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#Squirrel asked me funny question
ratwizz · 2 months
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Jinny and Jun kin Ryan and Min-Gi Respectively
Jinny belongs to @squirreltastrophe
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niqhtlord01 · 4 months
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Humans are weird: Dogs
Alien: Why did you take me to here? Alien: You know I hate being outside. Human: How else would I get you to the greatest place on the planet? Alien: *About to ask question when sudden noise distracts them* Alien: *Reads sign on nearby post* Alien: What is a “Dog Park”? ----------------------------- Human: Unlike cats, dogs are man’s true best friend. Alien: And why is that? Human: Because they won’t brutally maim you if you pet them too long. -----------------------------
Alien: What does one do with their dog? Human: Play fetch mostly. Alien: What is fetch? Human: *Picks up ball and throws it* *Nearest dog sprints after it and brings it back* Alien: That’s it? Human: No; now comes the difficult part. Alien: Which is? Human: Trying to get the ball back. ---------------------------
Alien: Aren’t these creatures expensive to maintain? Human: Medical wise they are about the same as cats. Human: Entertainment wise they are much cheaper. Alien: How so? Human: *Picks up nearby stick and wobbles it around* *Golden retriever stops what it was doing and focuses on stick* *Tail begins wagging at turbo speed and they hunch down on two legs with their back legs up* Human: *Hands stick to alien friend* Now you try. Alien: Really? Alien: You think this will- Alien: *Notices dog now focusing entirely on him as he wobbles stick* Alien: Oh my gods…. Human: I know right? Alien: I have become their god now. ----------------------------
Alien: Do they have any weaknesses? Human: Don’t put a mirror in front of them. Alien: What happens if you do? *Pair turns as a dog begins loudly barking* *Pair see a dog barking aggressively at its own reflection* Human: Because of that. Alien: That doesn’t seem so- *Dog leaps at mirror and bonks its head* Human: See? Alien: Question withdrawn. -----------------------
Alien: May I try walking one of these dogs? Human: Are you sure? Human: You’ll need upper arm strength to restrain them if they get excited. Alien: *Looks down at tiny little corgi* Alien: I think I can handle them. *Chuckles* Human: Alright. *Hands leash over* Alien: *Begins walking dog around park* Alien: I don’t know what they were talking about. Alien: This is easy. *Random squirrel runs past corgi and Corgi chases after it* Alien: *Violently thrown to ground by sudden pull and dragged across the dog park* Human: *Watching his alien friend swear in his native language* I’d feel sorry over this, but I warned them so it’s okay to be funny. -------------------------
Alien: *Finally gets free of corgi leash and picks themselves off the ground* Alien: What…*Gasp* the….*double gasp* florp! Alien: How was that tiny creature so strong?! Human: The tiny ones are the most energetic. Human: The big ones are the giant babies of the species. Alien: How does that make any sense at all? Human: *Takes alien by the face and directs their gaze down at excited pitbull8 Human: Look at that smooshy face! Human: Nothing has to make sense when you look at that cute stupid smooshy face! -------------------------
*Dog comes up at starts nuzzling alien* Alien: Ah; you are an adorable creature. *picks up dog and cradles it like a baby* Alien: *Starts rubbing its belly* Human: *Notices and comes over* Human: I’m glad you’re starting to warm up to them. Alien: *Nods* They are enjoyable after a period. Human: Just as an FYI, that’s a Pug and when they’re on their back they can’t breathe. Alien: WHAT!? Alien: *Immediately puts dog down and it gasps several times* Alien: I didn’t….you mustn't think I would.. Human: Just wait a sec. *Alien watches pug take several more deep breaths before looking up at him and starts wagging tail again.* Alien: They are not very smart, are they? Human: We call that their “Derp” factor. ------------------------------
Human: Hey Greg. Human 2: Yo. Alien: What are you doing? Human 2: Playing “Hide and go seek” with my dog Burt. Alien: *Begins looking around* Where is this- *sees Burt standing behind bench poorly hid* Alien: I can see- Human 2: Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh. Human 2: Don’t make eye contact. Alien: Why not? Human 2: Because you need to wait five minutes searching the entire park before you find him; it makes him feel like a really good boi. Alien: But why not just- *Human 2 leans in close* Human 2: So help me if you look at him before those five minutes are up and make him sad I will hit you with my car. Alien: Wait what!? Alien: You can’t be serious! Human: *nods* Dog people take their pets happiness very seriously. Alien: But to hit someone with a car? Human: *Shrugs* I once shot a guy for throwing an empty soda can at my little bugger. Alien: You take your dog’s very…..seriously, I see. Human: Is there any other way?
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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months
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There’s a knock on his door.
Keith freezes. There’s never a knock at his door.
“…Yeah?” he calls out cautiously, dog-earing his book and setting it down on his mattress. Shiro doesn’t knock, Shiro just calls out from wherever he is. Or texts him. And it’s not like Keith even has friends over, because he’d have to have friends to have them over. Shiro is also, as it turns out, equally as uncool, and never has company.
The door handle turns, and Adam pokes his head through the crack.
“You busy?” he asks.
Keith blinks. “Oh. Hi.”
That makes sense. Adam is here a lot. Keith has kind of forgotten to count him as company, actually. He kind of just appears at random times. Keith is half convinced that Adam is actually some kind of hologram Shiro has created to argue with, mostly because imagining that is really funny.
But he’s never come to Keith’s room before.
“Hi,” he says back, smiling slightly. “Shiro had to run out to handle something because the Garrison would delve into chaos without him, apparently. So he’ll be gone until after dinner.”
He looks at Keith expectantly. Keith stares back, eyes big, because he has no idea what the hell to say to that. Like, he’s correct, Shiro is the one and only thing holding the stupid school together, but Keith’s not quite sure why Adam has come to announce that to him.
“So are you free?” Adam repeats.
“Oh,” Keith says, startling a little. This is a — Adam is seeking him out. Intentionally. Planned. The fiancé of his foster — father? brother? mentor? Keith should ask more questions — has made plans, and they include Keith. Keith is being considered as someone to be hung out with.
“Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. “I’m free.”
“Cool,” Adam says, nodding. “C’mon.”
Keith scrambles off his bed and to the door, not wanting to give Adam time to change his mind. Not that it matters, or Keith cares about hanging out with him. Or anybody for that matter. But he’s curious, so.
“What are we doing?” Keith asks, jogging after him. Adam is a power walker. There’s not a lot of space to power walk in the small apartment, but Adam manages to leave him in the dust anyway. More fuel to Keith’s hologram theory.
“Well, obviously I love your brother more than the moon and stars,” Adam says matter-of-factly, striding over to the kitchen and opening counters.
Keith blinks. Well. That’s one question answered, he supposes.
“But I’m worried.” Adam sets down his armful of supplies; a small mixing bowl, chopsticks, a knife, a cutting board, and an array of vegetables. “Takashi tries very hard at everything he does. It usually gets him quite far. But cooking?” He shakes his head, grabbing a strainer and a head of cabbage and stepping over to the sink. “I don’t know who cursed him, but he’s physically incapable. And you’re thirteen. You’re growing. You can’t eat boxed noodles and peanut butter sandwiches all day. It’s bad for you. Come here.”
“I eat a lot of fruit,” Keith offers, feeling strangely like he has to defend Shiro, or something. Not even necessarily against Adam. Perhaps against the Allegations. “He’s very big on oranges. And mandarins. All citrus, really. There’s a lot of it.”
Adam rolls his eyes. “That is because Takashi read a book about scurvy when he was fourteen and is now terrified of it, because he is a goober. He’s also afraid of squirrels, if you’re wondering. He found out that some of them are carnivorous and never recovered.”
A tiny, barely there smile quirks his lips. Keith bites the corners of his mouth so it doesn’t get any ideas, then steps hesitantly towards the kitchen island, across from Adam. He watches him scrub the leafy vegetable, careful to get in all the nooks and crannies, then pat it dry. He moves to set the cabbage down and then seems to think better of it, leaning back against the sink.
“Get me the salt,” he says, gesturing to a bowl on the counter with pursed lips.
Keith narrows his eyes at it suspiciously. “Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Adam observes.
“You answer very vaguely,” Keith returns.
Adam barks a laugh. Keith finds himself pleased at the reaction.
“I’m going to scrub the cabbage with it,” Adam explains. “It’ll draw out the moisture and take out any leftover dirt, too.”
Satisfied at the answer, Keith grabs the salt bowl, bringing it over. He moves to go back to his spot but Adam stops him with a wet hand around his wrist, gently guiding his hands towards the cabbage. Keith wills his shoulders to relax.
“One hand open to support it, one hand in the salt bowl,” Adam instructs quietly. “Grab a handful and start rubbing it in.”
Hesitantly, Keith grabs the offered cabbage, hyperaware of how his shoulder brushes against Adam’s bicep when he moves; how he doesn’t move away, but he’s not crowding, either. Just…close.
“I can actively feel my fingers pruning,” Keith says in disgust.
Adam snorts. “Yeah, they do that.”
Step by step, Adam guides him through chopping vegetables, measuring spices, mixing sauces, and handling the stove until Keith is working his way through a basic stir-fry like a pro. He’s more shocked than he should be when he tries his first bite of it and likes it.
“You have managed to avoid being cursed, too,” Adam says around his own bite, pleasantly surprised. “I was worried that living with Takashi would curse you by proxy. But this is good.”
“I mean. It was stir-fry. We chopped and we fried. Hard to fuck up,” Keith points out.
“You’d think. When I tried to do this with Shiro, the pan was charred so bad we had to throw it out. I don’t even know what he did. I was right there. It’s like he destroyed it by rancid vibes alone.”
Keith hides a smile in his noodles. Adam notices anyway, and grins.
“Sounds about right.”
“You’re good, though, kiddo,” Adam says, and his hand is heavy on Keith’s head. “You’re good.”
Keith swallows the sudden lump in his throat. His face gets red.
He leans into the touch.
———
other parts in this universe
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bloomingdog · 11 days
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Acolyte
word count: 2.7k a/n: hii i'm going through a depressive episode and this is my fic about soap with a depressed reader cos he's my babygirl. might expand on them idk i love soap i wanna keep writing for him
Johnny is a friend of Kyle’s, and Kyle is a friend of Farah, who is your friend. And Johnny, or Soap, is here because Kyle invited him since he had “nothing better to do”. And it’s alright, he’s fun and a little loud, he talks over people but always apologises. You were a little nervous to meet him, having been promised a get-together with people you were already well-acquaintances with, but the tears in your eyes, from laughing, that is, dismiss all previous nerves.
“And then he-” He’s cut off by his own wheeze, it’s been going for a couple of minutes; him and Kyle trying to retell a story about their captain, but they keep getting interrupted by their own laughter. You don’t think it’s that funny, if anything their reactions are the thing that make you all go into hysterics. It’s hard to feel sorry for all the other patrons. 
You feel drunker than you really are, save for Farah, you only had two to three beers each. It’s the kind of silly drunkenness induced by being with friends. The forgotten UNO cards on top of the table shake as Johnny’s fist hits the table trying to catch his breath.
And the pub’s playlist keeps playing every top #1 hit from the last 20 years. And at some point you’re all performing a rendition of smash hit “500 miles”. And you’re getting giggly with sleep. And Farah’s driving you home. And she’s asking you about Johnny, which makes you giggly all over. And she’s telling you he’s single. 
And then it’s morning. And there’s a message from an unknown phone number.
“Hey. This is Johnny. 
Just wanted to let you know I had a blast last night, loved meeting you :-)” 
It makes you smile trying to figure out what to write back. Why is it so hard to sound nonchalant while also a little interested in getting to know him? 
“So did I!
Haven’t laughed that hard in a while lol”
That’s cool, right? It’s half a good response at the very least, since you get a response back.
“Wanna meet sometime?”
Oh, that’s good. At best, you get a little attention and maybe a lay, at worst you get a new friend. You keep texting throughout the day, you two fit like a puzzle piece: talkative, extroverted and active. He sends you a picture of a squirrel he saw earlier on his morning run, you send him a picture of your cat back with the caption “my asshole son” to which he replies “don’t be mean to him”. Those little interactions keep getting exchanged. On Monday, you send him a fun fact about a shark that had a virgin birth. Tuesday, he’s telling you about his fear of dogs. Wednesday is the perfect occasion for a picture of your cat, Gus, sleeping in a funny position. Thursday, your phone pings with a string of texts ranting about Glasgow City. Friday you’re texting Johnny that you’re at the restaurant you’re meeting at, a hole-in-the-wall that mastered the art of oily food and crispy chips, he replies he’s running late.
“I’m so sorry for making you wait.” Is out of his mouth before any greeting. “Are ye hungry?” It’s more a conversation starter than an actual question.
“It’s okay! No worries.” You’re just happy to be hanging out, not bothered by his tardiness. 
The two of you sit and chat, you learn he has a tattoo of a revolver but won’t say where. He laughs at the face you make while imagining where it would be. “Don’t be dirty!” He chastises, it’s within the law that you steal one of his chips as payment for the teasing. You ask where does Soap come from.
“A’m good at cleaning.” It’s a short answer that explains enough, you’re not keen on pushing the topic any further. Luckily, he changes the topic rather quickly, it looks like he’s not a big fan of silences. “Tell me aboot Gus. How’d you get him?” 
“A colleague’s cat had kittens, she was trying to find them homes, Gus was the only one left, runt of the litter you know?” He nods, listening, interested in what you have to say. “Kept pushing and showing me pictures of the guy until I caved. When I took him home he wouldn’t stop screaming, I think he might be part siamese, they’re really vocal. So, he kept me up all night, I thought he was sick or something, I even took him to the emergency vet, turns out he’s just a dickhead.” He smiles at the insult. “A very cute one, though.” You add, it’s hard not to love him even if he wakes you up at 6 a.m. on the dot.
 “Can I meet him someday?” he might if you’re lucky enough.
You might as well thank every saint, divinity, and omnipotent being for your luck tonight. He accompanies you home, only because “he’s a gentleman”, according to him. The kind of gentleman that kisses you dizzy and gets invited into your flat.
You text Farah about the events of the evening before falling asleep, it’s not kiss and tell if she’s your best friend. And in the early morning you’re both woken up by an angry Gus, whose side of the bed has been stolen by a guy that almost doesn’t fit in it. You’re cuddled on his side, one leg over his.
“Gus-Gus….” It’s a groggy mumble of displeasure, you know he only wants to be beside you, but the hour doesn’t help your mood. Still, you move away from Johnny so he can jump onto your chest for cuddles.
“He does skirl alright.” That morning voice might actually be the death of you.
“Told you. He’s an asshole.” A breathy laugh makes his bare chest move as he turns to face you.
“He’s real cute though.”
“Are you not tired?” The early morning light peeks through your window, the sun isn’t even out yet and you can’t imagine anyone that is appreciative of being woken up so early.
“Naw, no’ really. ‘M used to it.” 
It feels weird, good weird, to have him in your bed like that. Barely a week since you met, and he feels so close, more like a friend than a one-night stand, more than a friends-with-benefits. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again.
“Ye want breakfast?” Your eyes are closed again, hugging Gus close to your chest, hand moving up and down his fur but not doing much to pet him. His call of your name is answered by a groan, it makes him chuckle. He scoots closer to you, you can feel his arm coming up for Gus to sniff and the cat readjusts himself so his head is closer to Johnny’s. “Hi”.
Oh but the warmth dissipating from his body is to much, that and the soft noise of Gus’ purr drives you to fall asleep again. You only half dream, a mixture of images that won’t make any sense once you’re awake again, which happens rather soon as the bed adjusts and you feel a hand run through your hair. 
“Can I make tea?” His voice sounds softer than earlier, you nod, opening your eyes just a smidge to look up at him.
“Biscuits in the cupboard…”That’s as much as you can muster now. “Wake me up when it's done?”
“Course.” 
He left with Gus following behind, but you can’t seem to fall asleep again. That was…rather intimate. Your stomach feels hot and your chest tighter. Shooting your eyes open you’re quick to grab your phone again, Farah replied an hour ago.
“Wooo! Good for you”
“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about it btw”
“Farah”
“How pathetic is it to have a crush on your one night stand?”
Oh you don’t like that, calling him a one night stand, feels too impersonal, rude almost.
You’re getting out of bed, into your restroom and to the kitchen. 
“Good morning” He leans against the kitchen counter where your meds are,he’s looking at his phone waiting for the kettle to boil, clad in his boxers from last night, hair a mess and body soft under the morning light. Even though it’s the same body it feels so different from last night, scars, bigger and small, litter his body, it’s muscular and soft at the same time, big pecs a tad too inviting and a tattoo on his forearm. Reaching for the pills would mean standing next to him, probably brushing against—no, touching him, and that makes you nervous. Oh. You’re embarrassingly down bad. 
He stayed the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday. Next week it was picnic and football. You’re convinced any major team would be jealous of your 1-person teams and 5 meter field. He’s good, but you’re full of fear as he chases you for the ball, it’s the predator-prey kinda adrenaline that makes you score. 
“Yes!” 
“Offside! Offside!”
“What do you mean offside? There’s no one I can pass the ball to!” In fact, there’s not even a goal. You grab the ball and go back to him, looking straight into his eyes in fake defiance. 
“Talking back to the referee? That’s a red card.” He looks so handsome like this, standing tall and unmovable, even if only joking, and you let him know via a quick kiss to his lips. He’s pulling you back to his lips not even half a second after, deep and slow, giggly. “Bribin’ me, huh?” You let out a soft, happy, sigh and kiss him again.
“Wanna go home?”
You tell Farah everything over a cup of tea and a piece of cake, of course. And she laughs at you, not in a mean way at all, only friendly and amused, still you hit her arm.
And the following week it’s film night. This one’s more spontaneous than the others, it’s been a tough week at work, you want a quiet evening and some company so you ask him if he wants to come hang out, he replies saying that he’ll be there in 30.
It’s the two of you, your favourite take out, Gus-Gus sitting on the back of the sofa and Fargo on the TV. He’s not paying as much attention to the film as he is to you.
“What?” You say, turning to look at him.
“Ye’r a beauty.” You smile shyly and kick him on the leg with your foot slightly. “A’m serious. I like you a lot.” A big smile grows on your face, and it’s enough confirmation for him to know you feel the same.
Or at least he thought so. There are no plans for this weekend, not for lack of trying, that is, Soap’s been trying to text you all week, it’s a big shift from your daily texting. He misses the little life updates you send him. Tuesday, he thought you might just be busy. Wednesday he stops trying to contact you, did he do something wrong? Went too fast? Are you ghosting him? What did he do that was worth the silent treatment? Thursday, he tries calling you, multiple times. Friday all rational thoughts have left his brain, did something happen to you? Are you okay? Christ, what if you’re dead? He texts Farah, swallowing his embarrassment.
“She’s okay, I think.”
“Going through a bit of a depression episode at the moment.”
“She’s going recluse, I know she wouldn’t mind a bit of help.”
“I have a spare key to her flat if you want to come get it.”
The string of texts floats around his mind, spare key in hand in front of your front door. He’s been inside before, but he was invited in, this feels invasive, but Farah trusted him, and she knew you best. He sent you a message before showing up, the last bit of chivalry he can offer before showing up in your home, it went through, and he hoped you read it even if you didn’t reply. 
He calls your name upon entering, no response. Gus comes running up to him to headbutt his legs and meow, a quick look lets him know his water bowl is clean and automatic feeder full, that’s a good sign. His voice trembles as he calls for you again. 
“You know where she is?” Great, now he’s speaking to the cat, and he meows in response, great, an actual conversation with a cat. Gus takes off and squeezes himself into a room with the door ajar, your bedroom. He knocks before entering, not expecting a response. The room is dark except for the light coming from your laptop, empty and half-full glasses taking up most of the space on your desk, chair full of unfolded clothes and a doughnut of blankets on the bed.
“Go away.” The doughnut speaks. His heart breaks at the sad, much softer than usual tone of your voice.
“Love.” The pet name slips from his lips, he notices but doesn’t attempt to correct himself. He walks closer until he’s sitting next to you. “Can I help you?” 
You shake your head no, or what’s visible of it. “Go away, I stink.” He chuckles.
“That’s fine, smell better than the lads in base.” It’s a pathetic attempt at humour, you still shake your head no.
“You don’t have to do anything.” You don’t sound sad or angry like he thought you might, it’s emotionless, almost like an automatic generated response.
“But I want to. Want tae tak’ care o ye” He wants to make everything better, wants to fix everything, wants you happy and energetic and smiling. It’s silly how much he cares for you after barely a month of knowing eachother, scary now that he’s admitting it out loud. He pulls down the blankets for a full view of your face, his hand goes to your hair, it’s tangled, he’s careful not to pull on it. “Am gunna run you a bath.” It’s not a question, you laugh slightly and he smiles, realising what he said. “Didny mean it like that, c’mon.” 
He helps you up from the bed and into the restroom. From your seat ion the toilet, you observe the way he turns on the tap and rummages through your cabinet, trying to find something to put in the water, you assume. “The orange bar in the back.” He halts, looks for a second and comes up with it, he leaves it on the sink while he turns off the water, you grab the bar and crumble a bit of it into the tub. He looks at you and gets up, you take it as your cue to undress and get in. Johnny comes back with a change of pyjamas and underwear and leaves again. You can hear him moving around and making noise, talking to the cat in occasion, while you clean yourself, when he comes back it’s to put your dirty laundry in the hamper. You don’t know why that’s the thing that makes you break and start crying. As soon as he notices, he’s on his knees next to you, softly caressing your cheeks and moving your damp hair away from your face.
“Whit’s wrong?” 
“I don’t want you to do this.” Is no reply to his question. “I don’t want you to have to do this.”
“M’eudail.” He starts. “It’s okay.”
“No it’s not!” You look up at him” I’m so sad all the fucking time and I don’t want you to have to deal with that, it’s not fair to you, you know? I don’t want you to have to take care of me or put up with me.”
“But what if I want to? Wanna take care of you, wanna put up with you.” You shake your head no, looking back down.
“Johnny, I’m so much. I get so clingy and stupid.” 
“That’s fine by me.” There’s no deterring him. He lifts your head up by your chin to kiss your forehead, bright blue eyes staring at you. 
And you realise how ridiculous this is. You’re crying in the bathtub, your friend-situationship is on his knees next to you, again, crying in the bathtub. You let out a sigh and nod.
“Okay.” 
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opultea · 1 year
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"Even though you might end up regretting enabling his little habit" I would love to enable this so allow me to propose a concept if you will: infodumping being a mutual love language. A
Like kaveh walks in on a date night by accident and the reader's explaining the nuances of wine making in mondstat and Alhaitham is sitting on the couch drinking said wine and also taking notes. Reader and Alhaitham try to see who can find a more niche topic for their lectures discussions to borderline comical degrees but even if it isn't initially interesting to either party they love listening to their person explain it. Just showing you love someone by both listening and being listened to as they each discuss some niche topic that they hold interest in >>>>>>
Love this, honestly being with Alhaitham would be like being on a national debate team but in the best way possible. So here's a little drabble because this is so cute and so funny (and also my first ask so thank you!!)
You and Alhaitham to each other:
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Alhaitham with a partner that mutually infodumps
Alhaitham x GN Reader (No pronouns) - Fluff/Crack - SFW Based on this headcanon
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Usually when you and Alhaitham plan date nights, you like to tell Kaveh in advance, just so he knows you'll be taking up the living space for a while. Kaveh is more than happy to leave for a night on the town whenever this occurs, since walking in on whatever you weirdos get up to would be his waking nightmare.
However, it seems that tonight you had forgotten to inform your boyfriend's roommate about the night's events, being too caught up in some last-minute work to remember to notify him. Alhaitham certainly isn't going to bother telling Kaveh, if he walks in on something he doesn't want to see, then it's his problem.
So here we have the poor, unsuspecting Kaveh, groggily unlocking the door to your shared house after a long day of fighting for funding for his projects. Kaveh thinks of the glass of wine he'll be pouring for himself once he gets inside, the plush couch he'll be lounging on, and the quiet of the end of a long day. But his dreams and his expectations are shattered when he passes through the doorway to the living room.
Before him, you stand at the large portable whiteboard with a pile of scattered papers around you, covering every surface in white sheets scribbled with ink. Alhaitham is sitting on the couch in front, his own set of papers spread across the cushions and a notebook in his hand. Neither of you seemed to notice the confused architect in the doorway as you continue on your tangent.
"So you see, because of the average density, shape, and weight distribution of a squirrel, it has such a low terminal velocity that it could not possibly be harmed by falling from any distance," You scribble your conclusion across the full, messy whiteboard as you speak. Alhaitham hums in acknowledgement before standing from the couch, taking one of the two wine glasses on the table and bringing it to your lips for you to drink as you write. "Thank you dear,"
"What in the name of the Dendro Archon are you two doing?" You turn, finally noticing Kaveh at the entrance of the room. You smile and wave slightly, though Alhaitham is not as happy with the arrival.
"We happen to be on a date, so if you wouldn't mind, I think this is your cue to leave."
Kaveh's jaw drops as he takes the scene in further. "A date? This is what you lunatics call a date?!"
"Well, this is what we usually do," You reason, confused about the indignation in Kaveh's voice. "So far tonight I've gone through corvid thanatology, the effect of ley lines on geographical isolation, and the terminal velocity of squirrels."
"I have touched on the theories of atmospheric pressure differences in Enkanomiya, and the nuances within viticultural methods in differing regions," Alhaitham follows. "Now would you mind? You're disrupting our question time."
"Question time? What is this, an official debate? And geographical isolation, atmospheric differences, squirrel physics? What in Teyvat do you need to know about that for? Unless you're planning on taking up yet another course of study," Kaveh gestures wildly to the messy lounge. "Look what you've done to the place!"
"Well we enjoy teaching each other new things, even if the topics are a bit niche," You explain.
"Especially if the topics are niche," Alhaitham says, taking you in his arms. "Perhaps if you weren't so unfocused, you could appreciate the intellectual stimulation we provide each other,"
Kaveh tried not to gag as the two of you face each other in a loving embrace, Alhaitham caressing your cheek with his palm as he compliments your evidence. You smile and press a kiss to the inside of his palm, returning his compliments with your own.
"Of course you of all people don't know how to plan a date Alhaitham," Kaveh taunts.
"I'm sorry, but I believe I am the one with the significant other. So your reasoning is entirely null,"
"Why you-"
"Enough, both of you," You cut in. "I'm sorry I forgot to tell you we were having a date tonight Kaveh, but do you think we could have a little more time to ourselves?"
"You don't have to bargain with him," Alhaitham says, now electing to ignore the architect entirely. "Let's just kick him out. He can deal with the consequences of his interruption,"
"Ugh, there's no need. I don't want to have to see this any longer. Have fun with your so-called date,"
Kaveh sighed as he closed the door, hearing the two of you continue your series of lectures inside. He supposed he would have to get that glass of wine at the tavern instead.
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ckret2 · 10 months
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The latest installment of "literally nobody is happy about Bill being the Mystery Shack's prisoner," chapter 8: Bill attempts to manipulate the humans with the only weapon he still has at his disposal: grossing them out. Also featuring: dramatic arguments with Ford, a surprise bath, and me trying my level best to convince you all that hair is the most disgusting substance in the universe, let me know how I do at that. Chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven if you missed them.
A few days into summer vacation, just before dawn, Dipper and Mabel were woken by a series of thunderous crashes and pained screams, followed by Bill's piercing, maniacal laughter. They were armed and out the bedroom door in seconds.
Mabel said, "Who did he kill?!"
"I think he blew up a wall to escape—"
They skidded to a stop at the top of the attic stairs. Bill had tumbled halfway down, crashed into the wall where the stairs made a ninety degree turn, and was now sprawled upside-down on the steps, giggling.
Dipper lowered his weapon. "What."
"I ff—" Bill was interrupted by a wheeze of laughter. "I forgot how stairs work."
He spotted the kids—Dipper holding a metal claw hammer, Mabel holding a kitchen knife longer than her forearm—and abruptly stopped laughing. "Wow, you kids came ready to commit murder! Just waiting for the first excuse, huh?"
"Shut up." Dipper looked at Mabel. "Wanna go back to bed?"
"I think my blood is all adrenaline now."
Dipper sighed. "Yeah. Let's get breakfast, I guess."
They trudged down the stairs, shoulders pressed to the wall to stay as far from Bill as possible. As they passed Bill, Dipper muttered, "You could at least get out of the way."
Bill—who'd been about to gingerly sit up—lay back down and spread out across the landing. "Think I'd rather mildly inconvenience you!"
Mabel threw in, "And take a shower! You smell like an outhouse."
"That's my human-repellant forcefield."
The twins headed for the kitchen for a snack they could take out of the shack—and were blocked by Stan in the doorway. "Hold on. Don't go in there. You smell that?"
Dipper and Mabel sniffed the air, and grimaced. Mabel stuck out her tongue. Dipper said, "Ugh. We thought that was Bill, but it's worse down here."
"One of two things happened here," Stan said. "Either a squirrel and a raccoon fought to death under the fridge and started rotting; or the space demon cast some kind of stink curse. Personally, I'm hoping for dead wildlife. But until I find out, you two stay out of the kitchen."
There were several more crashes as Bill tumbled down the second half of the stairs, a groan, and a muttered, "What am I getting wrong?"
Stan rounded on Bill. "Hey! Demon. Don't suppose you happen to know why the kitchen smells..." He gestured vaguely, "like that."
Seated on the floor, Bill had been absorbed in prodding his limp left arm; but at the question, he looked up with a worryingly bright smile. "It just so happens I do!"
"Explain."
He twisted his left arm with his right, jammed it back into its proper position with a pop, and straightened himself up. "Funny thing—you know how I can't open doors? Because of the curse your brother put on me? Of course you do. Well—darnedest little quirk of human architecture—I don't know if you noticed, but it just so happens that all of the toilets in this house are behind doors!"
Stan's face blanched. "Oh no."
"At any given time, this body I'm in is freely secreting about half a dozen different bodily fluids—snot, spit, sweat, I could go on—and you humans are perfectly comfortable with that. But you think one bodily fluid is special and can only go in the special white bowl. Me, on the other hand—I'm an energy being that doesn't leak all day! Your fluids are all equal to me! I don't care about your special white bowls!"
Hotly, Stan said, "You're in my house—"
Immediately twice as angry and twice as loud as Stan, Bill said, "So if you think I'm going to lower myself to asking three times a day for permission to use a STUPID TOILET for YOUR COMFORT—"
And that was when they started screaming.
Dipper looked at Mabel. "Let's eat out."
Mabel nodded. "You know that burger place where Wendy gets breakfast—?"
"If we hurry, we can probably meet her there."
By the time they'd changed and come back downstairs, Ford had joined in the argument, Abuelita had set up a folding chair to watch it like a wrestling match, and the volume had doubled. (Bill: "BE GRATEFUL I USED THE SINK INSTEAD OF YOUR CEREAL BOXES! NEXT TIME I WON'T BE SO MERCIFUL!" Stan: "I'M GONNA INSTALL A DOOR KNOB ON THE KITCHEN FAUCET AND THEN YOU'LL NEED MY PERMISSION TO DRINK, YOU LITTLE—") Dipper and Mabel squeezed around the crowd, slid out the door, and biked into town.
They decided they'd just stay out the rest of the day.
They'd been doing that a lot lately.
####
When they made it home that evening, the first person they ran into was Soos, relocating a detached door. "Oh, hey dudes! Okay so, update on the Bill situation." Soos leaned the door against the wall. "We removed the door on the downstairs half bath and nailed up a curtain instead, so, now it's curse-accessible, but Bill can't lock himself in and do—" he wiggled his fingers, "secret Bill things. So. If you wanna use a bathroom with a real door, you've gotta go upstairs now."
Mabel considered that. "The bathroom with the tub still has a real door, right?"
"Yeah dudes, it's fine!"
Dipper said, "So... do we have a way to get him to shower...?"
Mabel said, "Yeah, whatever Bill's been doing in the kitchen sink—"
(Soos said, "And the trash can, it turns out.")
"—it hasn't included sponge baths, and it's getting obvious."
"And I'm not really comforted by his 'human-repellant forcefield' comment," Dipper added.
Mabel nodded. "I'd kinda like Bill to clean up before he gets as bad as Dipper last July."
"Hey."
Soos pointed toward the attic. "Ford's working on that right now." He whispered, "He's got a theory that Bill's just just too proud to ask for permission to use the facilities? So maybe if we ask him to take a shower, he'll go, 'oh, okay, I'm doing you guys a favor,' and then he'll agree to be let in and out of the bathroom."
Dipper grimaced. "I don't like the idea of begging him to shower."
"Uh... I'm fine with it." Soos shrugged. "Better smug than smelly."
####
"All right, Cipher."
Every time Ford came upstairs, Bill was curled up in the window seat, one side pressed against the glass. If it weren't for the crumpled jerky and granola bags and the empty energy drinks scattered beneath Bill's window seat—or the occasional downstairs argument—Ford would have suspected Bill hasn't budged in days. It made him nervous. There was an ice pack on Bill's left shoulder that had sat there so long it was completely melted.
"You got the bathroom you wanted. Now, would you take a shower?" Ford mustered up all his willpower as he prepared to mortify himself, and added, "Please."
It was important to note that Ford had spent his youth as the golden child; Stan had been disowned before his desire to please his parents had a chance to wilt and die; and Ford had barely seen Shermie's teen years. He'd spent his own adolescence isolated from his peers, and hadn't gotten to know any youths except Dipper and Mabel since then.
All of which was to say, the look Bill Cipher gave Ford, shocking in its ferocity, was utterly alien to him; but would have been familiar to millions of humans around the world.
It was the same look received by authoritarian parents whose tyranny had squeezed a little too tight, and whose offspring had realized they were grounded so severely they no longer had anything left to lose. It was the wrath of the defiant teenager. 
And then the most pleasant smile snapped on Bill's face, quick as flicking a light switch. "What's in it for me?"
Ford blinked in disbelief. What needed to be in it for Bill? It was a shower. "Being... clean?"
"Eh."
Ford's shoulders sagged. "At least use deodorant?" he pled. "Change clothes? Brush your hair? Something?"
"No, no, absolutely not, aaand no. What's the matter, Stanford? I've been staying out of your way! You don't even see me up here. The stench can't be getting to you that much, so what do you care what I do to this body?" Bill's grin widened. "Guilt starting to set in? Must be hard to pretend you're a hospitable host rather than a kidnapper when your 'guest' is living in squalor—"
"Enough," Ford snapped. "So this is what, your way of protesting your own captivity? You have to realize how stupid this is."
"Buuut it's wooork-iiing," Bill said, a singsong lilt to his voice. "It's getting on your neee-eeerves."
"You're going to cause yourself problems in the long run! Diseases, infections—don't tell me I have to explain germ theory to you, you're smarter than that."
Bill scoffed. "I'm flattered you're so concerned about my health, but you can relax. I've been washing my hands and brushing my teeth like a good little potential disease vector. But you humans are so safe inside your modern fortresses with minimal carnivorous bugs and flesh-eating fungi—most of your hygiene expectations are cosmetic! I'm more willing to put up with itchy dandruff than you are to put up with the smell."
"Are you listening to yourself? This is—" Ford paused. "You've been brushing your teeth? Where did you get a toothbrush?"
"I've been using the dish brush and liquid dish soap in the kitchen." Bill laughed. "Wow, look at you—lecturing your prisoner on poor hygiene when you didn't give him any way to clean up! That's not a good look, pal."
Ford made a mental note to find a spare toothbrush for Bill. He flung his hands out in exasperation. "But—why put up with itchy dandruff at all? Why refuse to shower, of all things? And don't say to be annoying—you're cutting off your nose to spite your face!"
"Because cutting off my nose is the only bargaining chip I've got, and you know it."
Seeing expressions on Bill's face—smiles and scowls and smirks and sneers, mouth and tongue and cheeks and eyebrows—still felt wrong. No matter what expression Bill put on, it always felt to Ford like he was using his face to tell some sort of lie. But his eyes—Ford was familiar with Bill's eye, and doubling them didn't banish that familiarity. He knew this heavy, hard, emotionless look. It was the same look he'd seen just before Bill had shown him, through his own eye, the sight of his home dimension burning. Of all the looks he'd seen in Bill's eye—curved crescent with sadistic glee, literally red with fury—something about this heavy look chilled Ford the most. It was, somehow, the cruelest he'd ever seen Bill.
Bill got to his feet, wincing as he uncurled his hunched back. He stretched, spine cracking, as he sauntered lazily toward Ford. "Can I speak frankly with you, Sixer? I can't do a lot of tricks in this body. Heck, I'd try to tell you I don't have any tricks right now—but I'm sure you'd just say I'm lying to get your guard down, blah blah; so let's agree that, at least, I don't have the power to escape or kill you all, or I would have by now! This body—" he gestured grandly down at himself, "—as far as I'm concerned, is a dirty sticker stuck on the bottom of my shoe. It's trash. It's disposable. It's worth less than nothing to me. But it's all I've got at my disposal. So I'm going to be disgusting, until you start doing me favors to make me stop."
"Favors," Ford said. "And if we don't?"
Bill shrugged, hands raised. "Then I guess I'll keep being gross! But I cannot overemphasize just how little I care about your species's ideas about minimum hygiene standards, or how far I'm willing to go to irritate you all. This morning's hazmat crisis in the kitchen was just a warning shot. You will cave first."
As unnerving as that heavy look in Bill's eyes was, simply seeing it wasn't what rattled Ford. It was knowing that Bill could wear that cruel look while talking about committing quiet, passive violence on himself.
Bill stared Ford down for a moment; then apparently took Ford's silence for a small victory. "I want a drink strong enough to rot a bootlegger's guts, a hot meal that hasn't been cooked by Grandma Guilia Tofana down there, or—" Bill pointed toward the attic window that his curse prevented him from opening, "a breeze and some fresh air. I'm flexible. Let me know when you're ready to negotiate." He returned to his seat in the window. "I won't be far."
Giving Bill "a breeze" would obviously give him an escape route, and Bill was no doubt angling to accumulate tiny, "harmless" favors until he tricked the humans into doing something that would let him escape; but... Ford eyed the empty junk food bags on the floor. He tried to remember whether he'd seen Bill eat anything except for unrefrigerated factory-sealed snacks he could forage from the open kitchen shelves—or if the last fresh food Bill had tasted had been Abuelita's cyanide cooking.
Bill wanted Ford to pity him. That was what this whole charade was about. Ford hated that it was working. Not because of Bill's performative filthiness—but because Ford knew, too well, what it was like to be trapped, powerless, and hungry in an alien dimension; and because even when Bill was all but confessing he was trying to exploit Ford's pity, he was still trying so hard to pretend he wasn't afraid. 
"I'll let you know what Stanley says."
Bill didn't turn away quite fast enough to hide his smile of triumph. "I'll be waiting." He settled back down into the same position he'd held for half a day and stared out at the night sky.
####
After several days in this body, Bill could definitively conclude that sleep was the worst part of being human.
Repeatedly blacking out and coming to, only to realize he couldn't remember anything for the past several hours. Usually he didn't even remember dreaming, even though he knew he must have dreamt for at least a couple hours. He hated not knowing what had been happening around his physical body for all that time, and he hated not knowing what he'd been doing in his dreams. Anything could have happened to him during those missing hours in the mindscape.
The few dreams he remembered were little comfort. Nightmares about dying, about faces and places he was galled to find out had been lodged in this human brain's subconscious—but the subject matter wasn't the important part. What mattered was that, while he was dreaming, he didn't know he was dreaming.
He didn't know how that was possible. He couldn't remember how the dreams started, what trick they must have pulled to persuade him that this was reality even though he couldn't remember what had happened five minutes earlier, or how they hypnotized him into unquestioningly playing along with their bizarre impossible Wonderland plot lines. Waking up was more terrifying than his nightmares, as he reoriented himself to reality and he had to grapple with how helplessly delusional he'd just been—and the knowledge that it would happen again, and again, and again.
Bill knew how human minds worked. He knew how humans dreamed. He'd been swimming through their dreams for millennia. This was normal for humans, and the knowledge that it was normal was the only thing keeping him from going mad with terror.
But the fact that it was normal for humans didn't mean it was normal for him. Because he was not human, and he hated blacking out for hours at a time, and he hated being so foggy-minded and vulnerable in the mindscape.
Most of his diet of the past few days consisted of energy drinks. His throat constantly blazed with heartburn. He needed a better solution—and maybe he could think of one once he got a decent meal or a drink that could help him sleep without dreaming.
He was hungry, he was tired, and he was weak.
####
But in spite of the caffeine, at some point Bill must have fallen asleep—because he woke up. 
For once, he didn't wake from the searing heat of psychic fires.
He woke from the deadly chill of ice cold bath water.
"HELP!" Bill flailed, bashed both elbows and a heel against porcelain, and went under. He came up spluttering. "Mayday! Charybdis! Carpathia!"
The bathroom door slammed shut. From the other side, Stan shouted, "We considered your terms, and uh—we decided we're rejecting your demands, you get nothing, aaand you've gotta bathe."
Bill heaved himself out of the tub, flopped on the floor, and lay there wetly. Like a fish out of water, if the fish had given up the will to live. "Texq exmmbkba?"
"We dropped you in the tub," Ford said. "And we're going to do that every time your stench becomes intolerable, unless you bathe voluntarily. Is that clear?"
("What the heck language is he speaking now?" "Not a language. Caesar cipher." "You're tellin' me Cipher was Caesar, too?")
Bill coughed out a mouthful of water. "I'll drown myself."
"No you won't."
"I'd enjoy it. It'll be fun."
Ford hesitated. "Knowing you, you probably would. But you could only do it once."
"I'll slaughter you both."
Stan laughed. "Sure, if you ever reach us!" He jiggled the doorknob tauntingly.
Bill dragged himself across the floor and pounded on the door. He hollered, "I'll make meat linguine out of your skins with an orange peeler! I'll cook it in bone broth made by boiling your teeth!"
There was an awkward pause. Stan said, "I don't have teeth."
"You two are a loser who was only ever likable when you were pretending to be your brother and a puffed-up self-pitying nerd who never learned that no one's impressed by a child prodigy after age twenty-two! The biggest impact you'll ever have on each other is derailing each other's life dreams, and all your friends are worse off for knowing you! Your father died ashamed of you both and if he knew the truth about your lives he'd have been even more ashamed! Sherman has no positive memories of you, your obituaries will spell both your names wrong, and I'm going to feed your souls to an ouroboros that will repeatedly digest and defecate you for ten thousand years!"
After a couple more minutes of threats and insults, when Bill had to slow down to catch his breath, Ford calmly said, "Have you got that out of your system?"
A pause. "Think I'm good now." Bill slumped back to the floor, his cheek pressed to the cool, damp floorboards. "Okay. You win. Name your terms."
"You're not coming out of there until you've bathed," Ford said. "We'll let you out when you tell us you're clean. If you're not clean, we close the door again. If you want to sit there and sulk, then we'll leave, and once you're clean you'll have to wait until somebody feels like checking on you. Is that clear."
"Clear as crystal."
"Good. On the cabinet by the tub, you'll find a towel, washcloth, brush, comb, bar of soap, and shampoo. Are you familiar with how to use all of them."
"Sure! Course I am." Bill picked up the bar of soap, dipped it in the water, and experimentally rubbed it on his forearm. He pursed his lips dubiously at the results of this experiment. In a flash of brilliant inspiration, he peeled the cardboard box off of the soap bar. "How hard can it be?"
"Fine. There's a clean change of clothes next to the supplies. If you can get this over with in a timely manner, without wrecking the bathroom or wasting all the toiletries, we can talk about letting you choose a shampoo brand for next time."
Bill considered pointing out that that was a pretty stupid bribe to offer a creature who didn't have the slightest emotional attachment to organic toiletries; but then he remembered one of the cults he was affiliated with in New England made a shampoo line using its traumatized worshippers' tears, and he grudgingly decided he'd like to support them if he could. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."
"No." Ford was enjoying this.
"Gimme an hour. I've never done this start to finish before."
"Fine. We'll be back in sixty minutes."
Bill could hear the creak of the floorboards as the Pines left, and the fading sound of Stan's voice as he quietly asked, "Do you think what he said about Shermie..."
Yeah, Bill hoped that haunted him. He reached for the towel, and then jerked back his hand, startled, at the sight of another person in the bathroom.
"Oh." Bill experimentally waved a hand at the human, confirming that the strange alien staring at him was a mirror. "Hey, there." He stared glumly at the face he was trapped inside.
He'd never seen it before.
He was sure there used to be more mirrors in Ford's shack, but they must have been among the "potential weapons" the Pines had hidden away. Up until now, he'd kept imagining himself as a triangle. Some half-dead shape fraying golden curls around the edges, fused atop the rib cage of a humanoid puppet. Seeing the reality felt wrong, disorienting, like staring at an optical illusion but not being able to pick out how it worked.
He searched for any sign of himself in the face staring back at him. It was like trying to find something reminiscent of Chopin's piano Nocturnes in the shape of a lawnmower: a task so impossible it was unintelligible. 
The only thing at all familiar was the color of the hair; not quite as bright as the dazzling electric gold of his true form, but still achingly similar.
Gold formed into lines—gold lines that bent and curled with acrobatic, contortionist flexibility.
"Well, whaddaya know," Bill sighed. "It only took a few dozen eons—but you finally grew up to look like your mother. Ha. Ha ha." The joke left a bitter taste behind his eye. (Eyes.) "Ekoj kcis a fo aedi ruoy siht si, Ltoloxa?"
The Axolotl didn't answer. Bill didn't expect him to.
He tossed the clean shirt over the mirror, discovered the bathroom had a second mirror, and took off the shirt he'd been wearing for almost a week to cover that one, too. He unpeeled the rest of his clothes, trying to avoid looking too close at the human body as he did—it seemed worse now than it had when he'd first gotten this body, with the image of that alien face seared into his memory, knowing he wasn't on this body but dissolved inside it.
Once he'd cleaned this body to the humans' satisfaction and gotten out of here, he could handle future hygiene issues by scrubbing off in the sink in his curtained bathroom downstairs. He'd only have to go through this indignity once.
So just get it over with. And use the time to think up new ways to irritate the humans into doing what he wanted.
####
He tried first bathing in the filled tub, until the cold water had him shivering so hard he couldn't properly coordinate his hands; then drained it and tried showering; and then filled it with warm water and attempted bathing again.
Most of him, he supposed, was clean enough for a human's tastes—any signs of peeling dead skin scrubbed off, no visible dirt, no noticeable smell but the smell of soap—but he doubted the hair would pass muster. It still had asphalt dust in it from almost a week ago, not to mention whatever his scalp had been shedding since then.
But, unfortunately, the hair was the worst part. He could scrub skin with no trouble; but when he was bathing, sunk down to his chin, trying to feel weightless again, the hair floated around him like a grotesque ghost, closing in. When he was showering, it dangled on his face, clinging to his skin, like it was trying to creep under his eyelid and down his throat and choke him. Just knowing it was there made his stomach turn; touching it made his throat burn as energy drink bile tried to escape his stomach. 
Maybe if Bill brushed the tangles out first. That would knock out some of the dirt without him having to touch it himself. He sat on the edge of the tub, letting the growing tingling pain in his legs as his circulation was cut off distract him from the feeling of hair sticking to his cheeks and shoulders.
He tried to brush it out with his eyes shut, and his knuckles accidentally dragged across the filaments, wet, clammy, clingy. He yanked the brush free and felt hundreds of hairs jerking against their follicles. He forced himself to try again with his eyes open, holding the brush by the very tip of the handle. The bristles sank into the lumpen tangled mass of dead curling skin, and, as he tugged it down, slowly peeled the soggy strands of flesh apart—
His stomach hurt with the force of his retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth, dropped to his knees, and barely managed to get his dinner on the floor instead of on himself.
Voice a shaky, plaintive whine, he said, "Stop doing that to me." He shut his eyes, pressing his sweaty forehead to the cool rim of the bath tub. (Should he have aimed for the tub? Maybe the toilet? Were the humans going to get on his case for getting sick?) "It doesn't help," he hissed. "If I'm already neauseous, purging a load of bile does not help. It makes—it—worse. Why are humans built like this."
The Pines were tyrants. If he begged to be let out with his hair still grimy, the best he could hope for was mockery. Any pleas for mercy would cost him dearly. He wasn't getting out of here until he'd dealt with the hair.
He pulled the makeshift curtain aside on one of the mirrors. His vision was bleary from soap; the soggy hair draped in a loose, disheveled triangle shape around his head, like a mangled corpse. He shuddered and let the fabric drop. 
A knock on the door. "It's been an hour, Cipher."
Ford. Bill rubbed his throat and hoped he didn't sound like he'd just been sick. "Gimme another hour."
"That's ridiculous. It takes less than ten minutes to shower, how could you possibly need two hours?"
"So I haven't had the practice at scrubbing skin folds that you have! Give me a break! How many hundreds of showers do you take a year? Do you know how hard it is to hold a bar of soap for more than half a second, or are you so used to it that you've forgotten these things are slippery?"
There was a pause. "You can't hold soap."
"My hands are small, Stanford."
"Fine. One more hour, but that's all you get."
"Fine, I don't care! If I'm not done in an hour, kick down the door and call the hygiene police on me." Bill was pretty sure you couldn't even get a call through to the hygiene police from this dimension. "Go away. I'm focusing."
Why had the Axolotl given him hair. Why hadn't he dumped Bill on Earth bald and balloon-smooth, let the patchy human fur patterns grow in over time? Why hadn't he at least given Bill less hair—why did it need to be so long—
But his hair didn't need to be long, did it? Bill didn't need to have hair at all. Hair was the easiest human body part to self-amputate, easier even than fingernails or ears. Inspired, Bill started searching the bathroom cabinet drawers—et voila. The Pines had no doubt removed any razors or scissors before leaving Bill in this bathroom, but he managed to find a bottle of hair removal cream. Probably courtesy of Question Mark's girlfriend. Cosmetic acid: one of humanity's many endearing little quirks. This would liquefy the roots of the hair, and Bill could get out of here.
It was easier to touch the hair when he was powered by rage, sliding his cream-coated fingers through the clingy filaments in service of burning it all away. The tingle on his scalp was a welcome distraction from the feeling of the hair itself, and feeling the tingle gradually blossom into a full blaze was a relief. Chemical burn. That was a luxurious pain—it tightened his lungs and squeezed rapturous tears from his eyes, so good he almost forgot there was another goal to this pain.
Maybe it would damage some of his follicles enough to prevent the hair from regrowing. Maybe he could wring some pity out of his captors—see this damage, isn't it hideous, look what you made me do—how long could he milk that? A few weeks?
He tolerated the burn as long as he thought he could get away with it without requiring hospitalization, then turned the shower on again. The ice cold water didn't wash the dead hair off fast enough. Some of it stuck to his skin; some was brittle, but not quite fully dissolved.
And that one, last, tiny inconvenience was more than he could stand. 
The hair stuck to his chest, his arms, his hands as he ripped it off. Dead flesh, peeling apart and rotting, dead flesh all over him. He ran his hands over his head, fingers trembling with disgust, and tore out clumps of hair to fling to the ground. His eardrums boomed with his heartbeat. If there had been anyone else in the room he would have murdered them with his bare hands just to purge some rage. Over and over, desperate, obsessed, get it off get it off—
Until his head was so smooth that the pain of the chemical burns masked what few fibers were left. Until the icy shower left his skin so cold it hurt. He stepped out of the shower, triumphantly tore the shirt down from the mirror to see the results—and froze in horror.
When a cloud of gold hair had dangled down from his scalp, he'd looked like a triangle rotting apart—the corpse of Bill Cipher.
Now, he looked at his face, and he didn't see Bill Cipher at all. He'd destroyed the last of himself.
At his feet was a murder scene, all mangled golden gore.
####
157 notes · View notes
tanith-rhea · 9 months
Text
Carnations
It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.
Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.
You may do with this information whatever you please 💛
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You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.
"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.
"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.
She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.
"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."
Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.
It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.
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The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.
The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.
Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.
Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.
"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.
"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.
Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.
"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.
She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.
You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."
"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.
"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?
She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.
She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.
She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.
"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"
You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.
"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.
"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.
His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.
"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"
His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."
He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.
"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.
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The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.
Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.
That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.
In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."
She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.
You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?
It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.
"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".
You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.
"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."
She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.
"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.
Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.
"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.
As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.
But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.
After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.
"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.
Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.
Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.
"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.
Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?
You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.
This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.
You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.
As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.
When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.
You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.
Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."
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The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.
That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.
You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.
You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.
When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.
She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.
"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.
I loved you so much that it killed me.
Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.
I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.
Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.
It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.
If I coul"
Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.
Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."
I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand
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mortimermcmirestinks · 2 months
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I mean this in the most genuine way possible, why are you getting so hung up on the walrus vs fairy thing? You’ve gotten really rude for no reason over a dumb funny tumblr poll
[tone indicator for the whole post: sleepy, chill, a lot of shrugs and vague handwaves]
idk man. to your second thing, I'm not trying to be more rude than usual so I apologise if that's how it's coming across. also, I'm at least half doing a bit, and sometimes me Doing A Bit can come across weird in text
to your first thing, again, idk man, but I think part of it is that I tend to get kinda skittish around things where people, like... hmm. idk how to phrase it, but whenever people get really dismissive about the distinction between funny fantasy magic stuff and real-world stuff, it makes me kinda nervous, I guess?
like, I get really irritated about astrology and stuff. I feel like it's really important to be able to, like, keep a solid grip on what's actually really real -- like, with Goncharov stuff, everyone was being like "yeah goncharov is the greatest film ever", but when push comes to shove, people will admit that "yeah, this is a bit, we're doing a bit, Goncharov isn't a real movie", y'know? (some people refused to put down the bit, though, even when asked to (sometimes by people with mental health problems that were being triggered) and those people are assholes)
but for some reason with this walrus-fairy thing it seems to almost be going in the opposite direction? like as it becomes a bigger and bigger Bit, more and more people are coming out of the woodwork talking, basically, about how they just straight-up do not believe that science is real. and THAT makes me reeeeal antsy.
like, I know people mostly aren't thinking about it like this, and I'm overthinking it, but, like, think about it like this:
a fairy (in the way the question was originally intended by the OP, and the way that I am interpreting it, and to some degree I believe the way that most others are interpreting it) is an inherently magical creature; that is, a creature whose literal existence would mean that the basics of how we understand the physical world are wrong from from the foundation, and thus, all of science -- which is all built on that foundation -- is also wrong. this is not a case of "a new scientific discovery that builds on or recontextualises previous scientific history", this is a case of "the fundaments of science are incorrect in their base assumptions".
a walrus is literally just a regular animal. it's not a common animal in most parts of the world, but on a sliding scale of magical to nonmagical, a walrus is exactly as "mundane" as a squirrel, a dog, a cat, a bee, or, like, a car or a t-shirt (or a pine tree or a dollar bill or a sand dune or a cloud or the planet Venus...). walruses exist in our world and we know that they do -- not for absolute certain, because obviously nothing is absolutely certain, but as close to absolutely certain as it's possible to get about almost anything, so we can say that, in practical terms, it's an absolute certainty. I am more certain that walruses exist than I am certain that you, the person asking this question, exists.
if you live in a world where it's physically possible that a fairy can arrive on your doorstep, that means that literally every single element of our understanding of the physical nature of the world is fundamentally incorrect, and all of science needs to be thrown out immediately, because we can no longer rely on it safely -- which also means that every anti-science person from six-day-creationists to antivaxxers are, at a foundational level (if not in specifics), correct that Science Is Wrong.
if you live in a world where it's physically possible that a walrus can arrive on your doorstep... well, you live in that world, right now. is it likely? no. but would it mean that all of science is wrong? no. it would just be a strange situation.
like, this is obviously a dramatic overthink about a poll where most people are, let's be honest, not actually answering the posed question. the question that the vast vast majority of people are actually answering, based on what I've seen many many people say, is not "would you be more surprised if a fairy or a walrus came to your house", it's "would an imaginary sitcom character based on you be more surprised if a fairy or a walrus came to their imaginary sitcom house".
like, tons of people in the comments are talking about how the fairy is less surprising because of [insert Thing That Only Makes Sense As A Rationale Within A Narrative here], which means that they're not answering the question. which is also irritating, but in a kind of more minor way?
sorry, this is kinda rambly and got away from me a bit. basically the tldr here is that when you have hundreds of people saying "I would find it more normal for there to be magic than for there to be a strange animal" it makes me nervous because it reminds me, however unintentionally, of soft science denialism like astrology and crystal-healing people. basically this whole sitch is either like a very small microcosm of, like, science denialism or just uncomfortably close to that. for me.
oh, and for anyone who reads this and thinks that the huge wall of text means that I'm getting really pissed off: I'm naturally extremely talkative, this is me in my kinda default slightly-sleepy rambly mode, when I'm actively angry I tend to be pretty brief. that's why I wrote that tone indicator at the top after writing the rest of the post, I realised if I didn't clarify that I was chilling and shrugging people would think I was yelling and thrashing
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blurredcolour · 10 days
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Hi! As one of the “ladies who Brady” I just want to say thank you for providing content for us Brady fans.
I’d also like to request some headcanons for how Brady would act when he’s jealous.
Feel free to get as spicy as you want.
Darling fellow Lady Who Bradys, what a joy it is to see our numbers swell of late!!! John Brady is getting the attention he so richly deserves 💙
So outside the super specific scenario I laid out in Parting Gifts, I feel like if he was able to directly interact with the source of his jealousy, Brady’s snark would come shining through.
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Mature/explicit themes - 18+ below the cut (I got super carried away…)
Huge thanks to darling @precious-little-scoundrel for collaborating with me on this one
Typically he’s not a very insecure individual, but here at the ad-hoc reunion of men from the 100th with you on his arm he cannot help but feel old rivalries burning a little brighter
Goes to fetch the pair of you fresh drinks while you chat with a few friends you’d already met back in New York before you relocated here to Maryland for his new job
On his return, he is surprised to find you alone with that lush Jones from Arkansas with his strawberry blond hair and absurdly long eyelashes and it immediately raises his hackles
Comes to stand close to you, inserting himself slightly between you and the interloper as he gently sets the drink in your hand
“John Brady!” Jones greets him with exaggerated joviality and he acknowledges him with a tight-lipped, polite smile and nod “so glad ya took time outta yer busy schedule ter come ter our lil’ ol’ get together”
“So glad you managed to find the place, Jones.” Brady’s eyes glitter with a hard edge and you do your best not to choke on the sip of your drink you’d just taken
Jones, for his part, remains as blithely oblivious of the slight as he had proven of the finer details of navigation and drones on, continuing to shuffle closer to you and ask you all manner of intrusive questions until Brady decides he has a headache and it’s time to call it a night
Makes you wait under the overhang in front of the hotel as he dashes out into the rain to fetch the car, darting around to open your door despite the second soaking it earns him
“Thank you, Johnny” you smile fondly and kiss his cheek before sliding onto the leather bench seat at his side as he pulls out for home
At first it’s hard to discern, above the noise of the wipers squeaking across the windshield as they desperately try to fight off the deluge of water, but eventually you pick up on the fact that Brady is muttering bitterly under his breath
“…wouldn’t know a cardinal direction if it jumped up and bit him in the behind…man hasn’t dried out one drop since landing stateside, pickled as a fish…too bad he’s allowed to dress himself now, what an abysmal suit he was wearing…”
Subtly glancing out of the corner of your eye you can see his exasperated expression, cheeks inflated as though he were caught in some extended inhale
“Betcha make the yummiest roast, doncha sugar” he suddenly drawls in perfect mimicry of Jones and you have to desperately press your fingers to your lips to smother your laugh. “How would you know what a good roast is, you squirrel eating bastard” his scathing blow delivered to his absent enemy is your undoing, a giggle slipping past your defences and quickly drawing his gaze
“Sorry, Johnny, sorry that was just a really funny one” you apologize quickly
He huffs in exasperation and you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling him relax slightly under your affection as he turns down your back lane
“I’ll grab the garage door” you insist quickly as he pulls into the driveway and can hear his protests even as you climb out of the car, but pay them no mind as you unlock and roll up the door, sliding back inside and he pulls in
You know Brady very well. Know that the instant you get inside his hands and his mouth will be all over you, focusing solely on your pleasure and there’s something about his reaction to Jones that makes you think he ought to be the centre of attention for however long he’ll let you get away with it
And trapping him in the car while you do it seems like the perfect place
No sooner has he put the car in park inside the garage than your lips are pressing against his, hand coming to rest on his thigh
“Sweetheart what are you-” he mumbles against your lips but you silence him by sliding your tongue along his as your hand moved to the apex of his thighs to announce your intentions as you massage his hardening length
He exhales sharply through his nose, breath caressing your cheek, but he’s not pushing you away
As the windshield grows dry, the wipers let out an aggravated noise at the friction and you feel him grope blindly behind you to kill the engine
Work his fly open as you shift to kneel on the bench seat beside him, mouth tracing along his jaw to what you can reach of his throat, more than a little annoyed at the interference of his shirt collar
“Out…here?!” He pants a little and you find your lips curling into a smirk against his skin, the sound of rain thundering on the garage roof filling the car
He makes as though to pull your mouth back to his for a kiss but you slip out of his grip to lean over his newly exposed cock, eyeing your prize a moment before taking him into your mouth to coax him to complete hardness
“God…goddamn..!” You hear his strangled curse from above and are only encouraged further as he rapidly stiffens against your tongue
His hand grips your hip as you begin to bob along him, his grunts and heavy exhales causing the humid windows of the car to cloud with condensation
You wish you could see his face - the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration when he’s trying to stave off his own pleasure for the sake of yours
But that’s not the point this time
Sliding the hand that isn’t stabilizing you against the car door to cup his remarkable balls, you gently begin to massage encouragingly, feeling him shudder
He’s pulling at your skirt, grabbing at the flesh of your ass once he’s located it, before shifting his fingers to slide along your folds over your underwear. It’s not enough to really achieve anything beyond expressing his appreciation, but you whimper nonetheless and he bites off a sharp ‘fuck’, fighting his hips’ innate desire to thrust
You can feel his lower abdomen twitching against your cheek, know he’s close by the way high-pitched keens have snuck into his exhales
“Sweetheart I’m…”
“Mmhmmm!” You hum around him and a string of curses tumble from his lips before he shouts your name as ropes of cum paint the back of your tongue and throat
Sit back on your heels as you swallow, drinking in his dazed expression, his head flung over the back of the seat
Lean in to cup his cheeks and feather tender kisses across his face
“That was…” he sighs
“To remind you just who gets to eat my roast” you grin and he lazily raises an eyebrow
“Are you propositioning me, sweetheart?”
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finelinevogue · 1 year
Text
conversations with love
summary - you and harry lounge on the sofa having meaningless conversations
warnings: an abundance of tooth rotting fluff, Friday Night Dinner references, swearing
word count: -1k
Home; a place to most but a person for you and his name was Harry.
Your fiancé of 4 months, boyfriend of 3 years, was currently letting you lay against his back between his legs as you both watched re-runs of ‘Friday Night Dinner’.
It was a Friday night and miraculously Harry had the night completely off. After months of touring and recording another album, he’d decided he needed a break away from fame and to focus on you. Hence the blanket draped over you both as you played with each others ring fingers, not having moved for hours now.
“What time d’you want dinner, H?” You asked, watching as Jackie, on the TV, plated everyone’s lovely bit of squirrel.
“Um, whenever y’want love.”
“Well if I do the risotto it’ll only be half an hour.. or we can just get a takeaway?” Your voice went up at the end as you asked the question apprehensively. Harry wasn’t opposed to a takeaway, but if he could avoid them and eat your homemade food instead then he’d take that option.
Since he’s been back you both have only eaten home cooked dinners, enjoying the company of cooking together rather than the actual food itself.
“It goes against my love for your own food, love, but I am craving a takeaway now. Plus I get to cuddle y’for longer.” He said, which won you both over instantly.
Pulling you phone out from underneath the blankets you turned it on, grinning at the silly picture of you both as your lock-screen and opening up Deliveroo.
“What the hell was on your home screen?” He asked and you laughed because you knew what he had seen.
You blushed as you closed the app and your home screen came back into focus. You tilted your head back into his chest more as you giggled to yourself for being exposed.
“Are y’thirsting over me baby?” He asked, laughing at you and this picture of him on stage shirtless - his abs on full display and him just looking too handsome.
“How do you even know what that means?” You laughed even harder.
“Stop deflecting the question, love. I think you might love me, y’know?” He looked down at you and you unflatteringly looked up at him from below.
“Might I?”
“Mm.” He smiled in love.
“Well I guess I’ll have to change the picture then.” You joked and it earned a scoff out of Harry, him tickling your sides where you were most vulnerable. You couldn’t stop laughing until you managed to get him to stop.
You both continued watching the TV and passing small comments about funny moments during the show.
“Y’know Johnny used to be my crush growing up?” You said to him, referring to the youngest son, Johnny, from the programme.
“Really? I thought it was Lightning McQueen?”
“Oh yeah, obviously him too, but, like, an actual real life person it was Johnny.”
“It’s worrying that I don’t look like either of them, babe.”
You turned around slightly to face him more, softly stroking your hand over his cheek to show your affection for him.
“It’s ‘cause I found something better in you than I did them.” You smiled, working a smile on Harry’s face too.
“Nice save.” He rolled his eyes in pretence, which made you laugh. “Now give me a kiss as an apology.”
He pouted his lips and you didn’t hesitate to lean up and kiss him. His lips were as soft as petals and it made you linger for a bit longer than a simple peck. Your hand held his cheek a little harder as your lips pressed harder into his, letting out a little hum of appreciation for how perfect he was.
“Alright, alright. You’re sorry, I get it.” He joked, pulling your head back by the hairs at the back of your neck. You scrunched your eyebrows when he denied you a continual kiss, before caving and kissing you again.
You sat up suddenly, crushing Harry in the meantime and he groaned as you spoke on.
“We forgot to order our takeaway.” You gasped.
“Baby…”
“That’s your fault for distracting me.” You turned around and pointed at him with a stare, but it was hard to look annoyed at him when he was lounged so perfectly - and arm flexing behind his head whilst the other tailed beside his body and rested on the side of your hip.
“My fault? You were the one that kissed me.”
“Only because you asked me too.” You rolled your eyes at him.
“Oh, so I have to ask you for kisses now do I? Y’can’t just be spontaneous?” He playfully challenged you.
“I ask kisses off you all the time. We both slack when it comes to spontaneity.” You shook your head at him.
“No we don’t.”
“We do, baby.” You patted his chest with a sympathetic smile.
“Well fuck it then. Let’s go to the chippy for tea.” He announced, sitting up too so he was closer to your body.
“Seriously?” You laughed, watching the twinkle in his eyes appear at the sound of your humour.
“You want spontaneity? Here’s me being spontaneous.” Instead of responding to him you simply kissed him. And kissed him for all he was worth.
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onesidedradiostatic · 3 months
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Not a question! I think these songs have one sided radiostatic vibes, thought you’d dig or maybe squirrel them away into the crate of trinkets: ‘gameshow’, ‘sucker’, ‘surgery’, and ‘already gone’ by two door cinema club (the spotify lyrics are kinda wrong, so don’t mind them) I was on an artist binge haha
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(link in ask)
"meanwhile alastor is busy doing whatever and not thinking about Vox at all, maybe peeling an orange." makes me lose my shit LMAOOO, I admire your dedication to this 🫡 although having themed playlists/group of songs for a character isn't entirely my thing, still though calling the one-sidedness funny is always valid to me I love making fun of vox
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areanoodles · 8 months
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Can't you see it?
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You can't tell me you can't see the same thing. Honestly.
Sofia the first has a big place with me as well as heathers. I've watched sofia the first since I was little, ended up rewatching a few episodes like 2 years ago, and watched a few episodes I hadn't seen yet. Which for the most part when I was little I had watched season 1-2. The show just gives me great nostalgia and it holds a big place in me since i watched it ever since I was little and rewatching episodes and special episodes just makes me feel great.
Amber- Heather Chandler
Hildegard- Heather Duke
Clio- Heather Mcnamara
Sofia- Veronica Sawyer
Rewatching episodes of sofia the first, I've started to pay more attention to clio and realized how adorable she was. I knew she existed in the series before but I never paid attention to her character as much. Now that I'm doing that more now, I realized how adorable her voice and character is. Sidekick clio was also an amazing episode.
I honestly love these girls(Amber, Hildegard, Clio, and sofia). I just love them so much! Also, Hildegard just had this stare she gives off in most episodes. Like in "The big sleepover" episode, she just has this kind of smug look. In that episode Ruby and Jade also made me laugh a lot for no reason. When ruby said "Awww, a white squirrel", it made me laugh!
Also, when Ruby(I believe Ruby asked the question)asked Clio if she had swimming pools in every room of her castle and Clio says "yes", it's like, why do you have swimming pools in every room of the castle? Honestly, it would just be funny to see.
I did ship Sofia and Hugo very much but 2 years ago when I thought more into other ships sofia was in, I started to like those other ships more(like, oona x sofia, sofia x vivian). I still like sofia x hugo(hugfia)though. I really do. But now with the other ships, it's like I also favor the other ships. Also, Clio x hildegard, before, didn't really ship them as much but I understood why it was a great ship. But now..... but now I have came to the conclusion that I do ship them!
I do think hildegard and clio just seem so cute together. I just love the ship more than ever now. In the episode "The secret library: Olaf and the tale of miss nettle", when hildegard said how she wanted a talking snowman after seeing olaf, it just sounded so cute!
I really cannot express how much I love this show. The music too! Straight bangers! I love all the characters singing voices. It just blows my mind how far the show has came. I did read an article about sofia the first supposed to have a spinoff. I think that'll be interesting. I'd actually enjoy to see more of sofia the first, and seeing/getting a spin off would actually be good. I guess.. will see how it turns out.
Also, I like how in the show it is shown how much sofia and amber don't want to lose the attention of their parents. For instance, in once upon a princess(the pilot/feature film of the series), amber does become the jealous stepsister to sofia, being jealous that sofia will be getting the attention and not her. Which is shown throughout the whole pilot and also amber sabotaging sofia in the process. In the end, they do make up. In other words, in the episode "Moms the word", sofia also shows how much she'll be missing the attention of her mother, Miranda, once she learns that amber and James will be joining them together. I just brought this up since I thought about in the morning and compared the two situations in my head.
But on that note, I love sofia the first
This is all I have to say
Everyone in sofia the first is gay
And bye!
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thebestofoneshots · 8 months
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✩ Star :
very funny/makes jokes, sarcastic, can be closed off but only about backstory, sweet, can be cute but mainly sarcastic
slim with freckles on my back, 5’6-5’7ish [people putting they’re elbows on my shoulders like they’re a table or stand is shockingly hot okay 😭], short black hair, shockingly blue eyes that are apparently pretty
writing [fanfiction omfg], reading [romance novels]
open to polyamorous relationships
If you want to participate in "TBOS' 400 Followers Celebration" too, you can look at this post for all the options of prompts you can choose from <3
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I ship you with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. You have been friends with the boys since you started Hogwarts. You really enjoy hanging out with them, and they equally enjoy your company, especially because they find you absolutely hilarious, yet also very small? Sirius used to say you were like an evil squirrel, too cute to pose a threat, but with claws sharp enough to blind someone.
"Hey Moons," you said one day while chilling with him, both of you engrossed in reading your respective books, both of your feet rested on the boy's lap. Sirius lounged nearby, lost in his music.
"Yes, dove?"
"What do you think about poly relationships?"
"Poly… what?!" Remus asked, confused, peering up from his book.
Sirius laughed from the side, “Means you’re dating more than one person at the same time. Of course everyone is aware of it,” he explained. "Why the sudden interest, Fluffs?"
Sirius had playfully given you the nickname shortly after likening you to a squirrel. Originally it had been "Flufftail," but he thought it sounded to much like Wormtail and he didn’t want to aoscieate you with him, so he switched it to Fluffs.
"Oh, it's just this book," you said, indicating the one you held, "It's about a poly relationship. Seemed like an intriguing conversation starter."
"Well, I'd give it a shot," Sirius chimed in.
"Shocking!" you teased.
"Only with the right people, though."
"I've seen you hook up with plenty of girls, what do you mean 'the right people'?"
"Hooking up isn't the same as having a relationship, Fluffs. You'd know if you tried," he said, smirking and gesturing for you to come closer with a suggestive smile. Instead, you threw a pillow at his face.
"I guess I’d have to test it to give my opinion," Remus replied with a nonchalant shrug, returning to his book.
"I guess it's the same for me," you mused.
Suddenly, Sirius had an idea, a metaphorical lightbulb illuminating his brain. "Let's do it!"
"Do what?" you asked, perplexed.
"Let's test it, the three of us."
"Like a throuple?" you questioned with a slight frown.
"Exactly, a throuple!" he affirmed. "We'd be exclusive with each other and see how it goes."
"For how long?" you inquired, setting aside your book.
"Three months."
"You won't last three months without hooking up with someone."
"What do you mean without hooking up? I'd have both Remus and you! I could kiss your pretty faces whenever I want. Sounds perfect to me."
"Now you're just trying to charm me into it."
"And is it working?"
"A little," you admitted, smiling. "What about you, Remus?"
"Count me in," the boy responded, a playful smirk gracing his lips.
Long story short, those three moths extended into six, and those 6 into a year, and eventually you all decided that you'd just stay together, you just didn't want to go back to how things were before. Becasue this, this was perfect.
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A/N: Hope you like this darling, I had lot's of fun writting it!
Sending you great vibes, Lilly xxx
MASTERLIST
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comfort-writing · 1 year
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Some thoughts I have about Eddie:
- He loves watching you play his guitar. You may just pluck at the strings, asking how to play a chord or two, but he loves watching your fingers glide across the neck of it as you strum nonsense. You’re the only person who he allows to touch his baby. Sometimes he’ll sit behind you, chest pressed against your back, legs straddling your own, and he’ll place his fingers on the frets, show you the strum pattern, and you’ll play a little song together. He’ll hum the lyrics quietly into the crook of your neck, making your skin warm and your head spin.
- His love language is physical touch. At first, you noticed the way he liked to have a hand on you. Holding your own. Resting comfortably on your waist. Playing with the frayed ends of your shorts with his thumb, palm splayed out on your thigh. But as time progressed, and as he got more comfortable, he needed to be as close as physically possible. In public, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you close as you looked at cans in the grocery store. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder while waiting in line at a concert. He’d pull you into his lap, holding you tight on his couch as a movie played on the tv in his trailer. It wasn’t sexual or possessive, but he needed to be touching you at all times. There was a few days early on where you noticed that he’d backed off a bit, and you definitely felt the absence. You wondered if something was wrong, and on day three of him avoiding your touch, you finally asked him about it. His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there as he explained that he was worried that you thought it was annoying, that maybe he was too touchy or clingy. When you hugged him close and kissed him sweetly, explaining that you’d missed his presence, all fear melted away. You called him your little barnacle and he laughed all the anxiety out of his system in that moment.
- Any opportunity that Eddie has to make you laugh, he will take it !! Sometimes he’ll just start telling you the cheesiest knock-knock jokes, and you don’t even really laugh at the jokes, but really laugh at how earnestly he is telling them to you, looking at you expectantly, hoping you’ll crack. When your annoyed-facade finally fades and you giggle, he will keep coming up with more, and even if they don’t make sense, you laugh anyways. His eyes light up and he looks like a little kid on Christmas morning. He loves giving random objects funny voices, making them talk to you, almost how a parent might entertain a toddler. But dammit, it’s really funny when he holds up an onion in the store and says in an unnaturally deep voice for an onion, “Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t make you cry. You should pick me”. He intentionally picks out really terrible, low-budget movies at Family Video just so he can listen to you laugh at, and make fun of, the terrible special effects and acting. Your laugh is his favorite sound on the planet.
-Eddie befriends any animal he comes across. Just looking at him, you wouldn’t really take him as an animal lover, but during one of your first visits to his trailer, you notice a little food bowl just tucked underneath the structure of his home. When you questioned him about it, he told you that he feeds the strays. He tells you that he was essentially a stray as a kid, and sometimes he would’ve loved a good meal. If the two of you ever go for a walk, a dog might approach him and beg for pets, even if on a leash with their owner right there. If they agree to let him pet their dog, he immediately drops to his knees and cards his fingers through the dog’s fur, cooing and telling it what a good dog it is, letting it lick his cheeks mercilessly. If you take a stroll through the woods, little critters might cross your path, and he bends low, sitting patiently and letting it approach him. One day, he managed to somehow pet a literal squirrel, and when it finally scurried off, you called him Snow White. He laughed brightly and claimed that you were just jealous.
- Eddie hates reading, but loves Shakespeare. Not Romeo and Juliet, but stuff like Richard III. He may secretly include its plots into his D&D campaigns. That is all.
- He is either insanely amazing at or incredibly terrible at flirting. There’s really no in-between. One day, he’s putting on the moves, tucking your hair away from your neck and whispering things that drive you mad into your ear. His hands are teasing, brushing your sides gently as he tells you all the things he wants to do to you later, alone. His eyes rake over you and land on your lips, staying there until you just can’t stand it, finally giving in to his suave advances. The next day he says something like “Damn baby girl, you look.. like a girl.. who I like the look of… shit.”
- It took him a long time to finally admit that he loves you. But every day after that, he spews the three words endlessly. When you hand him his coffee in the morning. When you are tying your hair up for the day or brushing your teeth. When the two of you are swaying to the music on the radio in his kitchen. When he’s wiping down the counter after dinner and you’re watching him from your place on the couch. When he kisses your neck while his hands wander. When your laugh becomes infectious. Any and every moment he thinks it, he says it.
- Eddie journals. Every day of his life is written down in endless notebooks. Sometimes they’re short little blurbs, other times, they’re pages and pages describing his grief. It was a way to process his emotions when nobody would listen to him as a kid. His upside down entry when he got home simply says: ‘I’m grateful to be alive.’
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canine-brained · 26 days
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Ahh ty ty! Your so sweet omg- I have also never met any other squirrels lol. Gotta love when I don't know my own species (epic sarcasm) BUT GOOD NEWS: Bottlenose Dolphin is confirmed thanks to (a rlly unsettling phantom) shift! Your welcome! Anyways I have some questions, feel free to ignore hehe 1. What kin types are you questioning? 2. If you shift, what are your main shifts 3. Have you ever had the urge to go and hunt something down? or is it just me 😭 and Tumblr never gives me notifications if my asks get answered so I feel that lol- -Vivi <3
CONGRATS ON CONFIRMING YOUR KINTYPE THAT'S SO COOL AAAAA!!!!/GEN It's always so nice to learn something new about oneself ehehe
Sooo... Kintypes. I am questioning some kind of canine that probably(???) lives in packs. I'm pretty sure it's either a coyote or a wolf!
I'm also questioning a deer theriotype!! I'm pretty sure it's either a fallow deer or a white-tail deer! It's really confusing tho... I feel like both species could be me rrr
And of course... There's the aquatic one. Could be lots of animals. But it's probably a fish. A CARP. A COMMON CARP AAAAA that's way too funny to me. Big black scary dog, wild canine that ruthlessly hunts down its prey, a majestic deer that strolls through the forest like a king, and a carp. CARP
IDK IT'S FUNNY TO ME AAA
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inkspecter · 1 year
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Tips for Preparing Your Home for Scare Clowns
Say hello to Mr P, a funkopop lineage scare bred to of course look like the latest cinematic version of Stephen King's infamous character, Pennywise. I don't normally choose to support funkopop due to their over breeding of scares and low support for keepers. I've seen plenty of first time clown keeper's have a lot of trouble with these tough critters and it always ends in tears.
To help deter the recent trend of irresponsible people dumping their semi-aquatic scare clowns in local sewers, I've written this blog as a basic care guide for this fierce but adorable breed.
Are Scare Clowns Good Pets?
I hate to say it, but the short answer is a firm no. While there are breeders capable of producing lineages of docile clowns with scare looks, it's debatable among scare enthusiasts if this practice produces a true member of the breed or if it's even humane. Scares of purer breeding are for all practical purposes a wild animal.
Generally speaking, they don't want your atte tion, they don't want snacks, and they most certainly don't want cuddles. While individuals will of course vary, most scare clowns are highly territorial, completey solitary, and primarily they want to hunt and to terrify. It's just what they do and their raw personalities and high intelligence are what make them so appealing to their die hard fans (like me! 🤡💖).
So if you're looking for a companion or a funny friend, think twice before choosing a spooky clown. Except in very rare cases, you will end up heartbroken and possibly faces high fees for endangering the local wildlife and your neighbors.
Can Scare Clowns be Kept in an Urban or Suburban Setting?
If you ask a scare clown, they'll probably tell you, yes certainly yes. This is because they are hardwired to scare-- hence the breed name! They actually want to be in denser populated areas so they can terrify unsuspecting people and stalk stray ankmald easier. And that should answer the question enough for any sane person: no, scare clowns should be kept far from densely populated areas.
Ideally scare clowns do best in a large piece of land where they can lurk, frolic, and feed off of small wild animals such as rabbits, squirrels, and mice. Five or more acres of partially wooded land is ideal for containing a scare clown and also ensuring the land won't be depleted by their needs. Any smaller a space and you can expect to need to supplement their diet with store bought meat, else keep a very close eye on the dog!
I personally keep a group of scare clowns on a much smaller space, but it's lightly populated and densely wooded. It's a delicate balance, but as an experienced scare clown keeper I can just manage it. I don't recommend doing so for new keepers as you'll cause undue stress to yourself and your clowns.
Can Scare Clowns be Kept Indoors?
At this point it should be very clear that scares are not house clowns. However if you're like me and live in an area that is frequently dangerously cold, this may not be so clear a cut. It takes a lot of brave breeders and keepers to make sure that the population of scares out there are cared for and aren't left up to their own devices in the wild. What's more, keeping scares in a cold region keeps them at bay as its much easier for a young scare to escape and become invasive in a milder climate.
Keeping scares indoors during poor weather can actually help deter the worst of their nastier behavior. They won't ever be tame, but there comes a point in your relationship where they accept that you are just part of the environment and mean them no harm. This is when it gets really fun to keep scares as they will haughtily stalk by you while snooping around. They're a joy to watch even if the humor comes more from enjoying their sour moods than the lighthearted joy we expect from clowns.
Yes you can keep scares indoors, but consider it strictly a necessity. They should be free to come and go as they please, weather permitting. When stuck indoors, ensure they have their own space which is kept dark and quiet at all times. Avoid going into that space altogether. If you must go in, announce yourself gently and listen for them to find a hiding space before turning on the light and entering.
Lastly, be sure to pass by the spaces where they are at least once a day. Linger by areas where they like to lurk so they have ample time to jump scare you. While trapped indoors, they still need a lot of stimulation.
I hope that's cleared up a lot of questions anyone has had about potentially adopting a scare clown! They're a tough breed but they are clever, witty, and fun in their own very special way.
If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to comment, reblog, or ask!
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