Rajasekhara Reddy, an iconic politician who died in a helicopter crash in 2009, to endorse his son Y. S. Jagan Mohan Reddy, currently chief minister of the state of Andhra Pradesh. Jadoun has also created AI-generated propaganda songs for several politicians, including Tamang, a local candidate for parliament, and the chief minister of the western state of Maharashtra. “He is our pride,” ran one song in Hindi about a local politician in Ajmer, with male and female voices set to a peppy tune. “He’s always been impartial.”

While Rathore isn’t up for election this year, he’s one of more than 18 million BJP volunteers tasked with ensuring that the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi maintains its hold on power. In the past, that would have meant spending months crisscrossing Rajasthan, a desert state roughly the size of Italy, to speak with voters individually, reminding them of how they have benefited from various BJP social programs—pensions, free tanks for cooking gas, cash payments for pregnant women. But with the help of Jadoun’s deepfakes, Rathore’s job has gotten a lot easier.

He’ll spend 15 minutes here talking to the camera about some of the key election issues, while Jadoun prompts him with questions. But it doesn’t really matter what he says. All Jadoun needs is Rathore’s voice. Once that’s done, Jadoun will use the data to generate videos and calls that will go directly to voters’ phones. In lieu of a knock at their door or a quick handshake at a rally, they’ll see or hear Rathore address them by name and talk with eerie specificity about the issues that matter most to them and ask them to vote for the BJP. If they ask questions, the AI should respond—in a clear and calm voice that’s almost better than the real Rathore’s rapid drawl. Less tech-savvy voters may not even realize they’ve been talking to a machine. Even Rathore admits he doesn’t know much about AI. But he understands psychology. “Such calls can help with swing voters.”

[sealedwithwax]

no one asked! but i’m having a bad day and wax seal stamps always make me feel better. so here’s my beginner’s guide to wax seal stamping.

i’ll start by saying that if you are an absolute beginner, i do highly recommend buying a kit on amazon. this is the one i bought when i got started, and it’s served me well. the kits come with a stamp, a variety of decent quality wax, melting stoves/furnaces, the tea lights that go in them, some cheap stationery, and usually some metallic pens and maybe some glitter or ribbons for decorating. if you’ve got the wax seal fever though, the kits are pretty limited with the actual stamp situation. so when you’re ready to branch out and try additional things, here’s my breakdown of where to do it and how to use what you might encounter.

wax seal stamps: these are the metal (usually brass) devices used to make an impression in the melted wax. they’re the best part of the process, and come in countless patterns, images, symbols, etc. the higher the quality stamp, the cleaner the imprint in the wax.

stamps can cost anywhere from a few u.s. dollars to $50 or more. most quality stamps will run around $20-$35. some of my favorite places to buy (in order of lowest prices to highest) are:

craspire

misterrobinson

back to zero

artisaire

stoves and spoons: these are basic tools you can purchase anywhere. the ones on amazon are exactly the same as the ones you’ll find at fancier stamp studios and boutiques. you may find some variety in type of stove, but i’ve honestly had the best luck with the stove you’d find in any starter kit.

you’ll also find varietiy in spoons, though i’ve never really found a difference in quality. any differences you want in a spoon come down to size, in my experience.

sealing wax: okay! the best part of the experience after the stamps themselves. when buying wax online, depending on where you’re purchasing from, there is a higher risk of getting a less quality product. the biggest issues with cheap wax are a) the smell (can be strong and unpleasant) and b) the texture (may melt poorly, stain or stick to the spoon).

wax can be purchased on different forms and for different purposes. flexible wax is best for sealing letters and surviving the post office. older, more traditional waxes are inflexible, sticky, and break easily. they work better for hand delivering letters/documents. further, wax can be purchased in bead form (usually hexagonal in shape) or in stick form, designed for low-heat glue guns.

i recommend buying wax from all the places listed for stamps, minus craspire. i only hesitate to list them because i haven’t bought and tested their wax before, so i can’t speak to the quality. i also recommend wax from:

letter seals

sea and paper

accessories: these are the fun extra things you can use to prettify your seals, and the additional tools you might find useful. this includes silicone work pads, stirring tools, tweezers, more decorative handles, glitter, metallic inks, dried flowers, etc. the best place to get accessories in my opinion are:

sea and paper

paper ocelot

back to zero

fiona ariva

so, there you go! my guide to getting started with stamps. i’m kinda desperate to talk about stamps all the time, so please feel free to send an ask or reply to this post if you have any questions <3

#resources #mine #wax seal stamps #wax seal #wax seals