Today I saw a lost cat poster in our neighborhood and I went OH NO! And David’s response was, “I hoped you wouldn’t notice that poster.” I went up and memorized the cat. Just in case I see them. Because there is a LOST CAT. And now I am thinking of all the lost cats and Imma go eat this whole bag of candy corn and sob on the clean laundry.
UT and UF bitty bros response when you come back from a long trip and couldnt take them with?
He just slept a bunch while you were gone.
You left him activities to do and made sure he’d be taken care of but he was to bored and unmotivated to do anything without your presence.
If he’s asleep when you come in the door he probably won’t hear you.
Once he has noticed you’re home he teleports into one of your pockets, the hood of your coat/hoodie/jacket, or some other comfy place to chill and goes right back to sleep.
He’s gonna persistently do this for a while because he missed you.
While you’re gone he’s kinda lonely but does his best to keep up his schedule.
He gets up and tidies things, cooks, exercises, and works on puzzles.
Imagine a tiny Papaya doing a human size puzzle.
He’s an organized little thing and knows exactly when you’re gonna come home.
When you get home he’s made a welcome home banner for you and cooked you a special little cake. He made it as big as he could but it’s still pretty tiny. Tiny but full of love. He wishes he could use some of the bigger tools on his own.
He tries to nap, like Classic, but it doesn’t work as well.
He’s a little anxious and it stops him from resting well. What if you never come back?
What if you got tired of him and abandoned him?
What if something terrible happened to you!?
When you do finally get home he’s gonna be really needy. He’s attention starved and so relieved to see you home safe. He’s not gonna leave your side for a moment. He’ll even sit somewhere in the bathroom while you bathe. He might actually need a bath himself because he was too busy worrying to take care of himself properly.
He’s kinda put off that you couldn’t take him with you.
He’s mad at you at first when you leave. He pouted when you were trying to say goodbye.
He continues his little routines and tries to stay mad at you as long as he can.
It’s not working though. He knows he’s being stubborn and now he feels bad for not saying goodbye properly. He misses you more than he’d like to admit.
When you get home he’s waiting at the door. He tries hard to not show how excited he is. He’s quieter and more affectionate than usual. This is his way of apologizing for being a butt.
“Ney c’mon if we don’t go now we’re never going to get there” I said standing by the door
I heard footsteps before he was standing next to me, “Alright I’m here”
I shook my head chuckling as we walked out of the house and to the car. Today Neymar and I were going to make a cake for Davi’s birthday today, and it was a good thing that he was spending the day with Neymar’s family or else this cake wouldn’t get done at all.
As you can probably take a guess we really haven’t started anything, and even though it’d be easier to you know just go to the store and buy the cake. Davi specifically requested that the cake be made directly from Neymar and I. I mean it’s not really going to be a problem for me because I love baking and making cakes, Neymar on the other hand eh we’ll see how it goes.
Arriving at the store, Neymar went online to look for different styled cakes. Eventually settling on a Sesame Street cake for Davi. “Alright so we need-”
“Cake mix” Neymar said pulling out a vanilla cake box
I chuckled, “How about we do a character cake?” I said looking up from the cake pans
Neymar nodded, “Who should we do?” He asked as he picked up cake pans
I shrugged, “What about Abby?” I said
Neymar made a face, “Cookie Monster is definitely the best”
I looked at him, “No way, Abby’s the best hands-down”
Neymar rolled his eyes, “The Cookie Monster eats cookies” He said
I scoffed, “Would he share the cookies with you?I thought not so that’s why Abby’s better” I said
Just as Neymar was going to speak another voice chimed in, “Elmo’s the bestest ever”
We both turned our heads to see a little child staring at the both of us, she started at us as if she was waiting for us to continue the conversation of who’s better. “Annalise” A woman called out
We all turned and the little girl ran off, leaving Neymar and I in silence for a little while. “Well I guess that debate’s settled” I said
Neymar chuckled, “Elmo it is then”
Since there wasn’t any Elmo cake pan’s, odd right? I know the main character of a child’s life and they don’t have his own cake pan. But besides that, we decided we were going to create our own frosting so we grabbed the food coloring and the necessary ingredients to bake the cake for Davi.
After shopping for what we needed, we headed back to the house and got right to baking the cake. “Neymar just open the oven for me” I said
He chuckled, “Alright, alright” He said dusting off his hands
Once it was safely inside of the oven, I placed my hands on Neymar’s face which earned a glare from him. “Seriously?” He asked
I gave him a small smile, “It’s going to take a while to get the stuff out of my hair so I hope you have fun getting this stuff off of your face” I said
“You too” He said before placing his red flour colored hands on my face.
Neymar just chuckled, “It’s all love”
~30 Minutes Later
After cleaning ourselves off, we cleaned the kitchen a little bit and took the cake out letting it cool. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I asked Neymar
Neymar nodded his head, “I’m Neymar jr. I’m always right” He said
I chuckled, “Babe you’re wrong about a lot of things” I said
He looked over to me, “No I’m not”
I raised an eyebrow, “Really? “
Neymar looked up thinking about something for a little while before nodding his head, “Yeah, I’m always right”
I just shook my head at him and watched as he began to decorate the cake. “My arm hurts” He complained
I chuckled, “You’re the one who said you wanted to do it”
He groaned, “Next year we’re buying a cake and lying that we made it” He said
I laughed, “Move over” I said grabbing another Red frosting and helping him on the other side of the cake. It didn’t take us long to finish covering the cake in red, or to add in the other elements to Elmo’s face.
When we finished we stepped back giving each other a high-five, “Parents of the year award should really be awarded to us” Neymar said
I nodded, “Definitely “
Neymar sighed, “We’re not done yet” He said looking at the house
I nodded, “C’mon let’s hurry before Davi get’s home” I said
He nodded and we started getting everything set around the house. It didn’t take us long to finish setting up the house for Davi and a couple of his friends.
By the time we finished setting up, the door opened and in walked Rafaella and Davi along with some of his friends. “Whoa” Davi said as he looked around
Neymar and I stood by the island bar and smiled, “Happy Birthday Davi” We said together
Davi smiled running over to the to of us, “Thank you, this is so cool” Davi said as he continued to look around in awe.
“This isn’t all” I said
He looked confused, and we placed him on top of the chair along with his friends. “So since you wanted a special cake made by us, we got you two cakes. One made by us and another we bought just in case you wanted chocolate” Neymar explained
Davi smiled and lifted up the covers we’d put over the cakes, “Elmo! And Paw Patrols!”
how does the copycat incident happen in the younger!au
felt like writing a drabble for this one- the younger au is so much fun to indulge in :)
In retrospect, Marinette wonders if none of this would have happened had she just gone to the 7th anniversary celebration of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s appearance in Paris.
In her defense, 7 years isn’t exactly a milestone. 5? Yes. 10? Undoubtedly. And she still remembers their 1st anniversary, back when they were 9 years old and new to the whole superhero thing, was so exciting and fun- the whole city had thrown a parade for the popular young heroes and the most wonderful part of the day was when her father had made a special cake for both of them, not knowing that he was making a celebratory cake for his own daughter.
But that was 6 years ago, and Marinette cannot be blamed for being a little over the whole celebratory thing. Aren’t people used to them by now? It’s true that she’s proud of being the city’s heroine, and that people look to her and Chat Noir to save the day, but over the past year, while she’s been fighting supernatural villains and grappling with her overwhelming feelings for her best friend, and she can’t be bothered to show up to yet another silly and ultimately meaningless ceremony sponsored by Mayor Bourgeois, especially when she has an important task to accomplish.
Namely, that Alya dared Marinette to ask Adrien to a movie last night and in a burst of confidence she actually called his phone and left the following message:
Hi Adrien! It’s Marinette from your class and I just wanted to ask you to the movies because isn’t it funny? I’ve known you like forever but you don’t even know that- actually never mind- forget I said that, anyway you’re really cute and I think we should watch a movie and I love your laugh okay bye!!
Even Alya stared at her with a combination of amusement and pity afterward, and she cannot be blamed for wanting to use her powers to delete this embarrassment of a voicemail from the world.
Is it really such a surprise, then, that she prioritizes using this time, which she knows is when Adrien is supposed to be in fencing practice, to steal his phone and delete the evidence, instead of going to yet another ceremony?
Marinette would say it’s only fair.
He’s going to be at the ceremony, focused on his duty as Chat Noir. By the time he gets back to school, she’ll be long gone, the evidence deleted.
Adrien can’t help but notice that Ladybug hasn’t quite been the same, ever since they got their real powers and started fighting akumas. They’ve been best friends for years. He knows her too well to not realize when something is off and something is definitely off.
He didn’t realize it at first, cushioned in the weight of his newly born infatuation with her, lost in her familiar blue eyes and the weight of their rock solid partnership. But he can’t help but notice that she’s been getting more distant recently, responding to his jokes in a way that seem playful, but don’t quite reach her eyes.
It’s weird, feeling so connected to her and yet at the same time feeling so distant, and so when she doesn’t show up to the 7th anniversary celebration, well, it also hurts. Especially because over the past few months, whispers and rumors have circulated Paris about the status of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s relationship, and if they’re more than friends.
Of course, they deny every interview request that focuses on this topic and wave away any prying questions, but Adrien can’t deny that he is falling in love with his best friend.
If only she felt the same way. But he doesn’t want her to be uncomfortable, especially when it’s obvious that she’s going through something complicated and messy internally. He won’t pry unless she opens up to him, and he doesn’t want to burden her with the weight of his feelings.
So he keeps them to himself, with the exception of Master Fu and Plagg. They are the only ones who know.
Still, Adrien has a little perverse streak, so when that annoying sculptor Theo confesses his feelings to him, Chat Noir can’t help but indulge a little bit in the fantasy that the Parisian tabloids have woven.
Chat Noir can practically hear Master Fu scolding him in his head, especially as he can see Theo’s face falling as he learns about the “deep friendship that turned into love” between the two heroes.
So he’s not surprised, really, when Copycat shows up, just mildly guilty. But he’s not about to admit it to anyone.
“Our special secret, you say?” says Ladybug, raising her eyebrow at the Chat Noir pinned underneath her. “Our secret love?”
“Yes, of course,” says ‘Chat Noir’, looking at her with a keen expression and a naked desire in his needy eyes.
She immediately knows that he’s not the one. He’s not her kitty cat, the one she left a ridiculous voicemail for that she’s going to have to delete later, because he was a speedy kitty and got back to school much faster than she thought he would.
“Copycat!“ she cries, and she tells the imposter with pride in her voice that she knows he’s not the one because Ladybug and Chat Noir have no secret love, that they are best friends and partners but no more.
She leaves out the part where she wishes it wasn’t true, and she misses entirely the sadness in her real partner’s eyes, the way his ears and tail both droop when he leaves after the battle.
He’s not the only one whose heart you broke, Chat Noir whispers softly, as he trudges more than he walks as he leaves the scene.
Later, over a cup of tea at Master Fu’s, the old man scolds Adrien for being reckless and putting both himself and Ladybug in danger, and to try not to be the cause of emotional distress for any citizens of Paris, now that Hawk Moth is on the loose.
But he knows that young love knows nothing of safety or danger, that it simply knows what it desires, and that eventually, it will find the right path.
It would be so easy, thinks the old man, to tell both the young heroes the truth about their identities, to tell them that now is the right time to reveal the truth to each other, that it’s the right time.
But it isn’t, not yet.
Someday, they will learn. But today is not that day.
So once for a birthday of mine my mom made a special chocolate cake for me. Being little, she never told me the name of it, but it was delicious chocolatey goodness.
So a few years later Mom told me the name of the cake. It’s called the ‘better than sex’ cake (???) because it’s so good, it’s better than sex.
Before my grampy (dad’s dad) died, Mom happened to make the cake again for a party and the whole family was there. Grampy asked what the name of the cake was. Mom was hesitant to tell, as her parents-in-law were quite strict Catholics and even mentioning the word ‘sex’ around them was nearly a sin in its own right.
Well, Grampy kept pressuring Mom for the name of the cake so he could make Grandma make it in the future. Eventually, Mom broke down and told him.
Grandma turned white, then pink. Grampy, on the other hand, looked down at his plate, looked at the cake, then took another bite and said,
Well, I actually had a good late birthday Saturday. Mom and dad to me out to eat someplace nice, then my “sister” (bestie) and I did an all nighter of staying in, eating stoner food, made “special” cake, drinking, and blaring our music. We also did our makeup and did our best to look good in our fucked up state. Lol
Her phone was shut off on my birthday and she felt bad that I was alone on that day, so she made up for it with yesterday. 😄
I literally just got up 40 minutes ago!
I was wondering what your all time favorite lashton moment is?
this is actually a reALLY hard question
but let me tell you about a glorious day
october 30th, 2013
aka the last day of the TMH tour
aka the dAY ASHTON PLAYED THE GUITAR
this happened while i was asleep bc time zones and i woke up that morning and saw this picture (courtesy of luke’s mom, bless her heart):
and i literally CHOKED ON MY CEREAL bc i’d been a closet lashton shipper for a while before this happened and then i decided FUCK IT I WANT TO SEE THEM MAKE OUT AND I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE
Nonsexual cuddling prompt: Regina sick, cuddly and clingy. BD-verse or BI(post couple)
It’s four days before their wedding when Robin arrives home to find Regina sitting on their sofa in tears.
“Lovely, what’s wrong?” he asks sympathetically, reaching out to brush his hand over her cheek. It’s flushed and warm, and he brushes dampness away with his thumb as she shudders in a breath and sniffles.
“I’m sick,” she croaks, her voice cracking with tears, rasping a bit underneath it all. “It started this morning, and now…” He can hear it more then, the scratch, the depth, the stuffiness perhaps born of more than tears. She gestures to the nightstand and the small collections of balled tissues there, and Robin’s heart aches for her.
Of all the times…
“I’m sorry, my love,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her brow, and then each cheek in turn.
But Regina turns her head, ducks away from his touch.
“Don’t,” she protests. “The last thing we need is you sick, too.”
“I’m immune,” he tells her confidently. “Been vaccinating myself with kisses all week.” As if to prove his point, he ducks his head in, stealing her mouth for a brief moment. This time, she doesn’t pull away, sinks into him instead, her arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders.
She’s warm. Feverish, he thinks; he can feel the heat under her skin when he lets their kiss end and presses his cheek to hers for a moment.
“Come here,” he urges, stealing the blanket she’d had draped over her curled legs and urging her to make space for him on the sofa. She does, and he stretches out along the cushions, tucks her into his side, sandwiched snugly between his body and the back of the couch. She snuggles into him as he spreads the blanket over them again, her head pressing into his chest before she coughs, one hand covering her mouth. There’s a hollow hoarseness to it that has him lifting a hand to stroke through her hair. “It’ll be alright,” he soothes.
“No, it won’t!” She sniffles, wipes angrily at her cheeks with the hand not wedged between them. “We’re getting married in four days. I can’t be sick; we still have so much to do.”
“I’ll take care of it. All of it,” he assures. “Don’t you worry a bit, my love. You just rest.”
“You can’t take care of everything,” she grumbles, and oh, just watch him try. He’ll take care of every damned thing and then some, he will make this day perfect for her. And he’ll rid this damned cold from her with sheer force of will if he has to.
“You’ve already had your final dress fitting, yeah?” he asks, and she nods, cuddles in impossibly closer, her knee wedging in between his, chilly toes finding their way beneath the hem of his jeans and to the warmth of his calf. “And your dress is at Emma’s now. That’s the only thing I’m not allowed to see. Every thing else, I can handle. Just leave me a list tomorrow of what’s left to be done, and I’ll take care of it all before the weekend.” He presses his lips to her brow again, breathes in the familiar scent of her hair. “You just get better, my love.”
“I still have to make Roland’s cake,” she sighs, her voice hitching with the threat of a fresh wave of tears, and they can’t have that.
“You’re still going in to work, I assume?” Because she’ll always work. Rain or shine, health or ill, she doubles her hand-washing and soldiers on. And with a week of vacation coming up, he knows she’ll not take a day to rest. Not even if it would help her get better faster.
Sure enough, she nods, a few errant strands of her hair tickling his neck.
“Take some time during the day, make it then.”
Her hand presses hard enough into his chest that he oofs as she uses it to lever herself up and glare down at him, a blotchy, red-eyed, gorgeous fury. “I can’t make it at work, Robin, the kitchen isn’t fucking gluten-safe.” Shit. She’s cursing. And he’s an idiot. “You know that. I have to make it here. I promised him a special cake just for him.”
He curses that bloody diagnosis, and not for the first time (they’ve made do, have had a grand old time taste testing gluten-free recipe after gluten-free recipe. Roland still kicks up a fuss about not being able to taste test all the treats at Forbidden Fruit, but his eyes light up every time Regina slips him a carefully Ziploc-sealed confection from their own kitchen, and for that he wants to propose to her all over again).
Still, there’s another solution, an easy one she just can’t see through her pre-wedding jitters and mucus-stuffed head. Robin lifts a hand to her hair again and asks, “When do you need it done by?”
“Friday, at the latest.”
She’s hitching breaths again, tears leaking down her cheeks. Robin brushes them away and offers, “If you’re not feeling better by Friday, have Belle come by and make it then. Roland would be beside himself to have a special cake made just for him by Auntie Belle, hmm?”
She sighs, and nods, concedes with a pouty, “I guess…” And then a watery, “I don’t want to be sick at my wedding.”
“You won’t be,” he swears, drawing her back down to his chest, tracing his fingers through her long locks. “We’ll stuff you full of tea, and orange juice, and vitamin C, and herbs. And you’ll sleep. I’ll take care of Henry, and school, and everything else that needs to be done, and you’ll rest.” He noses into her crown, drops a soft kiss there. Another. One more. “And you’ll wake up on Saturday, my beautiful bride, and you will be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and well, and as you’ve not been spending the last few days running around after all the odd tasks left to be done, you’ll be well-rested and relaxed…”
She snorts a laugh against him and he grins. That’s better. Much better.
“Thank you,” she rasps, settling further into his side, getting comfortable. He hasn’t had dinner yet, still has his shoes on, but he resigns himself to the idea that he’ll likely not be moving from this spot for a while.
Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made, especially when brides-to-be are having a minor meltdown.
“Anything for you, lovely,” he whispers, adjusting the arm he’s had wrapped over her back, letting the other continue to trace curling trails from her temple, behind her ear, down along her neck. “You just rest now, alright? Close your eyes.”
“You’ll be stuck here,” she protests, although he can already hear the heavy sleepiness of her voice, the exhaustion of an illness-crying-jag one-two punch dragging her down quickly.
“If I minded being stuck with you, my love, I wouldn’t be marrying you.”
She laughs, smacks weakly at his chest, and Robin chuckles.
And then she stills, and breathes, and within minutes she’s heavy against his side (as heavy as a wedding-weight Regina Mills can manage to be, anyway), snoring softly. Sound asleep.
Robin stays until the grumbling of his stomach competes with the rumble of her congested sinuses, and then carefully, oh-so-carefully, extricates himself and heads for sustenance, and the wedding binder.