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capuletangel · 2 years

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Slow Like Honey

Word Count: 3492

Story Summary: Ben Solo falls into a deep obsession with the local new baker, and Ben always gets what he wants.

Tags: DEAD DOVE; Stalking, Obsession, Creepy Ben Solo, Non-Con, Bittersweet Fluff, Misogyny, Major Character Death, Dark Themes and Eventual Smut. AFAB.

Chapter Specific Tags; Non-Consensual Touching

A/N - Genuine thank you to everyone who interacts with this fic and comments, you really do make my day. I’m a whore for validation.

Posted To AO3 | Wattpad

Masterlist

Chapter Six; Like Someone In Love

"Do you want me to help?" She stood hovering in the hallway, wide eyed as if she needed to apologise to him, but this was Ben being there for her. Clad in a sweater that only allowed the fabric of her sleep shorts to peek out by an inch. She knew what she was doing, what the flesh of her legs would do to Ben.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Ben tried to assure her as he heaved the flat pack box into her apartment, tensing his forearms as much as he could so that he didn't get her in harm's way.

Ben couldn't be more joyous about her asking him for help, as she should.

If Ben found out that she tried to assemble this by herself, he would've been fuming. Ben yearned to look after her — to help her. And the fact she felt comfortable asking brought a warmth to his heart.

Ben wanted to press her up against the wall and let his hands roam around the flesh of her thighs, feel her breath falter and her heart beat race as he pressed ardent kisses to her neck. How she melted underneath his touch.

Her hair was messy, thrown up into a bun and her hands emerged underneath the sleeves of her sweater.

He could do anything he wanted to her.

A starving man alone with such a beautiful woman, he could. He could force himself onto her, take her right where she was, listen to her screams and cries as she tried to fight. She wouldn't have been able to, of course. He was far larger than her and to have her squirm beneath him would've sent his cock into overdrive.

Feel how her heat tensed around him, muscles clenching for him despite her yelps.

But Ben didn't want that, no, no. How could he? Ben wasn't a vile man, nor a simple one at that. Ben takes his time. Ben is patient. Ben could never take her so callously or push her away. Not when he's tried so hard all of this time.

That'd be a waste.

Ben would love her like no other could. Like no other would. No one would love her like Ben can, he wouldn't let them. She's his and his alone. She'll learn. He'll teach her.

"Where are you putting it?" He scanned her apartment and couldn't fight his smirk when he realised she'd cleaned up for him, as if this was the first time he'd been here. How naïve. But, he reacted as if it was his first time seeing the place, chuckling at the photo of her in rain boots.

"Um, opposite the couch—oh, god. That's so embarrassing." She moved her body to cover the fridge, face beet red. She hugged her arms around her body, as if that could protect her from Ben's stare. Just looking towards the couch makes Ben's cock stir, remembering what she looked like last night.

Desperate and needy.

He couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking of him, imagining that it was Ben between her legs—coaxing her orgasm.

"You've got a lot of books," Ben hums, trying to get her cumming off of his mind, but it wasn't a simple task. She had another bookcase, which he noted before was filled to the brim with recipe books, but there were fiction books haphazardly placed around her apartment.

"Yeah... It's a problem. I sort of hoard them. I don't really have a lot to spend money on at the moment, so it goes to buying books."

"Have you read all of them?"

"Yeah — well, the majority of them."

Ben got his toolbox from the hallway, carefully tearing the box apart. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled at how frantic she appeared. "You can sit down, y'know, I've got it covered."

"I-I know, I just feel like I should be helping you... considering," she shrugged, chewing on her lip as if she knew it'd make his vision tunnel.

But then she stopped, and her face lit up. Ben quirked a brow, wanting to know what was going on inside her pretty head. "I can bake you something—at least I'm good at that."

"I—Okay, I won't turn that offer down."

She beamed at Ben's response, a wide smile as she moved towards the kitchen counter. Ben couldn't take his eyes off of her, how she glowed at his approval. She flicked through a small leather notebook.

He could see her rushed handwriting sprawled over the pages.

He'd imagined this for months on end. Spending the day with her, watching her work in the privacy of her own home. Being the person she bakes for. Everything was going exactly how he wanted it to. He only needed to assemble the bookcase to have her to himself.

Throughout making it, he noted all the small things that she'd do that made his heart pump faster. Faster than it had ever done before. She hummed whilst concentrating, and she'd form her face into a cute little pout, lips puffing out.

She'd mumble the ingredients to make sure that she had the ones she needed; apples, ginger, allspice, cinnamon, flour, sugar, butter and heavy cream. The smell was rich and homely.

He'd catch her eye a few times, she'd blush and look the other way, but he could see how pink her ears were turning.

The bookshelf was like the other one but had more space, an ivory shade of white. He noticed she didn't like stark colours. Everything was mellow and gentle, like her.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, puffing out a breath before turning around. Finally, he could spend time with her instead of the screwdrivers he'd been holding for the last thirty minutes.

"Ta-dah!" She placed a dish down on the table with jazz hands, face smeared with flour, just like it was the first time he saw her in September. "It's not a Danish, unfortunately for you, but I have alway wanted you to try something new... it's an apple gingerbread galette."

It looked beautiful—perfect, even with the little patisserie knowledge Ben knew about. A rich amber colour with a caramel sauce dripped over the top in delicate patterns. She'd already cut a slice for him, eagerly passing him a fork.

"This looks... really, really good—you sure you're not trying to poison me, kid? Or fatten me up like Hansel and Gretel?"

She gave a cheeky smile, though no matter how much she tried to feign charm, she'd always be too nice. Those wide eyes captured Ben through her constantly awestruck expression. "No promises."

He hummed, scooping up the galette, and his mouth exploded at the taste. His eyes soften as he held her stare. The way she was wringing her hands showed him that she was itching to know what he thought. The moan that slipped said it all.

"Good?"

"Amazing. I wish I could think of a stronger word... delectable, mouthwatering, ambrosian, succu—" He went on with a humorous tone until she shook her head, almost squeaking with insecurity.

"Stop, stop," she laughed, and it sent shivers up his spine. Seeing her toothy grin was like a thwack in the heart. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Ben would love nothing more. "Okay." He watched her grin widen, and she nodded in success, squeezing her hands once more before moving over to her desk.

"I don't have a TV at the moment. You don't mind watching something on my laptop, do you?"

"No, no. Not at all." As long as they were sitting next to each other, cuddled onto her small couch, he was sure he'd cope, somehow.

He still wasn't certain that this wasn't one of his fever dreams. It sure felt like it. Watching her, in her apartment, her baking for him and not just for profit, but for his personal satisfaction.

Ben took a seat on the right, remembering that she liked to sit on the left side from when he last visited. She placed the laptop on the coffee table. "There are blankets in the drawers—" she cut herself abruptly, and it took Ben a second to realise why.

That's where she kept her vibrator.

"Oh?" Ben feigned innocence, leaning over to hook his fingers into the gap, ready to pull it open, but she shook her head adamantly.

"Oh, no, it's okay!"

"You sure?" He began to pull, just with a light force, and he could see the faintest glimmer of the metal.

"No, no. It's cold—we can just share my duvet."

He let his fingers drop from the draw, secretly laughing at her reaction, how frantic she became at the thought of him finding her secret. He pushed the drawer shut, but he wanted to continue to tempt.

She got so squirmy. He likes it when she squirms, like a little rabbit. All nervous.

He drew back, leaning against the cushions. It was a very comfy couch. She placed the duvet down into the middle and shuffled a bit, "I'm gonna go wash my face quick," she pointed to the flour and laughed at herself, scrambling off.

Like a little rabbit.

He took the moment alone to lift her duvet up to his nose, breathing in her scent like it was ambrosia. It relaxed his body like nothing else, as if it were made to calm him down.

Calming his muscles, making him feel at home.

He was home. Home with her. She was his home, and he hoped, no, he knew, that she could feel it too.

He dropped it when he heard the water stop running, draping it across his lap. At least it hid his ever-growing boner.

She lit some of the lamps around her apartment whilst on her way back, letting the low bulbs light the space with a soft glow.

This was peace. He couldn't imagine anything better than this. She picked up her laptop before slipping under the duvet, her thigh touching his.

"What film are we watching?"

"Um." Ben didn't miss the shy smile which began to show. "I'm—I'm a bit of a nerd for old fantasy films... But, I'm not very opinionated, if that's not your thing?"

Anything. "No, no. You can choose."

She hummed in appreciation. Scrolling through, the white light of her laptop screen let Ben see every glimmer of interest when she saw a film she wanted to watch. How her lips would twitch or her eyebrows would rise a bit as she saw the thumbnails.

Her eyes scanned between two films, chewing on her lower lip in concentration. Tilting her face to look at Ben, with an expression which tempted his cock.

"Labyrinth... or Neverending Story?"

Ben pouted at the screen, as if he cared about the film when she was sitting next to him. "Labyrinth." She nodded, happy with his choice, happy with him.

She placed the laptop back onto the surface of the table, leaning back so that their shoulders pressed together and she hooked her feet underneath her hips, so that her fluffy socks brushed against his forearm.

She was teasing him. She wouldn't have gotten so close otherwise. She felt like she could trust Ben, and that alone made his head spin.

He hooked his arm behind him, so that it leaned against the back of the couch and brushed against the skin on her shoulder.

The first touch of her bare skin against his fingertips and he couldn't be more overjoyed. He looks at her through half-lidded eyes and he can see the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

He drags his fingers back and forth, caressing her as if it's a subconscious action, like he's doing it inactively, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Taking pleasure in feeling the texture, how silky she is, how warm she is underneath his touch.

Her body relaxes into his and he hears her take a long breath. She's tucked under his side, cherishing his touch. Melting into him. Protected. Safe. With him. So cute. She needs him — she doesn't know it just yet, but she will. She'll know, and she'll thank him.

They're about halfway into the film when her eyes start to flutter shut and her fingers begin to flitter against the duvet, twitching as she fights clarity.

It's a beautiful sight.

"A creepy guy keeps coming into the bakery," she murmurs. Her voice is so quiet he barely hears her, but he does.

Fingers pausing their rhythm as his heart speeds up. "What? Who?" He knew this would happen, knew she wasn't safe. He can't protect her when she's at work. She shouldn't be all alone. She's vulnerable. Fragile.

She whimpers sleepily, and his cock twitches again.

He nudges her, wanting an answer. "Who?"

"I'm not sure," he thinks she says, but it sounds a lot more like m'n'sure. She straightens a bit when he nudges her again. Not too harsh. He wouldn't hurt her. Just needs to know who.

Rain begins to patter down, hitting the window and muffling her, so Ben has to lean down closer.

"He's ginger. Pasty. He's weird a-and he scares me... gets really close." Armitage. That's why he was so inquisitive — why he was trying to get on Ben's nerves.

Ben drops his hand, placing it on her shoulder instead of just stroking. "It's okay," he gives a supportive squeeze, thumb coaxing the flesh on her collarbone. Her head relaxes onto his chest in submission, nuzzling into his shirt. Ben will protect her, always will. "Think I know who."

She doesn't reply, just makes a small sound and nudges her head closer. Ben hasn't been touched like this for so long, maybe not ever.

Not with such pure intentions. Not with such love, such care. His hand on her shoulder reels her closer and her hair tickles his chin, brushing against his beard.

The rain became much heavier, hitting the window panes with harsh and consistent pressure. "Think it's going to storm," Ben mumbles to himself, though it doesn't miss her ears. She tenses on him, breath hitching.

Ben inwardly gloats, begging the maker for a storm. He'll be able to look after her.

Her hand moves from the blanket to his chest when the rain continues to torment the glass, fisting the fabric. A yelp escapes her as there's a clap of thunder which cracks through the sky. She flinches and fidgets, clinging on tighter.

"Are you scared of thunder?" Ben questions, lips formed into a grin.

"No!" Her words came out rushed, but the grip told him she was lying.

"It's okay, sweet girl." Ben strokes a hand through her hair at a slow pace, mimicking the speed of his own breath. "Your safe with me."

Lightning flashes and she clamps her eyes shut, breathing deep through her nose. "C-Can we hug please? It-it's just I haven't hugged in so long—" Ben doesn't wait until she finishes her sentence, instead wrapping his arms around her in an instant.

She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

He sighs into it, and her arms stretch to go around his torso, squeezing tight and tensing again at another boom of thunder.

She's petrified, trembling, and she's choosing to put her comfort in Ben. Holding him tight because she knows he cares. Knows he's good.

His hand rubs circles on her back and his chin rests at the top of her head.

When the next sound comes, he takes the shock to scoop her into his lap. She doesn't protest, instead she whimpers. He holds her so her butt rests on his left thigh, rather than it resting on the bulge of his cock.

He was getting very turned on, from all the whimpering and squirming. And the physical touch — Ben hasn't been hugged since his mid-twenties.

This is bliss.

This is love.

He didn't remember the warmth that followed intimacy, not just physical warmth but eternal.

It felt like his heart was swelling up, fizzling.

The thunder began to move farther away, but he didn't release her. Her breathing gets softer and softer with each minute that passes, but his grip stays firm, sheltering her in his embrace.

He likes her like this.

"Are you tired?" He mumbles, lips skimming her ear, and she shivers before nodding, releasing a tired moan.

The hand which supports her knee detaches, leaning to shut her laptop. He scoops his arm under her legs and stands. God, he loves her so much.

Seeing her sleepy frame is intoxicating, but holding it — it's indescribable.

"Gonna get you into bed."

He takes his time carrying her, holding her. Feeling her in his arms, breathing in her scent. He could do anything he wants to her, alone with her in her apartment. She's sleepy and he could take control.

The thought makes his vision tunnel, but he brushes it away for now. He doesn't want to do that.

Ben's a nice guy. He wants to take his time, it's paying off. Ben is a patient man.

Hasn't even felt her lips yet. He could, if he wanted to. Ben shakes his head, huffing a breath as he lays her down, returning to the sofa and collecting the duvet.

He takes a moment to look at her before laying it over her body, patting the plush fabric around to make her comfy and warm. Ben shuffles awkwardly, backing away.

She stirs, and he looks, chewing on his lip.

"You can lay down if you want." Again, her voice is muffled by sleep, blurring the words.

"You're sure?" He cares about her. Doesn't want her to feel pressured.

"Mhm."

Ben begins to edge out of his boots, sitting at the edge of the bed and slipping them off, before taking off his flannel that's placed over his t-shirt, placing it on her bedside table. He leaves everything else on, wants to respect her. Loves her.

His blood pumps audibly through his ears.

He lays next to her and he could definitely be dreaming. Surely this is too lucky?

He stays still, wondering if he should be hugging her or stroking her, but she interrupts the thought, pulling herself closer to him. She's only just awake by the look on her face.

Her eyelashes flutter as he wraps himself around her, spooning her. Distracting her from the rain. Soon he's sinking into her pillow and just listening to the sound of her whimpers and breaths. Holding her tight. She'll never leave him.

It's not long before she's twitching, dreaming. He wonders what she's dreaming about. He hopes she dreams of him, just like he dreams of her. He deserves to be on her mind.

They're so close.

Ben could touch her, just a bit. He'd do it gently. She wouldn't know. Ben is gentle.

He held his breath, testing the waters with a simple word. "Hey," he murmurs, seeing if she was fully asleep or still hanging on. When there was no response he murmured it again, but still, no response.

He could.

The hand that was round her waist moved lower and lower, gripping her hip with a light hold. He shifted her back and her butt brushed against his clothed cock, creating just the right amount of friction.

His breath hitched, pulling her back to him again in a grinding motion. Controlling her motions.

Shit. It felt good. It felt really, really good.

He fumbled to unbutton his pants, fingers shaking whilst he pulled them halfway down his hips. Ben palmed himself before pressing up against her again. He kept his underwear on.

Curling her hips to him before setting them back and doing it again, letting small moans of pleasure escape as he did.

He wanted to feel her. Wanted to feel her flesh against his own, wanted to feel her warmth, wanted to feel her engulf him. Feel her stretch around him. But Ben is patient.

This'll be enough to satiate him, for the time being.

A tremble rocked his body, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. Concentrating the friction on the tip, inducing a groundbreaking amount of pressure and sensitivity.

"Fuck. Such a sweet girl, aren't you?" She didn't respond, but that did nothing to sway him. "Making me so desperate, letting me be intimate with you. You're such a good—such a g-good girl."

He couldn't stop the deep groan which left his mouth after orgasming, ejaculated right then and there. In his underwear.

He'd never been so desperate to cum before. But god, she looked so peaceful he couldn't help it. Zipping his trousers up and wrapping a tight arm around her waist, locking her in for the afterglow. She's all he can smell.

One thing was for sure.

He was going to kill Armitage Hux.

#adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu smut #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you

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soulreader05 · 38 minutes

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𝓔𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓮 & 𝓐𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓶 HeadCanons

Most people would suspect that Ebele would be terrified living in the same house with a dangerous mobster…to their surprise, this kid is the only person that can get away with being snarky with Anselm. Only them.

Ebele attends a prestigious school academy, and since word got out of them being adopted by Anselm, most of the rich kids in the school began to make fun of them because they assumed that Ebele was a charity case.

When Anselm heard of this, he was ready to unleash hell but he soon calmed down when Ebele told him what they said to those kids.

“I’m here because I’m on a scholarship. The school wanted me, y’all on the other hand had to use your mummies and daddies money to get in.” (Anselm has never been so proud before.)

Due to a concerning amount of disposing bodies, Ebele makes sure that Anselm murder streak isn’t always ongoing. So they try their best to intimidate guests to keep them alive…though the guests feel like they’re just being intimated by a kitten trying to roar at them so they laugh it off. (They soon regret it when they feel a certain someone glaring daggers at them.)

Anselm owns a theater room in his mansion, so sometimes when him and Ebele aren’t do anything, they’ll be binge watching old Victorian movies together while calling out some of the historical inaccuracies.

You know those videos of kittens/puppies struggling to stay awake…yeah that’s Ebele when they try to stay up watching a movie with Anselm late at night. They get super snuggly too.

It’s precious for Anselm to watch his little one try not to doze off, their eyes half-lidded and cheeks probably squished against his shoulder. They both sleep in the theater room for the night. (It’s a habit.)

Even after getting adopted, Ebele still kept their all of their old clothes, it didn’t matter how worn or torn they were or how many times that Anselm insisted to buy them new ones. Ebele declined his favors, if it was still wearable, they were keeping it.

Anselm doubles the maids payment for them to knit Ebele’s old worn out clothes with pretty star designs because he knows how much his kid hyper fixates on constellations.

Ebele has a large collection of old stuffed animals, pretty miscellaneous knick-knacks and charms that they hoard in their room.

Yes, they do have names for their stuffed animals. Anselm knows them all by their first and last names.

Anselm watches every fencing match that his kid attends in. He’s their loudest cheerleader. His security guards hold cheering posters for them in every match. Ebele tries not to get flustered easily and focus on their opponent. (They appreciate their papa’s support.)

These two try to the take time to learn each other’s native language. Ebele struggles with some words in German while Anselm struggles with rolling his r’s in Latin Spanish. It’s the thought that counts. (Ebele is mixed, they’re Nigerian/Ghanian & Dominican.)

Anselm mostly calls Ebele, ‘little one’, but his nicknames for them is baby bird, sweet one, Schatzi, dove, angel, his little Liebchen.

Ebele calls him, Vog, overlord, wheezy (their way to poke fun at him.), Apa, Pai, and Papa or Vati but only when they’re really tired.

Anselm adores Ebele with his entire body and soul, he doesn’t care if they are his blood or not. They’re his treasure.

#platonic!anselm vogelweide #anselm vogelweide #father figure #Anselm vogelweide headcanons #oscar issac characters #teen!oc #headcanons #platonic

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bastillewolf · 4 years

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Shinigami Eyes (II)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: After you distastefully kill Corpse in a game of Among Us, he wants you to make it up to him and invites you to come over for the week.

Notes: Thank you so much for the love on the previous chapter, I’ve never gotten this many notes before. I hope you enjoy, and maybe leave an ask if you want to? I can’t promise I have time to do them, but I’ll pick out a couple.

Also, I might rewrite this. I kinda rushed it because I wanted to finish it by tonight, but there will be a final and third chapter to this afterwards. Please do let me know what you think.

Tag list CLOSED!

Shinigami Eyes - Pt. II

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

You were teamed up with Sean.

Your fist violently slammed down on the desk. “Goddammit! I don’t want to be impostor anymore! This game has no compassion for my poor nerves.” It was the third time in a row now, and you were really craving to do normal tasks now without all the scheming. “Fuck it, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m just gonna do my thing without thinking about it.”

You decide to follow Toast for a bit to watch him do some task. You kill him in Laboratory. You vent back to Launchpad and take your time walking towards MedBay while the kill button restores. You meet up with Corpse, and follow him while pretending to do wires in the Y-hallway. You watched the green bar go up, and continued. Sabotaging and then fixing lights, you made sure your place with Corpse was settled. Then the body of Lily was reported.

As you expected, Corpse easily vouched for you as he’d seen you do a task. The round was skipped, though Rae was sussed for ‘chasing’ Sean, by his own words.

“Corpse, you’ve grown weak,” you muttered to chat.

You were in Greenhouse, and decided it would be best to kill him there and sabotage Reactor. “Sorry baby, but I can’t keep following you around.” You quickly set off Reactor and murdered him in front of the plants. “Your blood shall keep the plants hydrated.” You did an evil laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works, though.”

You vented down to MedBay and as you walked out you met up with Rae. She’d be the vouch who would confirm you weren’t anywhere near Greenhouse. “I’ll just have to fix my own sabotage so they’ll never suspect me.” You helped her with the handprint, and noted Sykkuno and Felix being there. Sean sabotaged lights, you killed Sykkuno, and ran out to follow Lily into Laboratory. Felix reported the body.

“Holy shit,” Rae gasped. So far, five people had died. You only needed to kill one more person. “It was Felix!”

“Wait, what?” the man in question asked. “I was fixing Reactor!”

She mentioned that only you, Sykkuno, Felix and herself had been there and that you’d helped her do handprint. “Sykkuno must have fixed it, and then you killed him!”

Sean asked if you’d seen anything.

“No, the lights were out. I followed Rae into Laboratory after the scan.” Your voice didn’t tremble or raise, a tactic you’d taken up from the best lair in the group. Well, the one who was now dead. Oops. “I haven’t seen Felix this entire game, though.”

He was evidently at a loss for words, so the group was quick to vote for him.

Pewds was ejected.

Victory.

You thanked Sean for a good game who was laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did Corpse like that! Poor guy!”

“I deadass thought you were innocent,” Corpse replied, “I’m hurt.”

“Why do you still sound dark and menacing when you say something like that?!”

You agreed with Sean heartily, “He’s just salty I’ve bested him at his own game.”

“Hey now, no need to actually insult me.”

The group laughed. You decided to call it for the night, right before Corpse did the same.”

***

He was calling you again. “What is it this time, you salty?”

“Salty? Nah, never,” he said, but you weren’t convinced.

“Then why you calling?”

“What, I can’t call my friends after playing a nice round of Among Us?”

“Not when you lost the game and you call the person who you lost to. Kinda sus, dude.”

“Alright, maybe a little salty.” You smirked.

“Aw, you need me to make it up to you?”

He laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

A bunch of thoughts, most not rated PG-13, crossed your mind. You were suddenly starting to feel uncomfortable. This was probably just something innocent, which got twisted in your fucked-up mind. You shrugged, “Uh… I don’t know.”

“I got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come over this week. You said you needed a break, right?”

“That sounds more like you’re doing me a favour instead of me making it up to you.”

“I don’t have any friends. You’d be making it up to me by being the first physical person here in years. I usually don’t invite people over.”

“Wow, I’m flattered. So, you don’t consider me to be your friend after all?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chuckled.

“Sure, sure. Tell me that again when my presence suddenly brightens your life making you not want to get rid of me, ever.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

***

You walk through the gates following a hoard of people, all the while still feeling drowsy from not getting any sleep during your flight. At least you didn’t have any turbulence and landed safely. Glancing around here and there with no result, you figured Corpse would be waiting outside, until you spotted a figure clad in black a little ends away by the escalator. You were glad you were still awake enough to have found him, because he appeared to silently linger halfway behind a fern.

At least, you hoped it was him. The only indications were his clothes, mask and dark hair. You saw him run a hand through it, and identified the chipped black nail polish and familiar rings. Oh yea, that was him alright.

He seemed to be paying more attention to the floor until he saw two feet appear in his line of sight. “Hey,” you awkwardly greeted. A bit taken a back, he replied, “Oh, wow. Hey.” A mask was covering the bottom of his face, but as far as you could see his eyes were a very dark shade.

“Wow?” you repeated. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yea, sorry. It’s a compliment.” You held your elbow out in a safe-distance gestured hello, but he shrugged you off. “You’re gonna be staying with me anyways.” Suddenly in a daze, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and instantly hugged him back. His baggy sweater felt warm and soft to the touch, and strands of hair tickled your face. You very much tried to repress your smile and blush, but how could you? Hugging someone wasn’t supposed to feel this good. When he pulled back he reached down to take your suitcase from you. “I don’t own a car, is it okay if we take a cab?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” you stuttered, “But it’s on me. Same with food and stuff.” “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re letting me stay with you and a hotel would’ve been a lot more expensive than this. It’s my treat.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gave you a look and even with the mask you could tell he was smirking underneath it.

It’s about half an hour drive to his apartment complex, and it’s rather nice. “All that YouTube money paying off, huh?” you asked in amusement. “You’d know,” he replied. You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the stairs yourself, which he silently shook his head at, until after a few flights he noticed you struggling and settled on carrying the thing in between the two of you. “How many clothes did you bring?” “Oh, it’s mostly filled with bricks I might need to throw at your head.” He laughed at that.

His apartment was simple, but cosy. “Home sweet home,” he said, almost sarcastically. You furrowed your brow at him. “I’m sure you could’ve had it a lot worse.” He reluctantly agreed.

He helped you set down your luggage in what appeared to be his bedroom, where the curtains were still closed and the black bedsheets fresh. He had a few pieces of fanart up on his wall, and some on his closet. You turned to him and gave him a look. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

He quickly shook his head, “You’re not sleeping there. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“If you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. “What?” “Nothing.”

He suggested playing video games as you were both too tired to do anything else. You’d landed quite late yet were still confused about what time it actually was. Flying is weird. You hopped onto his couch and grabbed a controller.

He sat down next to you, but suddenly seemed tenser than before.

“You okay? You can just go to sleep if you want to.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t sleep a lot. It’s fine.”

You didn’t stop looking at him, though. He was still wearing that mask. “You don’t have to take it off, if you don’t want to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that, I just…” He took a deep breath. You hadn’t expected him to take it off then and there. You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, controller barely held by your numb hands.

“Disappointed?”

It was as if he was expecting you to make a face or something, but you didn’t give him anything, except for a blatant “Nope” and an “Are we gonna play now or what?”

“You don’t have anything else to say?”

You shrugged, and looked him up and down again. “You’re kind of what I imagined you to be.”

“What’s that?”

“Handsome.”

Neither of you could stop smiling for the rest of the night.

You eventually forced him to sleep in his own bed, even going as far as to shove him into the room and keep your weight against the door so he couldn’t get out, so he eventually relented. “Inviting you here was a mistake.” “How come? All I’ve done so far is look after you!” “You’re a nightmare.”

You mostly stayed in for the week, which you didn’t mind at all. Being in such a closed-off environment with someone you got along with was nice. He attempted to get you to lift the weights in his room and succeeded for around fifteen minutes until you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot. You ordered take-out from his favourite restaurant, watched horror movies until you adapted to his sleeping schedule because you were too scared to close your eyes now, and even streamed a bit together with your friends.

“Wait, is Corpse with you?” Rae had asked.

“No, I’m at Corpse’s. He’s sitting across from me so I can’t see his screen but we’re gonna have to share the Discord unless you want to hear an echo.”

“Ah, man! You got to see his face, too?” Sykkuno whined.

“Stop simping, Sykkuno. You get enough attention from him already.”

“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Corpse said.

“Huh?”

It was probably a good thing that you got teamed up again, because you could indeed start to see his hands shaking right as the word ‘impostor’ appeared on the screen. You reached over and stroked it with your thumb. He smiled gratefully back at you.

“Just please,” he pleaded later that day, “Sleep in the bed. If only for one night.”

“No. I’ve heard about and now seen your sleeping habits. If you take the couch you’re never going to get any sleep.” You made a real effort to show him how comfortable you were – even though your back had started to hurt already after the first night – by crawling underneath your blanket and rubbing your head into the soft pillow. He snorted.

Next thing, you feel yourself being lifted by an arm underneath your knees and one around your back. “Corpse! Put me the fuck down!” you shrieked. You knew he lifted weights, but how the hell did he still have the energy as an insomniac? He ungracefully dropped you onto the matrass and turned the lights off. “Good night.”

You quickly got hold of the back of his hoodie before he could leave and pulled. He fell down next to you with a low huff. “Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed. But only if you sleep here too.”

“I snore.”

“Don’t care.”

For some reason, there wasn’t any tension or awkwardness. You were comfortable, and the soft rhythm of his breathing seemed to soothe you. He called out your name, to see if you were still awake.

“Hm?”

“…Thanks for coming over.”

“Any time.”

This was how you would spend the rest of the nights, and whenever either of you woke up suddenly curled up around the other, you didn’t mention it or move away from it. It was the first time in years Corpse got a few nights of complete rest.

#corpse husband #Corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #youtube #youtube fanfiction #pewdiepie #jacksepticeye

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 11

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Plot? What's that? I only know domestic fluff

She really didn’t know what to think when Tim asked to move in for a second time the next morning.

On the one hand, it felt like she was taking advantage of him. He’d seen her get shot and she doubted he’d really thought rationally since.

On the other hand… he essentially lived there already and it would do a lot to alleviate the anxiety the both of them had...

She rubbed her eyes -- ha, as if she hadn’t been awake the whole night to make sure he hadn’t had nightmares -- for an excuse to look away while she thought. What should she do? She would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to move in, she knew that was clouding her judgement, but even if she recognized her bias it wasn’t easy to just put it aside.

She sighed lightly and lowered a hand from her eyes. Tim looked really cute after having just woken up with his hair all messy and his eyes half lidded and one of his cheeks slightly flatter where he’d been resting his head against her and who can really say no to that face?

… well, Marinette supposed that would allow both of them to relax a little...

She let her hands drop to rest on top of his.

“Sure, darling. If you want you can move in… but, if you ever want to move out, I won’t stop you. Just ask.”

He cracked a tiny smile. “The only time I’d ever move out of this place is if you were changing apartments.”

She snickered. “Where I go, you go?”

“You have no idea,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You bats and your dumb cryptic sentences. Would it kill you guys to ever say a single thing directly?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that I would drop dead on the spot.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh yeah? Heart attack or sniper?”

“Can’t tell you. I would drop dead on the spot.”

“Damn. Foiled again by the… mystery cause of death!”

The smile on Tim’s face brightened and he looped his arms around her. “You’d save me.”

“Oh? And miss out on my chance to get that rich boy money you probably gave me in your will?”

He schooled his face back into a serious look. “I see. I’ll have to write you out of my will, then. Make sure you bring me back.”

“Nooooooooo! My scheme! Ruined! Now how will I become a millionaire without trying?!”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, his face purposefully smug and hers pinched into a frown…

And then they broke character, giggles falling from their lips and smiles lighting up their faces. She tipped her head forward until it rested against his chest. He squeezed her tighter.

Then, to her surprise, he flopped back on the couch, pulling her with him. “Alright, sleepy time,” he said cheerfully.

“Darling --.”

“You didn’t sleep last night. Sleep.”

She pressed against his chest until she could sit up just enough to glare at him. “I have super strength. May not be as strong as Connor or anything but I can definitely get away from you if I wanted.”

“Of course.” A smug look made its way across his face. “But you wouldn’t hurt your darling, would you?”

She glared harder despite the slight reddening of her cheeks. His smirk didn’t waver.

Marinette huffed and dropped back down. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t respond to that, instead just grumbling ‘pillows don’t talk’ and letting herself finally nod off.

Having two perfectionists trying to figure out the layout of a limited living space might not have been their brightest idea. They should have, at least, gotten someone to help.

Instead they had brought out Marinette’s tape measure and mapped out the entire apartment on a sheet of paper and then made tiny shapes for the furniture. Now, they sat at the table, obsessively moving pieces around.

It could have been worse, of course. Neither of them were the type to hoard things. He wasn’t all that concerned with anything other than his clothes and his laptop. Marinette only cared about her clothes, video games, and baking tools -- all of which could be tucked away in the provided closets and cabinets with ease. If needed they could probably get by with nothing but a dresser and a pull out bed each.

So, yeah, their own personal living styles weren’t the problem…

It was their work. Who knew their workaholic tendencies would be their downfall (besides everyone, of course)? She needed a lot of space for her fabrics and mannequins to make sure nothing got damaged. Tim would need a lot of space for his supercomputer if he didn’t want to make the long trip to Bristol every night.

Speaking of the trip to Bristol! He needed a place to put his motorbike and his suit. Shit. He could find a place to park his bike if he tried, but… he started cutting out a piece for the suit.

Marinette saw him adding more stuff and her head hit the table.

He snickered a little and poked her hair until she, however reluctantly, picked her head back up to send him a halfhearted glare. He smiled, reaching over and plucking the tiny square of paper from where it had stuck itself to her forehead. A blush spread across her cheeks.

Then she happened to glance down and her annoyance was back in full force.

“We didn’t think this through,” she said.

His smile became more strained as he looked down at their map. “Moving sounds so easy on paper.”

“Maybe it’s easier for people who don’t have such complicated lives.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m quitting.”

“Aw, but then I’ll lose my patrol buddy! I’ll have to do everything with your siblings instead.”

His nose scrunched up. “God, no. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, you love your siblings.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re the worst.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but then she tipped her head and nodded. “True.”

He snickered.

Their smiles disappeared quickly as they looked back at the layout of the apartment. Could they even fit all their stuff?

… wait, actually, could they?

He started shuffling things in and he realized that, if they wanted to have space to walk, there wasn’t enough room. No wonder they’d had so much trouble finding a layout that would work. It was literally impossible. They needed more space.

She hesitated slightly. “... what if we bought out the apartment next to this one for work? It could even double as a backup in case you ever decide you want to have a place of your own again.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Can we do that?”

“You’re rich, you could probably figure it out.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean, yes, we can technically kick out the people next door but I’d kind of prefer if we didn’t displace random families.”

“I mean… we could always…” She made a stabbing motion.

He couldn’t laugh at that. Laughing at that would be bad. So he wouldn’t do that.

“Bean -- Mari -- no.”

“I’m just saying! We’d even get the apartment at a discount!”

Okay, he might have laughed a little.

… they didn’t end up stabbing anyone but, hey, if the family next door happened to get some huge scholarship courtesy of The Wayne Foundation that they didn’t remember applying for with the stipulation that they would have to move districts... then they just so happened to have a lucky break. Good for them.

Which meant that they only really needed to buy a desk, a dresser, and a bed.

So they went to Ikea! A boring place where no shenanigans ever happen!

… well, no shenanigans ever happen if you’re not a pair of vigilantes that bounce bad ideas off of each other like they were playing a particularly intense game of Don’t Let The Balloon Touch The Ground and the entire world would blow up if they dared to lose.

Speaking of things that touch the ground, the resident dumbasses should probably have kept their feet firmly planted on it.

Marinette squinted down the escalator. “Oh, they’re definitely going to kick us out.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“Maybe arrested.”

“Maybe that, too,” he said brightly, checking the pot over his head to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

“... the PR team is going to hate us,” she warned him.

“Absolutely.” He could feel the gaze on the back of his head, telling him that the employees had noticed them and, quite likely, knew what they were planning. “Ready?”

A grin spread across her face. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Good, because they’re coming.”

She glanced back at the employees making their way over to interfere.

“Threetwoonego!”

He pushed off with his foot, relishing in her indignant yelp, and grinned widely as he started the very bumpy ride that was snowboarding down an escalator. He’d thought he’d be more or less okay because he had been a skateboarder but it turns out that boarding down moving stairs is very different from boarding down flat planes. He let loose a string of curses as he struggled to hold the plank of wood to his feet and not die a very painful, very stupid death.

Marinette came whizzing past him, eyes wide and the tray she’d been using as a board somehow missing.

She met his eyes briefly and flashed a grin.

And then they crashed.

It was about as painful as one would expect. Tim was glad that he’d thought to give himself a pot-helmet-thing because it had cracked down the middle and he didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t done that.

And he was the lucky one. He got out with a few bruises and a better appreciation for his own life. Marinette was nursing an arm that looked like it was trying to imitate the escalator they had just slid down, lips pressed together tightly as tears threatened to escape.

He carefully crawled over to check for any other injuries that might have been less noticeable.

She grinned up at him, either because he was currently checking to see if her teeth were all in place or to be smug. What she could currently be smug about, though, he had no clue…

“You’re so stupid,” he told her, just in case she wasn’t already aware.

Her smug grin remained even after he had removed the finger from her mouth. “You’re just mad that I won.”

“... sorry?” He hadn’t even been thinking about their impromptu race, too concentrated on the whole ‘making sure they hadn’t just died’ thing, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, won a pretty new cast, maybe.”

She snickered. “You had to cheat and you still didn’t even win. How does it feel to suck?”

“Probably still better than it feels to have a broken arm.”

She sat up. “It’s fine, I’ll live.”

He snorted. “You bet you will. I’m going to bubble wrap the whole apartment.”

“You can’t babyproof the place! We don’t even have kids yet!”

Before he could question her use of the word ‘yet’, the employees managed to get their attention. They were trying to get down the currently very broken escalator and the one that was currently going the wrong way for them. Despite this, the two of them had only a minute max before they reached them.

Marinette and Tim locked eyes.

“Run?” She suggested.

He was already getting to his feet. He dropped a business card for the employees and turned to her.

He grabbed her good hand and they sprinted out of the store, smiles lighting up their faces and laughter spilling from their lips. The poor employees hadn’t stood a chance of catching the two vigilantes, even injured as they were. They knew the city like the back of their hands and were able to weave in and out of side streets and alleyways without much thought.

Once they were sure that no one was following them -- leaving a store unattended in Gotham was a terrible idea and Tim had left a card for them to call -- she tugged him to hide between two buildings.

They squeezed into the tiny space and leaned into each other for support while they struggled to catch their breath. Her good hand came up to grip his shirt. He rested his forehead against the wall above her.

She lifted her gaze to his and he wished she hadn’t because he’d already been out of breath enough before she’d done that but now here was staring into her blue eyes, the corners crinkled in a way that had become so familiar to him over the past few months, and god… all he could think about was all the stories that described how time stopped when you fell in love… and how those stories couldn’t be more wrong. He would have hated for that to happen because if time stopped then he would have to see that perfect smile of hers in anything but real time and he doubted that it would have looked nearly as beautiful without the way her shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter or the slight fluttering of her lashes or the steady pinkening of her cheeks.

She finally gave a little puff of laughter. “What?”

He blinked once, trying to bring himself back to what was going on. “Oh, I was just thinking…”

“Oh? Don’t strain yourself.”

He smiled. “I was just going to say something nice but instead I’ll insult you on your stealth. You’d be a terrible criminal, laughing during your getaway.”

She rolled her eyes. “You laughed, too.”

“Yeah, but when I did it it was super cool and professional.”

“Ah, I see. How could I not have noticed it before?”

He snickered. “Well, if today has proved anything, it’s that you are not, in fact, the world’s greatest detective.”

She grinned. “You were the one that put the pot on my head originally.”

“You came up with the idea to go down the escalators like that.”

“You agreed.”

“You -- I -- shut up,” he complained, sending her a glare.

She smiled at him until he pretty much had no choice but to smile back, letting his head fall the last few inches to press his forehead against hers.

Her hand gripped his shirt a little tighter.

He moved his hands from the wall to her waist.

They stood there, letting time pass them by, searching each other's eyes for some sort of answer to the question neither of them could bring themselves to ask aloud. He bit his lip, trying to swallow down his anxiety.

Her eyes flicked to his lips, her own parted as if to say something, before she seemed to think better of it.

She closed the gap. His heart skipped a beat at the feather-soft feeling of her lips against his and he let his eyes flutter shut. She teased his lip out from between his teeth with her own.

And then she pulled back just slightly.

He opened his eyes just enough to see her shy smile and the blush lighting up her face.

“You… you really have to stop doing that. They’ll get chapped --.”

He pressed forward again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was far more desperate than the last. She gasped quietly and he took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. The hand fisted in his shirt slid up to wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him even closer. He pressed her back against the wall, a hand trailing up to tangle itself in her hair, trying to reach more --.

She brought her bad arm up to cradle his face and then yelped in pain.

He jumped back. Right. Broken arm. Looks like a staircase. Not good.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… let’s get you treated.”

Marinette ended up with a pink cast and an order to stay home for at least a week.

She pouted, resting her head back against the couch as she watched him shuffle around in search of his second shoe (it was tucked behind her back, but he didn’t need to know that). “I’m not a child, you guys can’t just ground me,” she complained for what felt like the millionth time.

Tim rolled his eyes. “We all have to do it when we break bones unless it’s an all hands on deck situation. Been like that since even before I was Robin.”

“But B goes out with broken bones all the time!”

“That’s different.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It is. If there is a situation where B can be a hypocrite he will do it”

Marinette scoffed. “And you’re allowed out because…?”

He started counting off on his fingers. “None of my bones are broken, my job requires me to leave, I don’t get in trouble 9/10 times I leave the house… should I go on?”

“Last one is a lie,” she mumbled.

“No, I only get in trouble, like, 8/10 times I leave.”

It was hard to maintain her glare. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him like the mature adult she was. He returned it, despite the fact that he was also an adult according to the law.

He grinned and came to sit next to her on the couch. She shifted around until she was leaning against him instead of the couch, legs tangling with his.

He didn’t say anything about the blatant attempt at trapping him there with her. Instead, he leaned closer to her face and said: “Speaking of leaving, do you happen to know where my other shoe is?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling that you already know where it is?”

He snickered. “I know you, Bean. So, can I have it back?”

“Hm… I don’t know…” she said, twirling his tie around her hand.

He let her pull him down for a kiss. She giggled against his lips as his hands ghosted over her in search of the missing shoe. She kept her good hand at his collar as a kind of silent promise that she wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- move the shoe, even throwing her bad arm around his neck just in case.

He pulled away a few moments later, squinting at her suspiciously. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been tricked.”

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Trick you? I could never.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, where is it?”

She glanced at the time and smirked. “I guess you’ve earned it…” She pulled her foot out from between the couch cushions to show him the shoe she had hastily slipped on when he’d gotten close.

He scoffed lightly and slipped it off. “Y’know, if I had literally one of the most common fetishes in the world that wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you don’t, so it did,” she chirped with a cheeky grin.

“Guess that’s true…” He pecked her lips one last time before pulling his shoe on and she grinned as she watched him head to the door.

Only to stop a little short because of a knock.

He raised his eyebrows and glanced back. “Are one of my siblings coming over?”

She pressed her lips together thinly to keep herself from laughing. “It’s not any of their normal times. I just figured that, if I had to be home alone all day and couldn’t really do any work because my stupid cast, I should at least keep busy while you were gone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped forward and opened the door to reveal a delivery guy with three giant boxes. The furniture they had ordered from Ikea had arrived.

He signed for them and then turned to glare at her. “You planned all this so I couldn’t go.”

“I mean… you could always leave me here to do them myself.” She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. “Of course, my broken arm will make it a little difficult but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She had been stared down by Batman in full kevlar, she could handle the glare Tim gave her in his slightly messy work suit.

Then, he sighed. “Do you have a backup plan?”

“Obviously. Don’t think you’ll like that one as much.”

He scowled. “You’re really this determined to not be home alone?”

“Oh, no, this is about getting B to allow me out. Trapping you and your siblings here is just a means to that end.”

“You’re going to be trapping my siblings here, too?”

She grinned. “Yep. They show up all the time, might as well use that.”

His shoulders slumped a little.

She giggled. “If I have to stay inside all the time then so do you guys. It’s the rules.”

And, so, she reached for him until he pressed a short kiss to her lips.

Then, they got to work. Or, rather, he did. She had been relegated to just sitting nearby and helping him figure out how to build it.

She took a few pictures for their public accounts as necessary: a picture of him with three screws poking out of his mouth while he tried to figure out the weird L-shaped tool he’d been given, a picture of the two of them staring at the instruction sheet with confused frowns on their faces (taken by Tikki), Vanelope enjoying the boxes the stuff had come in, what was definitely not a thirst pic of Tim, and then the finished furniture in the apartment.

It was there, right before she was about to post it, that she realized that she hadn’t actually publicly followed any of the Waynes. She squinted at her bio, which proclaimed that she would only follow people she genuinely liked, and then at the ten people she had followed. The internet would notice if she suddenly followed eight more people.

“Darling?”

He peeked an eye open from where he was relaxing on the couch and then raised an arm for her. She took his hand and smiled a little when he pulled her into his lap so he could hug her like a pillow.

Then she pulled a more serious look to her face. “Do you want to go public or not?”

He buried his face in her neck. “Sure.”

“... not even gonna think about it?”

He shrugged. “They’re going to suspect it no matter what. Especially since we were goofing around in an Ikea of all places and you’re uploading pictures of me helping you with furniture.”

She nodded slightly. “I know, but I don’t have to upload them.”

There was a long silence as they considered their options.

Eventually he just sighed and tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go with anything you want to do, Bean.”

She relaxed slowly and, hesitantly, she sent him the photos. “Here, you can upload them, too. Might as well make it public on both of our accounts.”

He picked his head up slightly to check out the pictures. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her shoulder at the picture of Vanelope. “This one is nice.”

She snickered. “All cats are cute, obviously it would make a nice picture.”

He hummed his agreement. “No offense to you, you’re cute and all, but the cat definitely wins the cutest here.”

“I’m not offended at all. We could never beat that.”

Then, she got an idea.

“Except… maybe… want a picture of us kissing for the reveal?”

“I’ll take any excuse,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes even as she felt her face warm. “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, dumbass.”

Now it was his turn to blush. Yay, revenge.

… also, it would be cute for the picture if they were both a little red for it.

She twisted in his lap to press a kiss to his lips. His hands came up to cradle her face. She threw her bad arm around his neck, fingers threaded in his hair.

Her camera clicked. They ignored it.

#im going to write a million words of fluff and no one can stop me #unless i get like zero likes #im v motivated by likes and reblogs pls guys i need it #pls #also they're getting worseeeeeee #tim is lowkey possessive and mari is lowkey controlling #but its v lowkey so #baaasically doesn't exist #stalker x stalker #maribat #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

saturdays

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,467

summary: Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

warnings: Some swearing

a/n: This was my March 2020 one shot for my Patreon that they received early access to. Let me know what y’all think!

Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

Sundays are for sleeping in before eventually making his way to Brooklyn, where he picks up three bouquets and an egg, bacon, and cheese breakfast sandwich from Sal’s bodega before going to the cemetery. He sits against his sister’s tombstone—his parents’ to his right—and eats his late breakfast. He sits and talks for a few hours before leaving the flowers on their graves. He always has to have peonies, since those were Becca’s favorites.

Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are for training. He wakes up at five in the morning to go running with Sam, something he thought would end when Steve went back to be with Peggy Carter. But he wasn’t bitter. No.

But which thing he wasn’t bitter about, he’d never tell.

Along with the run, he spends most of the day sparring and battling simulations in the gym. He has short breaks for meals, but he pretty much is on go until after dinner, when he goes straight to bed.

But Fridays are his favorite. Because he gets to sleep in until nine-thirty in the morning, which is a luxury he’s not used to. Then Sam and him grab a late breakfast together before Bucky goes into the city for his therapy session.

And Bucky likes his therapist! Which he was really, really surprised about! But Marlene is good. Marlene is good because she doesn’t placate him. She calls him out on his shit, and pushes him forward. Because if it had been up to him, he would’ve stopped seeing her after their third meeting, when she had him drawing with fucking crayons that snapped in his hand way too easily. But it’s been over a year since he started seeing her, and even though he still has his bad days, his bad days now would’ve been his best days before.

“So, you think you’re finally ready to go through Rebecca’s things?” Marlene asks, looking at him with a peaceful expression.

“I don’t think so, I am,” he says firmly, feeling a rush of triumph as a smile spreads across her lips. “It’s time, you know?”

She nods in understanding, humming. “Do you have someone going with you?”

Usually, Sam would go with him for things like this, and just in general. They were attached at the hip, especially after the whole Steve leaving thing.

Yeah, they were both hit pretty hard with that.

“Yes, but I…” He sighs, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “I think this is something I need to do alone. At least, the going through her stuff part… But he is going with me to move the stuff to the Tower.”

“Good, good,” she says, her brows slightly furrowed. “And how are you feeling today about Steve leaving?”

Bucky lets out a huff of air, taking a moment to think about it. “To be completely honest with you… I’m kind of over it today. I have other things to do and yeah, I would’ve liked him to be here for it, but that’s not how it is. And him leaving is more about him than it is about me.” He shrugs, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Just because he decided to go back doesn’t mean he wanted to leave me.”

Marlene sets her clipboard to the side, a warm smile on her face. “Well, Bucky, I think we’ll end today on that thought.” She stands up, offering her hand for him to shake as she does everyday. “You’ve done well today. You should be proud of yourself.”

He leaves with a wave and a “See you next week!” as he always does.

He hadn’t known about the storage unit full of his sister’s stuff until about eight months ago, when he asked Maria Hill if there was anything left of hers. He knew that SHIELD had been the ones to take control of her assets when she had no children, since she was the sister of a Howling Commando and the best friend of Captain America.

Becca had died in December of 2013. He’d missed her by less than six months.

It was heartbreaking when he first found out, and still is, if he was being honest. But at least he has her stuff to go through, even though he has no idea what all is going to be in the storage unit. Stevie hadn’t had anything other than what the Smithsonian had snatched up.

The car ride to the storage facility is quiet, Sam at the wheel. Bucky still hasn’t gotten his license, since he doesn’t see a point. Why should he when there’s the subway and Uber and even just good old fashioned walking? “You’ve gotta save the Earth, Sam,” he says when he really feels like irritating the other man.

“You sure you’re ready for this, man?” Sam asks as they stand in front of storage unit 429.

“Yeah,” Buck says, punching in the key code and lifting up the door. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He flips the light switch on the wall, and is shocked by just how much stuff there is. There’s boxes upon boxes upon boxes.

Sam’s hands go to his hips as he looks at it, whistling. “Alright. Let’s get it loaded.”

It takes several hours and three trips to get everything from the storage unit to the Tower, and by the end of it, the both of them just collapse on the couch with a couple of beers and a pizza to share between them.

But Saturday morning comes bright and early, and even though it’s his only day out of the week where he has absolutely nothing to do, Bucky knows he has to start going through her things.

The first four boxes are just clothes. Clothes upon clothes upon clothes. He finds a baby blue dress that she used to wear for church, starched to perfection, and he holds it to his chest for a long time. He cries then.

And he knows that the fact that she’s hoarded so many clothes has a lot to do from growing up during the Depression. He still finds himself falling into old habits of checking the price of food, despite the fact that he never has to worry about money again with his Avengers salary and the backpay from being a POW.

He finds his parents’ wedding rings, and the string of pearls his ma wore for special occasions.

And then he finds an old shoe box, and when he opens it up, he finds letters. Letters upon letters upon letters. They’re in bundles, tied together with fraying ribbon. The paper is yellowed and soft from being folded and unfolded so many times, and he can see the looping black letters that covered the pages.

He takes the ones that look the oldest and unties them, he takes the top one from the stack and sets the rest to the side, before carefully unfolding it.

“Ruthie,” he says quietly as he reads the name at the bottom, not even bothering to read it yet. “Ruthie…” His eyes pop open as he suddenly remembers, remembers receiving letters everyday from a girl in the Bronx. They were never romantic, but it was nice being able to write to someone and not having to hide how bad it was, like he had to with his ma and Becca. She even sent her picture once, so he could know who he was writing to. “Ruthie!”

He spends the rest of the day reading the letters, and passes out sometime around four in the morning with his face on a letter. He takes the letters with him to his family’s graves the next day, reading to them after he replaces the flowers.

It takes him two more days to finish reading all the letters, in between breaks while training and staying up until he absolutely can’t.

He cries a lot while he reads it. He’s not afraid to admit that. But it’s nice to remember that he had a friend to listen to him during one of the worst times of his life.

Bucky’s almost afraid to look her up, to find out if she was still alive, and if he could go see her, to thank her. They wrote back and forth until the day he fell off the train, and he knows that had to be pretty jarring for her.

But then Sam finds out about the letters—it would be hard for him not to, considering that he was walking around with his nose in the letters for days—and it’s all over.

Turns out, she’s alive. She’s alive, and she’s still in Queens.

He goes the next Saturday, taking his bike all the way to the other borough. He looks a little intimidating and extremely different from how he looked back then, but he hopes she recognizes him. He really, really hopes she recognizes him, because otherwise this’ll be real awkward.

He stands in front of the door for a long time, taking his hands in and out of his pockets about eight times before he finally reaches up and knocks.

And then the door opens, and there’s Ruthie.

Well, not Ruthie, though at first glance, you’re the perfect picture of her. You’ve got her hair and her eyes, and the curve of her lips. But the nose is different.

“Can I help you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. You’re wiping your hand on a hand towel, peering at him like you recognize him from somewhere but you don’t know where.

“Hi, uh,” he says slowly. His throat is suddenly so dry that he can barely talk. “I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes. I was pen pals with—”

He’s cut off by Ruthie herself appearing in the doorway. She’s much older—she is ninety-nine, after all—but it’s definitely her. “Did you say Bucky Barnes?” The little old lady’s eyes widened as she saw him, her hand over her heart. “Oh, my stars, it’s really you. I heard about what happened to you, and I…” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “Why, it almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”

“Little Ruthie Pratt from Queens,” he says, reaching in his pocket and holding up the letters. “I found these while, uh, going through my sister’s stuff.”

“I still have mine!” Ruthie says, pulling him inside.

It’s nice and homey and everything that Bucky had thought it would be. The front foyer is covered in photos, and there’s quite a few of you. You’re clearly one of Ruthie’s pride and joys, if the sheer amount of them has anything to do about it.

“I used to read these to my grandbaby here,” Ruthie says as she comes back with an old oak jewelry box in hand. “Anytime she stayed the night—her parents worked a lot when she was growing up—she always asked me to read her one of my ‘Bucky letters.’”

“Grandmama,” you say, cheeks flushing as you avoid his eyes.

“It was so cute! She used to recite them word for word along with me!” Ruthie teases as they go to the living room.

It’s quaint, with soft pastel colors dominating the room. He sits on a floral sofa that’s got a circle with dark hair on it, the marking of a furry friend’s favorite spot. He watches as you move to the kitchen, grabbing a pitcher of what looks like tea and a few glasses.

You sit beside her with the ease of knowing that you belong here, pouring yourself a glass. “Grandmama, do you want some tea?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she opens the box and looks for the oldest one. “You keep that monstrosity away from me,” she says. Seemingly remembering Bucky’s presence, she says, “My daughter’s husband is from Louisiana. Ridiculous man got both her and my grandbaby addicted to that absolute sludge.”

The secret smile you give him as the two of you listen to her tirade about sweet tea makes him feel at ease, and sets the tone for the rest of the afternoon.

Things go on as normal, or as normal as they can.

And Marlene happens to think that all of this is absolutely fantastic for him. She loves that he’s now spending time with Ruthie and you, reconnecting with his past while understanding that he doesn’t have to be the person he was in the letters.

He’s different. He’s not the Bucky that Ruthie knew back then.

It’s an unusually warm day in November four months later when he takes you out for a coffee, just the two of you. And it isn’t a date—really, it isn’t—but he finds himself wanting it to be about halfway through his second coffee.

And that’s why he starts talking about dating to Marlene, who had, quite frankly, been waiting for him to realize his feelings for a while.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he says as he storms into his therapy session, eyes wild and hair a disarray. He’s clearly been worrying real hard about it.

Marlene looks up at him, peering over the silver rim of her glasses. “Oh, really?” She says nonchalantly, as though she doesn’t have you in her notes about him. “And why is that?”

Bucky can’t help the frown on his face as he realizes that she didn’t even ask who he was talking about, because she knew. “I… I don’t know,” he says, slumping into his usual chair. “She makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. And she always makes me laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times.” His gaze softens the more he thinks about you. “And she isn’t scared of me. She doesn’t judge me. She’s read about everything I did in the war, even before HYDRA, and she doesn’t care.” His hands are sweating as he rubs them together. “Actually, it’s not that she doesn’t care—she does care—but she cares because she… she loves me.”

You love him. And sure, he knows that. You’ve said that you love him multiple times, even if you only mean it as a friend way.

But the thought that he has someone who loves him that doesn’t have to is… groundbreaking.

“She loves me, and she wants me to be okay,” he says, looking up at Marlene then.

His therapist has a pleased look in her eyes, even if she won’t let it show with a smile. “I think she’s good for you,” she says simply, her pen held loosely in her hand. “Are you seeing her again soon?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow night,” he says, his heart growing light. “We’re grabbing a few drinks to celebrate her finally graduating from cosmetology school.”

It’s a big deal for you, completely something. You’re smart, there’s no denying that, but when it comes to schooling… You’d done well in high school, but college proved to be the bane of your existence.

You’d dropped out in the middle of your junior year, and that had been it. You’d moved to Queens to live with Ruthie after, working various low level jobs and trying to find something that fit.

But you’d fit in at cosmetology school. Hell, you excelled. And you enjoyed it! You enjoyed waking up in the morning and going to your classes!

You cried when you got your certificate, and it was now framed in Ruthie’s house until you start your first salon job in two weeks.

“Are you going to tell her about your feelings?” Marlene asks curiously.

Now that makes him pause.

“... Should I?” Bucky asks, feeling a wave of anxiety coming over him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way? And she sees me as just a friend?”

“If she’s really your friend, she won’t abandon you just because you tell her you have romantic feelings for her.”

“You sure about that?”

Marlene fixes him with a look, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Fine. You’re sure,” he says, slumping a little in his chair. “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

She snorts, making a note on her pad. “I never said it was going to be easy, Bucky. Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

The next night, he spends an hour and a half trying to decide what to wear. “It shouldn’t be this hard,” he grumbles as he switches shirts for the forty-ninth time. “It’s just drinks.”

Sam, however, is having a great time watching his new best friend freak out over seeing a girl for the first time. “I mean, she already agreed to going out with your ugly mug, man. It’s not gonna matter what you wear.”

And in some way, that helps. A little.

But he does have to threaten Sam with bodily harm if he spies on his date that’s not really a date.

He almost boxes him the ear when he insists for the fourth time that it’s a date.

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers from Sal’s bodega, the buttons of his dark blue henley left open, exposing a smattering of chest hair.

When you open the door, the air is knocked from his lungs. You look absolutely radiant. The light from the sinking sun is giving you a halo-like glow, and he’s sure, not for the first time, that you’re an actual angel.

“Hi,” you say, a flush on your cheeks as you see the flowers. “Are those… Are those for me?”

He nods dumbly, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Y-Yes,” he says, pushing them into your arms. “As a congrats. For, you know, graduating. And stuff.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take them, handing them to Ruthie.

She’s standing just inside the door, a giddy look on her face as she holds the flowers, watching you take the motorcycle helmet from his hands. “Have her back by twelve!”

“Grandmama!”

“Fine! Twelve-thirty!”

You’re clearly embarrassed by her antics as he helps you on behind him, guiding your arms around his waist.

“You ready?” He asks, his voice breathy.

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, wrapping your arms tighter around him as he starts the bike, taking off.

“She doesn’t actually mean that,” you say as he leads you into the tiny, out of the way bar. You’re fixing your hair, trying your best to appear presentable. “I’m grown, you know. I don’t… I don’t have a curfew.”

A slow smile spreads over his lips as he listens to you ramble. “I know,” he says finally, figuring he should put you out of your misery. “Ruthie does like to tease those she loves.”

The bar is quaint, clearly a local place that tourists haven’t invaded. He leads you to a high table, calling out your order to the lone bartender.

“So, I—”

“I like you,” Bucky says, unintentionally cutting you off with a wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I really, really like you, and I really, really want this to be a date, but if you don’t feel the same way then I completely understand and we can just forget that I ever said anything and everything can just go back to normal and that might be the best thing because, quite frankly, I haven’t dated since the forties and I have no idea how dating is supposed to work nowadays, but I’d really like to try it with you but only if you—”

His rambling is cut off as you place your hand on his, intertwining your fingers. “Okay,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing ever. “It’s a date.”

He stares at you for an embarrassingly long time, his mouth dry. “Uh… What?” He says quietly. His heart is pounding at an unnaturally fast pace, and he honestly thinks he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

“I like you, too,” you say, smiling at the bartender as he brings you over your drinks. You look so beautiful, your eyes the brightest thing in the dim lighting of the bar. “So this is a date.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, a wave of relief washing over him. “It’s a date.”

He’s a little starstruck as you continue on with what you were going to say before, a pink blush dusting his cheeks. Your hand stays in his for the rest of the night, occasionally giving a little squeeze as though you’re reminding him that you’re still there and you’re not going to disappear.

And it feels good.

And okay, Marlene may have been right.

And yeah, Fridays might be good. But as he sits there with you until the late hours of the night, he’s sure: Saturdays are his new favorite day. Because Saturdays brought him a new beginning when he wasn’t expecting it.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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puckrph · 3 years

Text

‘ COYOTE STORIES ’ STARTERS

from the album by the crane wives. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

KEEP YOU SAFE

' when i was a child, my nerves ran wild. ' ' with the risk of fall, i never climbed at all. ' ' my daddy always said "nothing worth doing comes easy." ' ' time is not your friend. time is not your remedy. ' ' no amount of waiting will make you brave. no amount of fear will keep you safe. ' ' the older i get, the more fears i collect. ' ' i carry them with me. ' ' what if the steps i take turn out to be mistakes? ' ' how can somebody like me learn to say "come what may?" ' ' your fears won't keep you safe. '

THE MOON WILL SING

' i could have been anyone else before you made the choice for me. ' ' my feet knew the path we walked in the dark; i never gave a single thought to where it might lead. ' ' i made a bed with apathy. ' ' my heart knew the weight: ten years worth of dust and neglect. ' ' make your peace with weariness and let it be. ' ' i loved you like the sun. ' ' i loved you like the sun: bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own. ' ' i shine only with the light you gave me. ' ' we could have had anything else. instead, you hoarded all that's left of me. ' ' i want to feel the fire that was kept from me. '

ALLIES OR ENEMIES

' the words i speak are wildfires and weeds; they spread like some awful damn disease. ' ' i swear i didn't mean what i said. ' ' forget it all. you caught me in a moment, weak. ' ' sometimes i just can't help myself. ' ' are we allies or enemies? ' ' this will be the death of me. ' ' remember when i could tell you not to smile when you were mad, and you would always crack? and we'd both be laughing in the end? ' ' now, you're not so quick to forget. ' ' all's fair in love and war, but i can't fight with you anymore. ' ' what happens now ? ' ' i'll admit i've had my doubts, but i want to be let in, not out. '

UNRAVELING

' i once loved a tailor who took eager care of me. ' ' sew together my loose ends with stitches neat and clean. ' ' my love is gone and i am left unraveling. ' ' trim my weeds and give me room to grow my flowers again. ' ' i am left here, withering. ' ' sand my rough edges, craft new and lovely things. ' ' i can't help the fracturing. ' ' i never knew that i needed you. ' ' i once loved a man who kissed me once before he left. tied me up in knots and said he'd soon return again. '

HARD SELL

' i'm trying to make something of myself. ' ' i feel like i'm working with barbed wire and moth wings, cause i can't really get ahold of anything. ' ' i'm one deep breath away from a breakdown. ' ' the world is hostile, and i'm fragile, and i need someone to kiss the cuts and tell me to keep trying. ' ' does everybody have it together or are we all pretending? ' ' is it really just me holding it together with one loose string that i can't stop pulling? ' ' i rip myself apart at the seams. ' ' i find one weak spot and start unraveling, hoping i can find a better me, a fresh new start buried under me. ' ' can we stop pretending now? '

ROCKSLIDE

' i know you want to plant your feet, but we best get a move on. ' ' i pray today my soul to keep. ' ' drop dead sprint now, my darling. ' ' don't look back now. ' ' just try to breathe. ' ' the monster's coming, and it don't care for you or me. ' ' we best get a move on. '

METAPHOR

' i've gotten good at leaning on metaphors. ' ' i've gotten good at living on someone else's page. ' ' i cut my teeth on secondhand sentiments. ' ' you can't trust a single thing i say. ' ' i keep my closet free of skeletons because i'm much better at digging graves. ' ' i always dig up bones in your sympathy. ' ' i can't trust a single thing you say. ' ' don't look too hard, because you won't like the scars he left in me. ' ' i've gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape. ' ' all these words are sweet. and meaningless. '

THE HAND THAT FEEDS

' i've seen good men spoiled. ' ' their cries are a warning to everyone following. ' ' no man should stand to work all his days, and have nothing at the end of them. ' ' i've got no money but the change that jingles in my pockets. ' ' time? i am powerless to stop it. ' ' my papa was a howling man. ' ' my dear papa gave me lessons in regret. he said all that he'd done would be for nothing if i followed in his steps. ' ' my papa taught me how to hold, how to bare my teeth and growl. ' ' the hand that feeds deserves to be bitten when it beats. ' ' i may never be a rich man, but i can make sure that i am free. ' ' the rich man will never have me. '

LITTLE SOLDIERS

' it was a march towards ruin and despair, but we held hands all the while. ' ' i swear that i loved you. ' ' beneath the table, you would offer up my bones, and all the dogs would lick your fingers. ' ' i dragged you through every room inside our home, but you still held me at night. ' ' you still held me at night. ' ' i swear that you loved me. ' ' we didn't give up. ' ' we wouldn't dare surrender. ' ' it was an honest loss. ' ' i fought with tooth and nail before the flag had flown, but you were already gone. '

SLEEPING GIANTS

' i feel the mountains shifting under me. ' ' the sleeping giants are finally waking. ' ' my pulse is clear, rushing in my ears. ' ' i hear something calling me. ' ' the moon is humming lovely melodies. '

OF EVERLONG

' out of the ocean, over the harbor lay no sons and lay no daughters. ' ' it was there i wrote a sad, sad song. ' ' if my lover will not heed it, take my voice and take my spirit. ' ' only my lover, not i, can keep my soul. '

NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR

' on some level, i think i always understood that these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever. ' ' i tried to do the best that i could. ' ' i couldn't bring myself to hold you. ' ' it's a secret i keep tucked inside my chest. ' ' this heart of mine is guilty, not remorseful. ' ' there is love that doesn't have a place to rest, but it would've buried you if it had settled on your shoulders. ' ' a ship can never really love an anchor, so i did the only thing that i could, and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor. ' ' there are times where i still wonder about you. ' ' you are someone i have loved, but never known. ' ' you'll never see the reasons i had for keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you. ' ' i am selfish, i am broken, i am cruel. ' ' i am all the things they might have said to you. ' ' do you ever think of me, and my two hands? '

NEW DISCOVERY

' i want to stand on the edge of the water and see horizons stretch on forever. ' ' i want to know that there are lands not yet touched by human hands. ' ' i want to be the one to find them. ' ' i feel like i'm lost in a desert. ' ' these steps i take won't go to waste if i'm moving towards something. ' ' i want to believe there's something left for me. ' ' i want to kindle a love that doesn't age, even when all the years carve lines into your face. ' ' tell me i'll be surprised. ' ' i want you to prove me wrong. '

#memes #crane wives sentence starters #rp memes #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #askbox meme

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wockywobble · 4 years

Note

for someone who doesnt really play neopets anymore but still wants in on this juicy drama, could you explain all the hullabaloo thats going on with the cc event?

Since this CC is such a mess I have decided the best way to explain is with a timeline type list. So here we go:

0. People spend all year prepping for charity corner by hoarding sticky snowballs.

(If you don’t know, sticky snowballs are a big deal. They are marked as ultra rare and worth 8 points in CC but you can buy one every half an hour for only 25 neopoints. People hoard thousands and have alarms set to go off every 30 minutes. Even at work or while sleeping)

1. TNT delays charity corner for months because they “want it to be perfect” so people already had high expectations.

2. Charity corner finally starts and people realize they’re only getting 1 single point for sticky snowballs specifically instead of 8. Every other item value is untouched.

3. People become very angry and claim this was done out of spite and TNT hates their userbase.

4. The site is already lagging due to CC. To be petty people start donating thousands and thousands of sticky snowballs to the money tree instead which makes the lag even worse.

5. People finally click on the button to view prizes and realize there are absolutely no perks to buy this year and instead a tiny prize shop of soon to be worthless items. There are also 3 mystery boxes.

6. The mystery boxes? People began opening them.. it turns out there was actually less than a 1% chance of getting a rare item. The items you get could be as low in rarity as r1.

7. There is no mass donation button. You have to manually check off 15 items and you cannot leave the tab as the slow unskippable animation goes on between each donation

8. It was taking hours to donate due to lag and the slow method of doing so

which leads us to...

9. People were spending well over 3 hours to donate enough for one mystery capsule (originally 4500 points)

10. Since sticky snowballs are only worth one point nobody was prepared. They were forced to donate much more expensive items

11. People were wasting hours and extra thousands and thousands of neopoints on new items to donate only to open a mystery capsule and receive one item worth even less than 1000np in return

12. People lose it and begin attacking TNT as well as anyone who defends them

13. Everyone starts cancelling their premium membership and encouraging others to do so too.

14. TNT posts an update on an unofficial discord server well before the actual website.

15. TNT finally posts onsite saying they want to have “open ended dialog” with users then proceed to ignore everyone and punish the people who were criticizing them.

16. As part of the update they decrease the prize shop prices massively and apparently add 1 extra percent to the chance of getting a rare item (no one has yet btw) They also promise to refund points already spent and give everyone an extra 500 points to save their skin.

17. Everyone still spends all night bashing TNT (Especially Tony P.) and throwing every complaint at them at once. Including multiple other issues such as how they handle the LGBT community and some of the questionable content on the site. A lot of people were frozen and permasilenced.

18. The next day no one has been refunded yet but TNT thought releasing a mobile update on youtube was a bigger priority. People immediately harassed the video until they privated it.

19. More people rage quit, cancelled premium and swore to never buy NC or merch again because TNT was handling things so poorly.

20. TNT finally came out with another statement and refunded points

21. The points refunded disappear as soon as you donate again. Some people didn’t get refunded at all. The extra 500 they promised only showed up for some people and also disappeared for others. People with thousands of points now somehow have negative points.

22. TNT closes the general store, making points much harder to get, especially since no one was prepared this year due to the snowball nerf. (This would have been fine other years, but this year it feels like it was out of spite since it was only closed after users acted out)

23. A few hours later charity corner is semi closed. You can no longer donate the “easy” way. Instead you must click on a single item, have a window pop up, click a button, have the page refresh, close window, refresh again. Repeat for every item.

24. Since TNT can’t communicate properly people are unsure if it’s closed due to a whole new glitch or purposeful closed while they fix the already existing issues. Regardless people are still very angry.

and finally......

25. It’s only been 2 and a half days. CC is supposed to last until the 24th

#neopets #charity corner #asks

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androideqlstuff · 2 years

Text

Fever Dream [Joukai Fanfiction] - Joukai Week 2022 Day 3

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Rating: T Prompt: Daydream/Nightmare Summary: school isn’t an appropriate place to sleep, get ideas, or learn new things about yourself and someone else. Warnings: very vaguely horny teenagers getting sent to horny jail. Length: ca. 2.400 words

Whenever Jounouchi had nightmares, they had a tendency to not be the most original. For the most part, the elements repeated themselves: being sent back to second grade, particularly nasty fights, missing an important appointment, money problems, and being chased by something. Those were common.

He suspected not a lot of people would add “suddenly Kaiba Seto” to the list, but that one also stressed him out. His presence functioned as a shorthand for inadequacy, high expectations, and the crushing weight that was Jounouchi’s disadvantageous position in life. He didn’t even have to do anything. Just sitting there while something else was going on was enough. It was like having a personal demon to bring him down whenever he less needed it. Combined with a regular dream, it was bad, but during a stressful one, it was the main ingredient for night terrors.

Such as this one.

The tracks were submerged, and so were his feet. The map of the subway station that Jounouchi had before him made no sense. The instructions were unclear, and he was sure a lot of things were wrong, for it showed stairs to the left, yet there was only an arcade machine. He tried to flip it around, in case he had the north wrong.

He looked at the top of the machine.

“Aren’t you too calm?” He asked Kaiba, who had hoarded the only thing above ground to stand on. The water kept rising, high enough, and quickly enough, that he’d begun to worry.

“I’m not the one with seawater up to my knees,” Kaiba replied.

If questions marks had a sound by themselves, the noise that came out of Jounouchi’s mouth was it.

“How do you know it’s seawater? Are you involved in this?”

Kaiba's response was the usual: he laughed at him. Jounouchi did his best to not get unnecessarily angry. He knew this was a bad dream. He just couldn’t bring himself to wake up from it. It didn’t work like that. And it being just a nightmare wasn’t as much of a relief as one might have thought. Pain was still pain. He didn’t want to get another taste of what almost drowning was like.

Was that why it was seawater?

“You wouldn’t happen to have something on you that could help this time as well?” Jounouchi asked.

Kaiba’s answer was a loud cackle. Canned laughter, a fake audience, joined him. Jounouchi felt very tempted to knock the machine down.

“Even if I did, why would I hand it to you now?”

Not worth it. He turned his back to Kaiba. If all he was going to do was taunt him, then he was not interested. He trudged along, trying to find an exit.

“Hey.” Kaiba clicked his fingers twice at Jounouchi. “Disappointment extraordinaire, I’m talking to you.”

That one was new, but he wasn’t stopping.

Water splashed nearby. Just as he was getting a bad feeling about all this, he felt a pair of hands rest on his hips.

This was a first. He had no clue what was bringing this on.

“Heyheyhey, hold on!”

“Something just happened outside. Can you guess what it was?”

He didn’t care for riddles. Why was the dream going like this? It was worse. Way worse. No degree of being easy on the eyes gave Kaiba the right to appear like this. It was not—

He squeezed his eyes shut. Warm breath tickled against his ear.

It was not fair. He was weak to these. It was not in line with his curious nature to say no when he was presented with something nobody had to know about. His conscience never objected, but what about the way he thought about himself? “Look who we’re talking about,” he thought. “What about later? Will your face be strong enough to handle seeing him when you wake up?”

“Jounouchi.”

He had a nice voice when it wanted to sound nice. Jounouchi took a deep breath.

“Stop it.”

That was more meant for himself. After all, he was the one coming with this scenario all on his own.

“Read it aloud.”

He tried to make sense of what Kaiba had said, but it didn’t. There was nothing to read here. All he could guess was that his ears had picked up on something in real life. Where was he sleeping?

Jounouchi tried to shimmy out of his grasp but found himself caught even closer.

“Jounouchi.” The syllables rolled out softly, deeply, rumbling in his chest as well. It was so unfair on him. One more and he wasn’t sure he could keep complaining.

“W-what is it?”

Lips grazed against his ear.

“Think fast.”

As if on cue, something hit the top of his head. He woke up alarmed, all three of his pens rolling off his desk as he scrambled back to reality. He managed to grab none of them, despite trying. The entire class was staring, some of them chuckling. A piece of chalk had bounced onto his desk.

“You seem well-rested, Jounouchi-kun.”

That was the history teacher.

Jounouchi turned around to glare at a desk far away behind him, by reflex. His misplaced anger dissipated when he found it empty. Why wasn’t Kaiba there anymore?

Someone whistled bemusedly. The teacher snapped at them first —something about harassment not being acceptable behavior, first warning— before he returned his attention to Jounouchi.

“Since you can’t be bothered with class, could you please go and check on Kaiba-kun at the infirmary?”

A few people had the decency to look alarmed at who he was asking this from. A surprisingly good number of them looked amused for some reason. He looked at Honda and Yuugi to see if he could get a hint on what was going on. Their faces told him he’d missed out on something important, and with a shake of their heads they let him know that, for now, it was best for him to just go and ask questions later.

He hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep, right?

Equal parts grumpy and embarrassed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and headed out. Being used to being kicked out of the classroom didn’t make it any easier to deal with someone’s giddy laughter that followed him as he slid the door close.

“You seem well-rested,” he said to himself, mocking his teacher’s voice. The old man had no idea what he was saying. That had been the opposite of restful sleep. Now he had to deal with Kaiba right away too. To give him credit, this was the single most effective punishment he’d ever been given.

He stopped in front of the infirmary as he was about to walk past it. There was a quickly scribbled note on the door.

I’ve left school early today. Ask Nakamura-sensei for the key to the medicine cabinet, if you need any. Feel free to rest if you need to.

So the nurse wasn’t even in there.

Was Kaiba actually in there? If it had been Jounouchi, he’d have fucked off back home as soon as he’d read that sign. But he still had to check if he wanted to report back.

He wasn’t making excuses to go in wasn’t because he wanted to know what a sick Kaiba would look like. That wasn’t a fantasy of his or anything. He didn’t have that sort of power trip. He especially didn’t need it now.

This was most likely going to awaken something in him if his mental image was in any way close to reality. Swallowing hard, he opened the door to the infirmary.

All normal. The white room was orange and desaturated blue under the late afternoon light. From outside, came the muffled sounds of a class playing some kind of group sport and the occasional cry of a seagull. Soothing. Or it should have been. One of the beds had its curtains drawn around it.

He peeked in hoping to find nothing, but there was a person-sized bulge lying under the covers. It rose and fell slowly and almost imperceptibly. He couldn’t tell who it was. He pulled the covers back just a little.

Kaiba was curled up on his side, with his arms covering his head as if they were the last line of defense against someone kicking him whilst he was on the floor. Jounouchi couldn’t see his face, but not a lot of people shared his physique.

Better not think about that. This was weird. Jounouchi didn’t feel comfortable watching someone sleep. He shook Kaiba, for his own comfort, but peace with himself didn’t last long. He heard a tired little groan. Not what he needed burrowing into his psyche at the time.

Maggots. He had maggots inside his head. Better grossed out than this.

“Wake up. I was asked to check on you.”

From beneath an arm that became slightly less defensive, a single blue eye looked at him, tiredly.

“Of course. Who else would it be…”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“How’re ya feeling? Had a good nap there?”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

Kaiba sat up. After taking one cursory glance at him, even in this dim light, Jounochi could find a couple of relatively new ways to describe him. Had a demon sitting on his chest all night. Got into an argument with Mr. Sandman. Sucker-punched in both eyes by Morpheus himself.

“You look like shit,” was what he settled on.

He didn’t get a response. Kaiba was spacing out. He’d call it a rarity if it wasn’t because he’d never seen it happen before. It was more of a singularity.

“Kaibaaa. Heeeey.”

“Hm?”

“Are you there? Shouldn’t you ask to go home if you’re this bad?”

After a second of confusion, Kaiba appeared to finally put two and two together.

“I can leave through the front door whenever I want. It’s just exhaustion from working late.”

Jounouchi huffed. This preferential treatment wasn’t fair. So if Baby Boy was tired because he’d had to work, he could go home, but if Jounouchi was tired for the same reason, he had to put up with it, sleep in class, and get sent to deal with something awkward?

Kaiba stared. Not maliciously, but in a way that made Jounouchi somewhat uncomfortable for some reason. He hadn’t fallen asleep with his eyes open, right?

His eyes looked watery. A single tear down, which Kaiba immediately wiped off with a disgusted groan. Jonouchi stepped away.

“Wait, you’re actually sick?” He didn’t wait for Kaiba to reply. “Why’re you still here! Everyone’s gonna get your damn cold if ya stay here!”

“There was no one here when I arrived.”

This was too uncharacteristically stupid. He pressed his hand against Kaiba’s forehead. It was boiling. No wonder he wasn’t thinking clearly. Was this delirium?

“Why haven’t you left?”

Kaiba looked to the side.

“I thought it was normal.”

“How is it normal…”

He slid the curtains open to get a better look at what he was dealing with. Kaiba was flushed, sweating, and shaking at the slightest movement. The sun seemed to be hurting his eyes.

Jounouchi had to take a deep breath, and swallow something. He could let it out later. For now, he still had maggots in his head.

“I’ll be right back.”

As he was turning around to go get the Iwa-sensei he was held back by a feeble hand grasping at his school jacket. Which was not good for his imagination.

“Wait.”

Definitely not with that breathy tone that sounded way too much like the one in his nightmare. He braced himself internally.

“What is it?”

“You were asleep back in class, right?”

He’d noticed?

“Yeah?”

“And nobody told you anything. Right?”

A dead giveaway that something had happened.

“Anything about what?”

Instead of giving him any sort of hint, Kaiba released him.

“Never mind.”

He rushed back to the classroom and opened the front door. The teacher stared at him directly.

“How is he?”

“Uh, not great. Actually… it looks pretty bad.”

A murmur filled the class. He heard someone shout.

“Walk him home!”

“Yeah, walk him home!” Replied a laughing voice.

OK. That was two people getting added to the “punch later” list. He would have done it then and there to get what they meant by that out of their mouths by force, but the teacher was there.

“Both of you get detention, effective immediately. Go wait for me in the faculty room. I’ll be right back.”

There was some satisfaction in that for now. Jounouchi was about to go back to his desk when the teacher grabbed him by his jacket.

“You’re coming with me.”

Before he was dragged out, a female student slipped him a note that he read on his way to the infirmary. It was Anzu’s handwriting.

He got scolded for getting lost in thought while staring at you and Iwa-sensei ran with it. Then we realized he wasn’t doing well.

Jounouchi froze in front of the infirmary. His teacher headed out almost immediately.

“Go get his things. We’re sending him straight home. You’ll be staying with him until his ride arrives while I go handle the two I’ve got waiting for me in the faculty room. Understood?”

His eye twitched. Not just because of the back-and-forth between the classroom and the infirmary. He was one hundred percent going to get made fun of over all this. Kaiba wouldn’t hear a word about it because the rest of the class was afraid of pissing him off directly, but Jounouchi didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t want to do this. It wasn’t even his fault.

When he opened the door to the classroom all eyes were on him. There was a reoccurring nightmare just like this. He ignored the amused chatter.

Anzu, who just so happened to sit right next to Kaiba, leaned in to whisper into his ear.

“Don’t be upset at him.”

“How could I not be?” He muttered.

“It was Iwa-sensei’s fault. I don’t think Kaiba-kun was super tuned in during most of that. If anything, it looked like he couldn't even react to what he was hearing.”

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have been staring!”

Too loud. Some guy let out a mocking call that others imitated. Jounouchi stormed out of the classroom.

He returned to the infirmary with all of Kaiba’s things. The guy was shaking, looking entirely disoriented, in a state of half-wakefulness. From bad to worse.

No weird thoughts this time? He checked with his brain. No. There were none. He was too upset for those. Still a little wary, he approached the bed and handed Kaiba his belongings.

“Well, aren’t you a poor little thing right now…” Kaiba seemed especially jumpy at that comment. At least he still had enough functioning brain cells to be offended. “I was put in charge of you until you can leave. Don’t get any weird ideas.”

He thought he’d heard a little “already did.” Jounouchi tried not to glare at him. It was not a funny joke.

“Why were you staring at me?”

Instead of replying, Kaiba hid under the covers.

Great. More sleep terror material. Perhaps more. Jounouchi went on to try to convince himself it was just the flu.

Still late. Could that first scene be shorter? Yeah, but it would have been more abrupt and I wanted a connecting thread and a bait and switch feeling so idk. It helps that I like surrealism. I’ll touch on it during a later edit. Poking fun at these two like this seems like fertile soil for disaster, pretty drama, and more cringe, actually. I’m thinking about it.

Next one when it’s ready (later tonight)

#yugioh #yugioh fanfiction #violetshipping #violetshipping fanfiction #puppyshipping #joukaiweek2022 #my art #fanfiction

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awed-frog · 3 years

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Do you have any tips on how to stop binge eating? No purge yet but i’m close

Hey, sorry you’re going through that. I don’t know if I can help, but here are a few tips.

First of all - if this is something that happens frequently, you might have Binge Eating Disorder (if you purge, we’re going straight into bulimia territory), and that’s serious, so don’t leave it alone. Find a therapist if you can, or at least an online community (and NOT something HAES-based, if they say bingeing is normal behaviour or that you have to stop ‘restricting’ to fix this it, run).

For right now: I’d say, the most important thing is DON’T PURGE. Throwing up frequently will do a lot of damage to your stomach, and taking laxatives will mess with your entire digestive system, which that can be hard to recover from. I know you’re afraid you’ll gain weight if you don’t purge, but you do not want to spend the rest of your life avoiding most foods because you have an extra delicate stomach or become addicted to laxatives because you can’t poop without them. So even if you mess up and have a binge, do NOT purge.

Tips for not bingeing:

Don’t keep foods that trigger you in your home. If you feel like something specific, buy it and eat it outside - not in your car, but outside. In a restaurant if you can, and on a nice park bench if you can’t. That way, you’ll be less tempted to keep eating indefinitely, and instead turn that urge into a normal meal or snack. Don’t buy ingredients for several meals you’re craving (if you’re craving pizza and pasta, only buy a pizza or pasta sauce, not both) and don’t buy multiple packages of whatever even if it’s cheaper (one packet of crisps, one pizza and so on; and, if possible, snack-sized packets of biscuits and peanuts; if you’re craving cake, go to a nice bakery and get yourself a big slice instead of buying a cheap cake from a supermarket).

Be aware of situations that triggers you and plan around them. If you aren’t sure about connections, start keeping a very honest food / mood / events diary so you can spot patterns. Triggers can by situational (a fight with a loved one, your mom being annoying, having to buy new clothes and so on) or physical (PMS, insulin out of whack so even one piece of chocolate will lead to overeating more stuff). Once you know what triggers you, avoid what you can and try to plan ahead for what you can’t.

(For instance, if a weekly review at your job triggers you, arrange to see or call a friend afterwards or go to the movies.)

To make PMS better, there are things you can try: the best ones are exercise (especially outside) and satisfying meals (eat healthy but add fats even if you’re craving sugars).

Distract yourself and get away from passive &screen-related activities. Try putting on some music and dancing, or cleaning the house. Reorganize your closet. Start a hobby you have to do with your hands - knitting, crafts, clay. Go for a walk if you can. Listen to audiobooks. Take a nice shower. Call someone (it can be a support buddy you can talk to about cravings, but also someone who doesn’t know: it’s nice just to talk).

Tips for after bingeing:

Do not feel bad about it. This is a mental health issue. Bingeing doesn’t mean you’re weak or worthless, it means you have a disease and you’re trying to get better. You wouldn’t say someone who’s got the flu is weak-willed, and this is exactly the same.

Clean your kitchen and throw away everything that’s left. I know - it’s not ideal to waste food, but chances are, if you have any leftovers that can trigger you, you’ll start bingeing again tomorrow morning. So put everything in a bag and physically walk out of your house and throw it away.

Make yourself a nice cup of tea - if possible, something that will help with digestion.

Cheer yourself up: this was a stumble, and doesn’t negate your achievements and how far you’ve come in your life.

Go to bed early.

Do not fall into the trap of the ‘I might as well’ mentality. This is called black and white thinking and is common in many kinds of mental health issues: the idea is that if you ‘ruined’ your meal or your day or your schedule, ‘you might as well’ give up for the day or the week. This is your mental health issue speaking, and it’s bullshit. I don’t particularly like Jillian Michaels, but she was right when she said ‘Think of it this way: If you got a flat tire, what would you do? Change the tire? Or get out of the car and slash the other three tires? No! Get back on the road. Don't dwell on it; don't beat yourself up. That gets you nowhere.’

You had one bad meal, or one bad day. It doesn’t feel great, but it’s not the end of the world. Have a good night’s sleep and start fresh tomorrow.

General tips:

Binge eating disorder often starts when you use food as a coping mechanism, so work on that. Many of us are messed up because parents generally associate food rewards to good behaviour and good food to joyful occasions, but that connection needs to be broken down. If you had a good day, don’t reward yourself with food (go to a spa, buy yourself some fun earrings or a nice book) and if you had a bad day, absolutely do NOT console yourself with food (call a friend, go to the movies, go to a fun place like an aquarium, buy yourself something nice that’s not food-related).

Unless you’re underweight (check your BMI and fat percentage), pregnant or breastfeeding, do compensate for a binge - in a healthy, sustainable way. Do not have a water fast day, but maybe cut down on portions, sauces or sweets for a couple of days?

I know people say there’s no bad foods and ‘everything in moderation’, but imo that’s not true. We’re surrounded by fake foods that mess with our hormones and bodies, and cutting them out completely can be a great idea. For instance: junk food sucks. I know it’s made so be enjoyable so we enjoy it, but it is what it is. Sugar is also very bad, and should be eaten very rarely, if at all (my favourite book on the subject is The World Corrupted, but there are many out there).

If you’re craving a particular food, make it yourself or get a ‘good’ version of it. Enjoying a restaurant meal with someone or cooking a nice dish or glorious cupcakes for your friends, spouse or kids is much better and more satisfying than hoarding low-quality food from some 7/11 (it might not feel that way in the beginning, but that will get better).

Try to make your health the priority: eat good food (lots of seasonal veggies, grains and beans, healthy fats, quality source proteins), stick to water, tea and some coffee, move around regularly (we should all do some sport that makes our heartbeat raise, but if you’re not used to that a gentle walk around the block is perfectly fine: the idea is to make it a habit), check your vitamin levels (a lack of something will cause bad moods!), manage your stress (easier said than done, but stress does have a very harmful effect on your entire body, so we all have to try what we can).

If you don’t feel in control of your eating, and if your eating habits are affecting your quality of life or preventing you from having a normal life (rapid weight gain or loss, spending money you don’t have, lying to loved ones, recurrent fights over food, obsessive thoughts, withdrawing from social life etc), then SEEK HELP IMMEDIATELY. Eating disorders are a disease, and it’s very rare that they get better on their own.

Be patient. You didn’t get an eating disorder overnight, and recovery will also take time. That is fine and normal.

Again, stay the hell away from fat activists and HAES groups.

I hope this helped. Please remember you’re not alone. Eating disorders are extremely common, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just look after yourself, and treat this as you would any purely physical health issue. Recovery is possible, managing the disease is possible. Just hang in there and best of luck.

#ask #eating disorders for ts #binge eating disorder #ed #bed #bulimia #purging #mental health #life tips #you can do this <3

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

Absolute Penn

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: T Word Count: 1429

Summary: On Christmas Eve, Beth remembers her mother's words about holiday travel and spontaneously departs for New York City.

She hasn’t experienced a crush of human bodies like this since she was mobbed by elderly Russian men at a chess park. Thankfully, here, everyone is just passing through and their determination to navigate the crowd secures her anonymity. Nobody wants to shake her hand—they don’t even notice her. So many people are coughing and sniffling. Although it’s hot and she’s been regretting putting her heavy coat back on since the instant she stepped off the train, Beth tucks her face into the woolen collar to breathe more private, hopefully less germ-laden, air.

The suitcase in her hand collides with her own knees and those of what feels like hundreds of others as she weaves with the masses to escape the platform and stride down the comparative spaciousness of the concourse. She could’ve flown. She should’ve flown. Why didn’t she fly? Beth tries to recall her reasoning as she cranes her neck to hunt for signs, something to tell her how to get out of here. Which way to the damn fresh air?

Right, right, right, because New York to Moscow (and the reverse) was a hellishly long trip and she hasn’t wanted to board a plane since. Planes are lonely things, without her mother sipping a Gibson and drawing her out of her thoughts every once in a while. Beth didn’t seek out a travel companion on the train that brought her to Penn Station either, but she had the landscape to watch as her passenger car shuddered northeast, not just sky. She’s seen an awful lot of sky in her life. Clouds are ghoulishly repetitive. Déjà fucking vu for the entire duration of an overcast flight.

Unfortunately, the train journey isn’t paying off in all the ways she anticipated. Alma’s assertion some years prior about the ease of traveling on Christmas is being disproven. Viciously. It’s either because Beth took the train on Christmas Eve, thereby missing the golden travel window by a day, or this station doesn’t ever take a break from… this. She has nothing to compare it to; the last time she was in New York (the only time), she arrived by car. Benny’s car. And she has a good memory of inquiringly ruffling the parking tickets accumulated on his windshield as he shrugged it off—that’s what stopped her from driving.

Beth finds a bathroom and traps her suitcase between her feet as she splashes cold water on her face and the back of her neck. She’ll recommit herself to the task of finding an escape in a minute, but now that she’s here, well, her competence is withdrawing inside herself and her nerves about the next part are rising. Where the competence was a hard shell—the ability to ask clearly and firmly for directions while wearing an invulnerable expression—the nerves are sweat and vapour. They rise and pass through her skin, leaving her damp, insubstantial. She didn’t tell Benny she’d be coming.

They’ve spoken. They’ve called and even narrowly missed one another in person when they both decided to drop in on the same tournament (to see friends, not to play) hours apart. After Moscow last winter, coming to New York to visit him felt like too grand a gesture. Of course, now she’s come anyway, and on Christmas Eve, which really can’t be categorized as less subtle. She obviously should’ve just done it right away. Waiting has led to something dramatic and undisguisably meaningful. Fuck. Beth snatches her suitcase off the floor and pushes back out into the swarm of travelers.

Even the oxygen seems harried. People jog and dodge and she can’t tell who’s trying to catch their train versus who’s just arrived in the city. At first glance, there’s an equal panic over everyone. But she starts to notice others: couples in love with the hands not holding luggage clasping each other’s; a group of young women, a little younger than her, maybe, wearing nice shoes and satiny skirts beneath their coats, red-cheeked and probably on their way to a Christmas party; children, too dizzied by the flurry to be cranky with the parents dragging them along by their mittened hands. Beth remembers her mother, Alice. She remembers her own sullen face in the bathroom mirror at Methuen, wishes she could take that girl’s hand and tug, bringing her into this moment, the two of them gliding amongst the trundling hoard, out into the snow she saw from the train window. The sun set on the way and the stuff sprinkled down throughout. She’s going to step outside into a city that looks like a postcard, and that’s what propels Beth up and out. Almost out.

He’s standing at the ticket counter.

“That much? Did I walk into Penn Station or NASA? I said Kentucky, not the Moon. You can’t tell me Kentucky’s a popular destination. Who the hell wants to go to Kentucky for Christmas? Until Irving Berlin writes a song about it, nobody, that’s who. Nobody but me. Bullshit, fifty-three dollars. How ‘bout… twenty?”

Benny’s attempting to negotiate on his train fare. This is so funny that Beth can temporarily compartmentalize that he’s buying a ticket. A ticket to Kentucky, from what she’s overheard. Smirking, she strolls over.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” she says lightly, eyeing the way he’s shaking a twenty-dollar bill at the impassive ticket seller. His hand slaps to the counter as he twists to stare at her in shock.

“What are you doing here?”

She laughs and feels her cheeks flush from the naked longing on his face.

“I live alone, it’s Christmas Eve, I thought New York would be pretty, and, oh yeah, you’re here. Don’t tell me you’ve already promised the air mattress to someone else.”

Really, she’s impressed that he takes the time to shake his head as he reaches for her after slipping the money away, framing her face in his hands. Cold hands—a relief against her skin. He holds the pose and someone turns the volume down on the rest of the world. The noise of the station dims around them. Beth has time to lift her eyes to the snowflakes glittering as they melt on the brim of Benny’s hat. Then, she’s letting her lids fall as he slants his head and presses his mouth to hers with an intense finality. She’s convinced that she was always meeting him at the station, that the trip was agreed upon and not a snap decision she made after decorating her small tree with the glass ornaments she resurrected from the attic storage, neatly packed away by Alma each January, and realizing she didn’t have to miss him.

Maybe they’re unalike, or were; he was willing to miss her and she tossed god-knows-what into her suitcase and caught the next train that would bring her here. It could be temperament, or strategy, something in him that says wait while her internal voice says act. What she knows it’s not is a gaping disparity in feeling because they kiss with equal fervour. Benny’s face grows warm against hers and she shivers when his chilly fingertips curl around to the back of her neck.

Slowly, she recognizes that the ticket seller is asking them to move aside; their display is blocking the counter. She’s smiling when her lips part and her eyes open. He looks smug as he pries the suitcase from her hand and they shuffle out of line.

“Why, hello, Benny,” she says.

“Why, hello, Beth. Left it a little late, didn’t you?”

“Me? At least I’m not just now getting in line to buy a ticket. Why didn’t you drive?”

“My car’s not the best in the snow. Or the ice. Or even the slush, really.”

“Sounds unsafe.”

“Oh, it is,” Benny agrees. His mouth hangs open for a second before his next words fill it in a rush, “Like the air mattress.”

Beth frowns.

“What’s wrong with the air mattress?”

“Very hazardous. Yeah, it’s, uh, made of some kind of toxic plastic. Any air that leaks out carries harmful gases.”

Playing along, she says, “Don’t worry. I don’t remember it ever deflating on me before.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, “but it’s been folded up awhile now. I don’t trust the seams. I think you’d better not sleep on it, just to be safe.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Benny grins.

“I’d never let you wake up Christmas morning on the floor, Harmon. Think better of me.”

He squeezes her shoulder and steers her out into the frosty New York night.

#in honour of the first time I've had to shovel snow this season: a Warmon holiday fic #my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years

Text

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?�� Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

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obeymeluv · 4 years

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The Bros and School Headcanons

I have other stuff in mind but this is something short I can put out for now.

It’s my headcanon on the types of school/college people the bros are. I guess you can consider it college AU?

Lucifer

The Type-A asshole everyone probably hates

Doesn’t originally start out that way, doesn’t mean for people to hate him. Soon LIVES for it. Seriously, it’s like his coffee.

Prideful AF. MUST be top of the class!

His motto: “Do it right, do it once.”

Runs on an insane amount of coffee and just as insane (read: little) amount of sleep

The type to remind the teacher about assignments that were due in class if it seems like they’re going to forget about it

Asks about extra credit on day one

If people ask repeat questions that were LITERALLY just answered, he gets pissy and silently suffers

Ends up a little sad and burnt out, wondering if the grade was worth skipping out on other opportunities

Says he’s not going to do it next semester, but gets addicted to that grade high

The “friends” he makes in class are usually fellow rivals and they have a hot and cold relationship that somehow works really well

When he drops the grade-chaser stuff, he’s actually really nice to be around. He has really deep, interesting conversations that are between philosophical and educational (you just have to pull his head out of his ass first)

Mammon

Some people wonder how he got into the class, some people wonder how he’s passing it

Mammon is the dude who looks like he doesn’t know about the subject but is an absolute FOUNTAIN of knowledge

Always has sunglasses on and has some kind of drink within arm’s reach. Usually a very big coffee with lots of espresso

Constant bedhead (even if he says he fixed his hair)

Tried sitting in the front row the first week, kept getting sleepy. Now sits in the back row towards the doors.

He’s either early or late. Never on time.

The one that brings a notebook and a pen to class. Nothing extra.

Usually falls asleep or cat naps. Says he learns through osmosis

This asshole is really good at auditory learning and gets by recording the lectures

Blows through exams like they’re nothing. He’s a good BS’er and gets C’s, minimum. Usually low B’s.

This guy laughs at the Type-A stresser’s and enjoys his minimum studying

Can be suckered into group studying fairly easily but most people won’t study with him because he turns study sessions into anything BUT studying

Knows people who know people. Could probably get his hands on old tests and stuff. If he can, it’ll cost you. A lot.

Levi

This poor baby has testing anxiety hella bad when it comes to subjects he’s not super interested in or that he’s already struggling in

If he likes the subject and feels confident in it, there’s no testing anxiety.

Also brings a drink to class. It’s an energy drink.

Always comes to class early and is usually in a pair of wireless headphones, browsing on his phone

A great visual learner.

His notes are written sloppily and kind of sporadically but they’re decently organized with notes in the margin and things like that

Doesn’t like asking questions out loud. Will either email the teacher, ask after class, or make a friend that isn’t afraid to ask them for him.

If he’s having a good day, he’ll try to make jokes that only make a few people laugh. It’s usually bad timing and he’s a little sad.

MUCH BETTER AT DRAGGING PEOPLE! It’s not something he thinks about. It just slips out! Before his face can overheat, he realizes people are laughing and he kind of basks in it for a while.

Has coordinated stationary; is probably animes he’s into or colors he likes

If he has a laptop, it’s absolutely smothered in stickers

The BEST guy to have a study session with. Something about being in a library or quiet area ramps up his focus and he’s like a second-hand teacher.

Very different from his in-class persona, but is often spot on with ‘If I were the teacher, I’d put this on the exam.’

Want to be friends? Comment on his merch. He’ll start a conversation if he sees a shirt/pin/bag/pencil or anything he likes. It helps if you offer Starbucks or snacks in exchange for being tutored

Satan

Takes pride in his grades but doesn’t go out of his way to make people hate him

Will casually drop his grades when asked, but won’t own up to being the top grade. Very vague (”I did okay. Just like I expected.”)

He more or less enjoys the satisfaction of seeing a good grade come back to him after all that studying

Prone to over-thinking

Probably the first one done, but he’ll do 2 or 3 look overs to check everything before turning it in

Low-key exhausts his professors with written assignments because he gives them a fucking book. It’s all technical and correct but, really, it was only supposed to be three pages!

The one that will yell at the obnoxious people interrupting lecture. Will throw things at them if they’re in reach.

Super protective of his books and class materials. Has a hoarding/scooping reflex when messy people spread out their stuff or unwrap food. The books are not to be desecrated!

If an obnoxious eater/drinker is beside him, he thinks about strangling them to the point where it distracts him from lecture

Usually reads ahead and works ahead

If he gets points off of something, he’ll want an explanation. If he feels the points were taken away unnecessarily, there will be words

If he gets too overstimulated with noises or just hits a point of being fed up, he’ll leave lecture

Rarely brings food or drink to class but can be found at the Starbucks on campus before class. Maybe after. Some days it’s both.

Best notes around. Very technical and perfectly organized. Not colorful or anything, but definitely the envy of people.

Sells his notes/study guides each semester for money

Asmo

That guy who can slide into any friend group

Socially sharp. Can tell who the most prepared are and has an instinct for who the strongest class partners will be

Makes friends with the TA’s before the professors.

Totally convinces that TA to give him hints about the upcoming exams

People either love him or hate him. Most people love him, some people hate them because they can’t be him.

Almost always has a drink and it’s rarely the same. Usually a healthy smoothie or one of the cute juice drinks from Starbucks.

The type to bring in outside food and pick at it while he listens to lecture. Tries to listen, anyways.

Really easily distracted. Gets bored with monotonous voices and HATES teachers who just read off of a powerpoint.

His notes are very colorful and aesthetic but may not be the most informative

Does his best to stay on top of assignments but usually has 2 or 3 big screw ups a semester

Somehow always gets his ass saved. Boy has good karma in stock

This is the guy that things ALWAYS seem to work out for, and they fall in his lap

Proposes cute/semi-extravagant study dates. They are rare and exclusive. Extended to a few choice people (no, it’s not to sucker anyone into giving him class notes.)

Aim’s for C’s because anything more is just a bonus. D’s and F’s are unacceptable.

Will drag a bad partner in a heartbeat. If they didn’t help in the group project, their name isn’t going on it.

Beel

Also one of the types that doesn’t look like he belongs, but he does

Is a fountain of random knowledge

Very strong memory, but not perfect. The type that needs a little push before the absolute WALL of information comes out.

Really strong test taker

Brings tons of snacks to class

Once brought a whole-ass meal to class. He ate it one-handed and took notes with the other.

The guy that somehow gets roped into favors by other people. It’s usually quick stuff and he’s good about setting boundaries to make time for himself and his studies

Want him to study with you? Mention about splitting a pizza or something.

Your hype man. Good guy to reassure you before tests if you get test anxiety

Sick and skip class? He’ll check in on you AND send copies of his notes

Doesn’t always get assignments in on time. Only late once or twice a semester. Either eats the point difference or convinces the teacher to give him an extension.

Will take you out for post-test fun errands

Belphie

Does he exist? You won’t find out until it’s time to take an exam.

Belphie does a lot of research before he signs up for a class. Would like to go 100% online but knows that isn’t realistic, so he combs teacher reviews to get nice, easygoing professors

Has a photographic memory, so all he really needs are the powerpoints and to check out reference copies of the textbooks from the libraries

Tries to take the same classes as his brothers so he can swipe the textbook for a bit

If his only option is a morning class, he DEFINITELY picks the same one as one of his bros to make sure he gets up and goes

More of a night owl

The one that’s addicted to caffeine, stays up all night, and somehow gets 7 assignments done. Has periods of intense focus then it’s back to not knowing what day it is. He just wants sleep.

Usually seen with Beel or Satan. Tends to show up at events with free food.

Loves finals week when they bring in dogs and pets.

Has wireless earbuds and is always listening to a podcast, Tedtalk, or something soothing

Catnaps through class. Even if he’s woken up from a dead sleep, he can answer whatever snarky question someone asked

Takes advantage of the meditation classes and alternative therapy walk-ins promoted by the Mental Health Clinic. He really likes guided meditation with singing bowls.

#Obey me!#Obey me! x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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firespirited · 2 years

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Today I did two parcels, one from the latest in four doll sales since the new year: I don't need hobby money right now (someone bought 5 reroots for xmas) but space is always good. The second parcel was full of wigs and put aside in December, lost and the last box to be found of course 🤡. I pulled out my entire hoard of shipping boxes from the top cupboard taking quite the facefull of old dust then reaching under the bed with the grabbie claw. As the accumulated exhaustion and dust allergy hit, my floor was covered in boxes. I threw things off my bed, off my body and lay down covered in rashes and goosebumps. Then got a migraine like a tent peg through the face. I txted sis who came over in a mask, handed me one, made a pathway and opened the windows wide. She could see the dust clouds swirling in low afternoon winter sun, i couldn't see more than blinding colours by then. 3 hours later, i closed the windows, dressed warm, threw out 3/4 of the stash using a barbie as size guide, thanked sis profusely, put together the parcels and sat updating ebay quantities in a daze feeling weak and very stupid.

You see, allergies are directly impacted by exhaustion. They did tests on people on treadmills and exercise bikes, carried out over days and weeks. So things that don't affect you too bad when you're in good shape become a lot more potent if you've done a lot, stressed or had sleep problems. My mistake was panicking over the lost parcel and getting it all out without putting a mask on after large-output bad-sleep days. On Monday, i asked sis for help keeping Lily happy while i gave her derrière a good clean and trim: she convinced me to do a whole bath and haircut so she can look fancy and well cared for at tomorrow's dog adoption interview and I shouldn't have... but I know how much it means to her.

That night, Tuesday and night were defined by intestinal obstruction and a new helper G who did my room which was 'fun' as I tried to explain how versatile the doll hobby is, enquire about her family and gauge how wierded out she was while gritting my teeth behind the mask and seeing stars from the gut pain.

All that to say that 'big output' days prime you for accidents and violent allergic reactions. Living with chronic illness means keeping track of recent events not just how you feel in the moment. Recoup bubble days are a must: where you avoid people and their small colds and tummy troubles, foods that you're slightly sensitive to and doing any heavy lifting (you can damage a muscle tendon or joint for months on a drained day). So basic chores and nothing more until at least sunday. Hard to stick to with how unpredictable life is, especially as we might have a new dog tomorrow! But gotta try or this body will get payback. Photos of various doll projects and finished stuff tomorrow maybe. Take care all 🖤🖤🖤

#disability blogging #Chronic fatigue #Chronic illness

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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Look at the mesmerizing artwork by @teamhook. Can you spot the villain of this little story?

In the Offing

Chapter 18 — The Stable Boy

Summary: In which our heroine misplaces something

Chapter 18 on AO3

“A guilty conscience means at least you’ve got one

Who will forgive you when I’m gone?”

-Here He Comes, The Wallflowers

“That went further than I intended,” Killian whispered against her throat. She could feel his smile against the sensitive skin and knew that while his words sounded like the beginning of an apology, it was really more of an observation on their current status. Their completely unclothed, totally sated status.

“Hmm, there is something about the motion of the water,” Emma said by way of agreement. She was lazily running her fingers through his mussed hair, appreciating the way the thick, short locks felt silky in her hands. His laughter rumbled through his chest and she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through the hair there as well.

“I’ll make a pirate out of you yet, Swan.”

“Well, I need to do something special for a man who would trade a secluded afternoon with the most famous actress in the world to spend time with his unknown, magnet-for-trouble house guest.”

She should get up. Lord only knew if there were locks on the door or if they could be interrupted. However, she wasn’t lying about the sensation of being lulled to sleep by the waves. Although sleep was the furthest thing from her mind a few minutes ago.

“House guest? Is that the label we’re going with? How about girlfriend? Lover? Angel? Magnificent creature?” He punctuated each question with a nuzzle against a different section of exposed flesh. “Besides, I am a seafaring man and all sailors know that it’s bad luck to have a redhead on board. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take her out on the open seas. You may never have seen me again.”

“That would have been a shame. I do enjoy seeing you. The more of you, the better.” She allowed her hands to wander over the expanse of skin on display, thankful that the afternoon was warm since there was only one sheet and their picnic blanket from the other day to cover up with. Her eyes had drifted closed during their idle exchange but she cracked open her left to look at him as she felt the bed shift under his movements. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was resting on his side. She was surprised to see his expression had turned serious. “What’s on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we talk. I like the odds of you staying put since you’re naked,” he added with some of his usual swagger.

“If you’re ready,” she told him. Reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, she knew that nothing he said would make any difference to her. She was too far gone already. The only possible outcome was she would fall deeper under his spell. “No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know what those words mean to me, love.” He pressed a forceful kiss to her lips and returned to his earlier position. His eyes focused out the window and glazed over as he became lost in his memories. When he spoke, his voice had deepened with emotion. “Liam and I moved here a decade ago with one purpose and one purpose only: To find Frederick’s bloody treasure trove. There was nothing for us in England, hadn’t been in years really. I was graduating and Liam was finishing up his enlistment with the Navy. To my surprise, he didn’t doubt for a moment my claims that I could find our fortune on the rocky beaches of Maine. So off we went without a backward glance at the shores of our ancestors.”

She could imagine a younger Killian, full of life and confidence, pulling along his older, more seasoned brother. After all, no one was more jaded than her and she was already prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

“It took us more time to find the pub in Storybrooke than it did to find the first treasure hoard. Oh, Emma, I wish you could have been there.” His grin was something that belonged on a schoolboy’s face, not a man in his mid-thirties. Unable to help herself, she reached up and traced it with her fingertips. He captured her wayward digits and pressed a heartfelt kiss to the tips. “Most pirate treasure was in the form of goods like timber, cotton, sugar, or tobacco. But good old Frederick didn’t disappoint. There was enough silver to make us wealthy even by today’s standards. There were some interesting historical bits as well that will one day find their way into a museum but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“Such a gentleman,” she murmured with a chuckle. “What did you do with it? Aren’t you supposed to alert the authorities when you find stuff like that?”

“I want to be a better man for you, Swan, but I will never be a saint. We haven’t disclosed any of our findings. We simply dip in when we need something extra. Some day we’ll let it see the light of day but for now it rests in Davy Jones’ locker.”

“Wait, I know that one. You mean it’s hidden under the sea?”

“No, we put it in my grandfather’s old locker and buried it under the cottage. It’s the only thing my father left behind when he abandoned us all those years ago.” When she rolled her eyes at him, he simply chuckled. “But to answer your question, the laws vary by state and country. Maine is actually quite lenient with their buried treasure as long as it isn’t found on state property. Luckily, two of the piles we found were on my land at the cottage. Technically, I didn’t own the land when I found the first one but it was under contract. I quickly remedied that and it was all above board when I found the second stash a few days later. That one had more coins and a few loose gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Visions of The Goonies filled Emma’s mind and she had to stop herself from asking about One-Eyed Willy. Because, as fantastical as it seemed, the man who held her heart in his hands also had a knack for finding buried treasure. A gift she hoped he would survive considering someone out there desperately wanted to get their hands on it.

“Yes, darling,” he answered. “I think several have your name on them.”

“No way,” she argued. “I don’t want any of it. What if it’s cursed?”

“Cursed, you say?” He looked thoughtful as the sunlight was momentarily blocked by an errant storm cloud outside. “Yes, I suppose that may be true. Shortly after I uncovered the third pile, I went to the Rabbit Hole to celebrate my victory. Liam had just met Elsa so I was on my own for the most part those days. Not that it mattered, you know how this town takes to new people so I never lacked companionship for a drink or...whatever.”

“Whatever, indeed,” Emma teased in her best impression of his accent. She sensed he was coming to the part of his story that was the most difficult to relay and tried to infuse some humor into the conversation.

With a rueful grin that acknowledged her effort, both with the accent and the humor, he continued. “I met Milah that night. She was a sight to behold in the dim light of the bar, vibrant in a way that seemed too much for this little town.” He narrowed his eyes as they made contact with hers. “I didn’t know at first that she was married. Lads of twenty-four aren’t known for pumping the brakes when a beautiful woman gives them nothing but green lights and I was no different. Honestly, I was probably worse. I was a rash young man far from home and high on my own cleverness. It never occurred to me to question my good fortune or wonder why no one else was vying for her attention.”

“How far gone were you when you found out the truth?”

“Completely,” he confessed with a shaky breath. “The fight we had when I found out, well, it would have melted paint off the walls. I was a dirty little secret, the younger man who captured her attention but not her affections. It was always like that with her. She was so restless. Always moving, always searching. Nothing was ever enough. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t enough either. She wanted someone to rescue her from a life of boredom, someone who would carry her away and show her the world and fill her days with adventures. I couldn’t be that for her but I nearly destroyed myself trying to be.”

He was lost in the past, his eyes distant and filled with pain. Reliving the end of the most meaningful relationship of your life wasn’t easy, Emma definitely understood that. Especially when you gave all you had to it and it still collapsed in pieces around you.

“Her husband came to visit me one night toward the end. Offered me money to break it off,” he scoffed as if the idea still insulted him. “I refused of course, convinced he was the villain in our little drama and that I would win the heart of the fair maiden in the end. At it turned out, I was wrong on both counts. The villain was the fair maiden. Mr. Gold and I were both pawns in her scheme to escape a life she hated. When she had the opportunity, she took the money and ran. In my kinder moments, I feel sorry for her knowing she must have felt trapped. But then I remember the way the whole town thought I killed her and any kindness I’m able to scare up disappears. Just like she did.”

“You’ve never heard from her? You have no idea what happened to her?”

“No. When it ended, it ended badly. She wanted me to take her husband’s money so we could leave town together, was angry when I refused to be chased off into the night. It was then that I realized she didn’t care who she was with, as long as she wasn’t in Storybrooke. It was a tough blow to stomach. I only saw her one time after that, a couple of nights before she disappeared. She showed up at the cottage to apologize. Told me she would never regret our relationship but it was time to move on. She left the map as a parting gift. I knew then that she meant to leave. Make no mistake, Emma, Milah is alive and well somewhere on this globe, living her life to the fullest and not sparing a thought for anyone in this town.”

“Then her absence is no great loss,” she observed.

He shook his head slowly as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. “The day after she stopped by for the last time was when I pulled my idiotic stunt. I got drunk and tried to sail directly into a Nor’easter. Liam caught me at the docks and insisted on coming with me when he couldn’t talk me out of leaving. Our boat capsized about a mile up the coast. I’m only glad I was able to pull him to shore.”

“You saved his life? One-handed in a gale?”

With a bitter twist of his lips, he bit out, “Not sure you’ll allowed to claim such a thing when the only reason a person was in danger in the first place is because of you. He was trapped under the broken mast. I’m still not sure how I got him out but I crushed my hand in the process. Got a pretty nasty infection and the doctors told me the hand couldn’t be saved and if I wasn’t lucky, I’d lose the arm too. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

She felt the tension gripping him and trailed her hands down his left arm, running her fingers over the smooth scars she felt there. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t relax either. “We’re all scarred in one way or another, Killian. Yours are a bit more on display than the average person but this shows that you are a survivor. I’m beginning to think it might be a bad idea for me to find Milah. She has a lot to answer for.”

“You know, I’ve tried to track her down but I’m afraid I don’t have your abilities at finding those who don’t wish to be found. I thought I had tracked her to Paris a few years ago, there was a new artist there that had her style of sketching but I could never be sure and they disappeared before I could make contact. I still have a file on my desktop with the various artwork I found in the gallery catalogues. I always thought I’d pick up the search again later.”

A little afraid to hear his answer, she nevertheless asked, “Why do you want to find her?”

“At first, I missed her. I wanted to hear her voice. Pathetic, right?” When Emma simply gave him a look that clearly disagreed, he smiled at her. “Hmm, my secretly romantic Swan. You have a tender heart that I adore but don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know.” He looked at her with such fondness that she was tempted to go for round two right then. However, on some level, she knew this conversation was more important than their physical connection.

Unaware of her thoughts, he admitted, “Lately I’ve wanted closure. Not for the relationship. It’s been dead and gone for years. For the case, in order to clear my name. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m not particularly proud of since I arrived here but I would like any doubt removed about this crime.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, perhaps we can find her together,” she offered shyly.

“Emma, everything I have is yours,” Killian told her. With a laugh he added, “Including the gold bars I found in the third treasure hoard I uncovered.” Taking her in his arms, he held her as they laid in the Captain’s Quarters in peaceful silence.

—

The rain that had threatened in the afternoon made good on its promise by the time they arrived back at the cottage with carryout from the pizza place. Fortunately, it was the kind of summer rain that moved through quickly and left the air feeling crisp and clean.

After her third slice of pepperoni, Emma leaned back in the patio chair and sighed. “I’m supposed to meet Graham tonight to search the woods. I guess I should head back to Mary Margaret’s place eventually anyway.”

With a quizzical look, Killian took a sip of his iced tea. “A date with another man and moving out? Have I done something to offend you?”

“Very funny,” she retorted. “I think we’ve gotten things a little out of order but there’s no reason to rush into this.”

“Darling, we have already fallen headfirst into the fast lane. There’s no reason to get scared now. Besides, I happen to know that David and Mary Margaret have reached the toothbrush phase of their relationship. You will be taking your sanity into your own hands if you head back there tonight. David is a loud...sleeper.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Emma said with a shiver of disgust. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to stay with you for the foreseeable future. If you don’t have any other plans, you can also join me on my date. We’re looking for bodies in the woods.”

With a grimace, Killian studied her profile. “Okay but only if I get to plan our next outing. A man likes some mystery in a relationship but dead bodies are a little overboard.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Jones.”

Forewarned about the activities for the evening consisting mainly of traversing hilly, overgrown terrain, Emma did a better job of dressing the part. Outfitted with flashlights from Killian’s emergency kit, she knew if the search lasted beyond the light of the midsummer sun they wouldn’t injure themselves in the dark at least.

Arriving at the Sheriff’s station shortly thereafter, Emma was surprised to find it empty and unlocked. Since another brief summer rain was moving through town, she texted Graham and they decided to wait it out at the station. Twenty minutes later, the rain was over but she still hadn’t heard from the sheriff. “That’s weird. He’s usually better about replying.”

“Text him a lot, do you?”

With a amused shake of her head, she admonished him. “Now is not the time to be jealous, Killian. He’s a friend and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s your friend too.”

“He’s not an enemy,” Killian conceded grudgingly. With a hint of teasing, he said, “But perhaps he is competition.” He moved around the station nonchalantly as if he might find the sheriff under a pile of papers or resting in one of the cells at the back of the open room.

With a deep breath, she walked over to him and linked her arms around his neck. “Not in my eyes. I’m not sure how to convince you that you’ve ruined me for other men.”

“I can think of some persuasive methods that will get your point across.” His roguish eyebrow was cocked in a way that she always found so endearing and sexy. “Why don’t we postpone this search party and you can give it your best shot? I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind has never been your problem,” she laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. “I have a job to do so stop trying to distract me. We’ll have to go without Graham. We’re losing daylight and I’m running out of time before Henry comes home.”

What she didn’t add was the crossroads his arrival would bring. As much as she had fought against this thing with Killian, now that she was in, she was all in. While the four hour drive to Boston was not an insurmountable distance, she found the idea of being separated distasteful. She knew it was a conversation they needed to have and she wasn’t avoiding it exactly. Her rational mind kept reminding her that they had only met a month ago and people didn’t fall in love and move to different states after a few weeks of knowing someone. Especially single mothers who had children to think about.

Having officially given up on the sheriff, they headed toward the town line. Minutes later, they arrived to find the cruiser already parked on the narrow shoulder, driver side door open and cabin lights on. Jumping out of the truck, Emma exchanged a worried look with Killian and observed, “This looks like trouble.”

He followed her to the cruiser and placed his hand on the front seat. “It’s dry so he probably didn’t get here until after the rain moved through.”

“Graham!” Shouting his name repeatedly probably wasn’t an effective strategy but damn if she could think of anything else to do. Settling in the driver’s seat she found the keys still in the ignition and his walkie on the dashboard. Picking it up, she paged David. Within a minute, he answered, confusion evident in his tone.

“Emma? Why do you have Graham’s walkie?”

“We found his cruiser at the town line. No sign of him. We’re going out to the woods to search but you probably want to get here as quickly as possible. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole scene.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.”

True to his word, David’s battered old Ford pick-up pulled behind their truck in record time. Mary Margaret had made the journey with him and as soon as the car was in park, she rushed to Emma’s side. “Still no sign of him?”

“No,” Killian answered with his eyes scanning the thick woods.

“He headed this direction and he was in a hurry,” the brunette observed, her finger pointing toward an invisible trail as if it were obvious. At Emma’s silent question, she explained, “All-State Orienteering champion and the best tracker in town besides Ruby. Knowing your way around the forest is still a skill set that’s valued in Maine.”

“Sure. I mean, why not?” Emma said sarcastically. “Why don’t you lead the way then? We’ve already wasted time waiting around the station.”

Grabbing the flashlight that David handed her, Mary Margaret stepped off the shoulder and moved noiselessly into the woods. She would occasionally murmur an observation regarding a broken twig or boot print in the soft ground. Emma made a point to try to locate whatever signs the other woman noted on their pursuit but was only able to see the tracks occasionally. In no time at all, they had circled back up the hill to come out at the road not even a quarter of a mile from the cruiser. “Great. Back were we started.”

“No,” Mary Margaret disagreed. “Look here.” She squatted down and shined a beam of light on the asphalt.

Sure enough, Emma saw some kind of liquid that had dripped on the road. “What is that? Motor oil?” Reaching down, she lightly pressed her finger in one of the droplets and smeared it against her thumb. Looking at the bright red color, a chill ran through her. “Blood.”

“And tire tracks from an SUV if I had to guess,” David added, his light illuminating the wide tracks partially visible on the wet dirt of the shoulder. “Someone took him.” He immediately started back toward his truck, getting on his radio and calling the other deputy to round up some volunteers and meet them out at the woods.

—

Entering the cottage at four the following morning, Emma dropped on the couch in exhaustion. They hadn’t found any other clues as to the whereabouts of the sheriff or who grabbed him off the deserted road. Had he been followed out to the town line? Is that why he hadn’t responded to her text? Why would he have not reached out to her or David if he thought he was in trouble?

Settling next to her, Killian pushed her hair back behind her ear. “We won’t find him by staying up and worrying. You need to rest.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this has to do with me.”

“With you? Why do you think so? Didn’t you say he found something in the woods? Something related to a disappearance that happened when you were a baby.”

“I know it’s crazy...”

“I didn’t say that, love. If you think this has something to do with you, I wouldn’t bet against your instincts.” Smiling at her with an expression of full support, he added, “You’ll figure it out. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“He could be out there hurt, Killian, or worse. I think we need to regroup. Go through everything again. I must have missed something. And we’re going to need all hands on deck. The situation is escalating. When are Liam and Elsa supposed to come back?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should convince him to come back sooner.”

“That will be a pleasant conversation,” Killian muttered with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll call Elsa instead. She’s the more reasonable one.”

“Coward,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him softly. She would never get tired of this, having him within arm’s reach. His very presence made all her worries melt into the background.

“You have more than enough bravery for the both of us,” he complimented her. “But I’ll do as you ask. After all, he’s the one who brought you into this mess. Not that I’m complaining.”

“See that you don’t. I have ways of dealing with complainers,” she ordered tartly, forcing herself to get lost in this moment with him. As she got up to walk away, his fingers hooked into the pocket of her jeans and tugged her back into his lap.

“Saucy. I like that.”

“Behave, Dr. Jones.”

There weren’t any coherent words spoken as the early morning light started to break over the horizon. He had decided to disobey, misbehaving in the most delightful ways.

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