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amberfaber40 · 1 year

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45 Times Text Messages Were Too Funny Not To Share On This Dedicated Instagram Account

As a millennial, I still remember calling my high school best friend and talking for hours until there was nothing in our lives the other didn't know about. But the world has changed a lot since then and so has our communication habits.

Getting Old Requires A Sense Of Humor-Funny Quotes

Funny Quotes About Getting Old This post may contain affiliate links. By buying through the links I may receive a commission for the sale. This has no effect on the price. When we're young, old age always seems so far in the future. And then you wake up one morning and look in the mirror and wonder what the hell happened. Who is that person looking at me? And then it hits you. I am officially old. Sure it starts gradually. Slow and easy so as not to frighten you. But sooner or later you...

251points FacebookPinterestTwitter As a millennial, I still remember calling my high school best friend and talking for hours until there was nothing in our lives the other didn't know about. But the world has changed a lot since then and so has our communication habits.In 2018, there were 2.25 billion mobile phone messaging app users globally and this number is expected to grow to 3.5 billion by 2025. In many places, the phrase "Everyone's texting" is not even an exaggeration.But reducing an interaction to just symbols can be tricky. When there's so little that holds a conversation together, things are bound to get (a little) chaotic. And the Instagram account 'Funny Texts' is a perfect example of that.From contacting the wrong number to simple puns, continue scrolling to check out what it has to offer. fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts ReportWeChat is popular in China, Line is big in Japan, and WhatsApp... Well, it's WhatsApp. It has 2 million users. But in these apps, messages travel over the internet rather than over phone lines like SMS texts and, interestingly, the United States is one of the few big countries where SMS, the texting technology with origins in the 1980s, remains a standard way to chat.As Shira Ovide highlighted in The New York Times, America's SMS exceptionalism has its pros and cons. The biggest benefits of SMS are that it works on almost any phone, and people are not locked into one company's communications world. The drag, however, is that SMS has security flaws, and it lacks features of modern chat apps like notifications that your friend has read your message, or the ability to start a video call from a text. fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts ReportMany people also think that texting is bad because it makes us lazy in the way we speak, but language guru David Crystal thinks that it's causing neither bad spelling nor moral decay.The UK's leading linguistic academic told The Guardian, "Almost every basic principle that people hold about texting turns out to be misconceived." fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report"Misspelling isn't universal: analysis shows that only 10% of words used in texts are misspelled. Nor are most texts sent by kids: 80% are sent by businesses and adults," Crystal explained."Likewise, there is no evidence that texting teaches people to spell badly: rather, research shows that those kids who text frequently are more likely to be the most literate and the best spellers, because you have to know how to manipulate language." fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts ReportAccording to Crystal, if you can't spell a word, then you don't really know whether it's cool to misspell it in the first place."Kids have a very precise idea of context - none of those I have spoken to would dream of using text abbreviations in their exams - they know they would be marked down for it."Of course, changing public opinion is hard work, but Crystal is hopeful he can convert the linguistic reactionaries. fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report"The reality is that people have always had a tremendous fear about the impact of new technology on language," Crystal said."When the printing press was first invented, people thought it was an instrument of the devil that would spawn unauthorized versions of the Bible. The telephone created fears of a breakdown in family life, with people no longer speaking directly to one another. And radio and television raised concerns about brainwashing. fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report"Text messaging is just the most recent focus of people's anxiety; what people are really worried about is a new generation gaining control of what they see as their language."At its most basic, language is an expression of identity. How we speak is central to who we think we are and where we think we belong. So feel free, experiment, and send the funniest results of your 'studies' to 'Funny Texts!' fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts Report fun.ny_texts ReportNote: this post originally had 112 images. It’s been shortened to the top 45 images based on user votes.Add New Image Add Your Photo To This ListPlease use high-res photos without watermarksUpload PhotoNot your original work? 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felinedetached · 3 years

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Fandom Ableism in the MCYT Community

[Edited 14 June 2021]

One thing I’ve noticed about the MCYT (Dream SMP, specifically) community on both Tumblr and Twitter is that when informed of things that are ableist, or harmful to ND people, a lot of people ignore the post/tweet, derail it or actively fight against it.

“I’m ND so I can’t be ableist” is a common statement, which is blatantly untrue. Even I’ve used ableist terms and phrases before, without realising they were harmful. So as a neurodivergent person, with autism, BPD, depression/anxiety, dyslexia, psychosis & brain damage*: here’s some common ableist things both CCs and fandom say almost constantly**.

*note that not every neurodivergent person will agree with me on these, but these are commonly ableist things people have previously talked about online, and/or have been discussed between me and other neurodivergent friends. No minority can ever speak for the entire group.

**note that a lot of these are common outside the MCYT community as well, and that some of these are just considered societally acceptable. This isn’t okay, but it explains why a lot of people don’t recognise jokes or comments like these are wrong, and it means that it’s not a direct moral failing of people that they don’t immediately or directly recognise these comments as wrong.

Now, let’s get into the things you might not have realised are potentially ableist:

1. Use of “Psychopath/Psycho/Sociopath/Schizo” and other demeaning terms for people with mental illnesses as insults, or to describe characters who are considered villainous. Psychopath/Psycho/Sociopath are already terms that people with ASPD dislike using, even not as an insult, but using these terms to describe people or characters who you disagree with or see as villainous only contributes to the villainisation of people with ASPD and other mental illnesses. Using c!Dream as an example: Dream as a character is not confirmed to have any of these mental illnesses. He is, however, commonly labeled as psychotic/psychopathic, incapable of any kind of compassion.

He is also a character that fandom largely insists that nobody is allowed to sympathise with. This is a huge issue, and has hurt a lot of people, especially people with low empathy, or mental illnesses that cause them to relate to some of c!Dream’s actions (e.g. pulling away from all his friends, desperately grasping at straws to gain control of situations etc). Insisting that these characters are characters it’s impossible to sympathise with, all while calling them psychotic/psychopathic/sociopathic, is extremely harmful, and I hope this post draws attention to that.

Here’s another post that talks about that.

2. Use of the term “freak”, in general. As an insult, “freak” has been typically used to insult neurodivergent people, people with visible physical disabilities (ex. “freakshow”, and the term was reportedly created with the intent of insulting people with physical disabilities), or people who display any kind of abnormal/atypical social behaviour/physical aspects — people who are usually ND people who lack a diagnosis or people with physical disabilities. Recent usage has come to mean “people who do things that hurt other people”, but this is harmful as well; using words like “freak” or “weirdo” which mean “socially atypical behaviour” to refer to people who are actually doing things that hurt other people conflates the two, and often has a side effect of hurting disabled people who see it.

3. Calling ND ccs like Technoblade monotone/emotionless. While the term “monotone” isn’t ableist in and of itself, the fact that it’s being used against a neurodivergent man who emotes in a different way to neurotypical people rubs a lot of ND people the wrong way. I’ve partially discussed this here, in a tweet responding to a person who said that c!Technoblade, quote, “has no human capabilities like emotion for example”. This, however, is not something contained to c!Technoblade — one of the most common jokes in this fandom is how rare it is to hear emotion in Technoblade’s voice.

The issue with that is that neurodivergent people almost universally agree that Technoblade emotes perfectly fine, and, in fact, emotes more freely and clearly than a lot of others do. Hence, calling him monotone perpetuates the idea of ND people as emotionless/less able to be hurt/less expressive, which often hurts us. It also contributes to the dehumanisation of ND people — related to how ND symptoms are most often seen in robots or monsters in shows — and is generally extremely harmful, on top of being untrue.

4. Related to point 3: the infantilisation of ND ccs like Tubbo and Dream, usually paired with assigning “caretakers” of their friends, like Tommy and George. This is about the posts that spread like “omg, Tommy helps Tubbo with his dyslexia, that’s so cute” or “omg George is so patient with Dream, I could never sit through that” on videos of Dream vocally stimming because of his ADHD. This is another post that talks about this, but I wanted to talk more about why this is harmful here.

4a) With Tubbo’s dyslexia, from someone with dyslexia, it isn’t harmful to correct his spelling and move on. Personally, I think this is helpful — others will think it’s condescending, because not all ND people are the same — but as the above linked post mentions, this is not what Tubbo’s twitch chat does. This is not what the comments say. It’s all things about how it’s “so cute” that Tubbo can’t spell, how Tommy/Ranboo are “so patient” with correcting him. This is rooted in the need to constantly watch over ND people while acting like we can't live our lives without someone having us under constant vigilance. It feels like savior-complex ableism, like people are trying so hard to not be ableist that they spin back around to hurting us instead. And it feels like we are being treated like children. Like we are lesser than, and need to be monitored/watched over.

4b) Similarly to what people do with Tubbo, the comments on posts about Dream’s vocal stimming are often full of people calling George “patient” for “dealing with it”, or claiming they “wouldn’t be able to handle it”. This is inherently ableist. They’re praising George for basic human decency towards ND people, and claiming in the same breath that they wouldn’t be able to do that themselves. And then there’s these.

These comments infantilise Dream — claiming he “wouldn’t be able to stop/calm down” without George’s help, implying he’d “spiral out of control” or claiming “everyone is now my child”. It’s all related to the infantilisation of ND people, and the belief that without help/a caretaker we cannot take care of ourselves.

5. The way people treat ccs who likely have undiagnosed neurodivergencies, like Wilbur. Wilbur has openly admitted on stream before that his parents considered getting him an autism diagnosis. He also openly admits on stream that he has habits he doesn’t understand why he does, and hyperfixates on things for months at a time and doesn’t know why. Posts like this have gone around Tumblr, in which Wilbur displays blatantly ND traits.

And fandom generally calls him weird for expressing those traits. This video where he talks about eating sand because he likes the texture? That’s an ND trait. This video where he talks about his irrational hatred for anteaters? While mostly a joke, irrational hatred of something when you can’t explain/understand/articulate why is also a common ND trait. He spends 20 minutes during a Philza stream info-dumping about self-sustaining ecosystems (sharing the photo, because I think it’s really cool) and fandom begins calling them “Wilbur’s weird jars”. It’s demeaning to people who infodump, and as a ND person who hyperfixates and infodumps it’s really upsetting to see. It’s also upsetting to see other ND traits being called “weird” or “freaky” & made out to be soley some funny joke for NT people to laugh at us about.

Additionally: It’s strange to me that people think it’s okay to make fun of ND traits just because they know that or perceive that the person they’re making fun of is NT. It’s still making fun of ND traits. It’s still insulting ND people. It’s still ableist as hell. Why is it okay just because the person is NT?

6. Implying that c!Ranboo’s enderwalking is inherently violent. Ranboo has shown us time and time again that the enderwalk state isn’t a violent state. That the enderwalk state isn’t a seperate version of c!Ranboo that does horrific things. Why, then, is it so common to imply that Ranboo would be violent and hurt people why he’s enderwalking?

It comes back to the perception of c!Ranboo as a character with “two halves”, or as a character with DID. Ranboo has made it clear that his character does not have DID, but this headcanon about his character persists, and it persists in a way that is directly harmful to people with DID — and to people who dissociate or sleepwalk. We do not commit horrific acts while we dissociate, while we’re sleepwalking, because the majority of the time we’re just checked out, our body is on autopilot. Insinuating that we do is harmful. Insinuating that Ranboo has “another half” that’s inherently violent or evil is harmful to people with DID. I’m not going to ask you to stop writing these headcanons etc, but please consider the effect you have on people before you do.

7. Related to point 6: the perception of c!Ranboo as “soft” and “cute” and/or perfectly moral because of his canonical anxiety. This is really harmful, and comes once again from the infantilisation of disorders like anxiety and depression. Ranboo has made clear time and time again that his character isn’t moral, and in fact is extremely inconsistent. He’s portrayed his character as inconsistent, as someone who hurts his friends unintentionally and often due to his want to please everyone, and yet he’s constantly seen as “soft/pure/the only moral one” because of his anxiety causing to have repeated and consistent spirals on-screen. These spirals are not healthy. They don’t indicate his “perfect morals” or make him more moral than anyone else on the SMP. Please stop infantilising people with anxiety, it’s really hurtful.

8. Implying that c!Technoblade is inherently a violent person because of his voices. I’ll admit here: my hallucinations are visual. I do not get auditory hallucinations, and I cannot speak for people who do. But many people have spoken out about this, and discussed how talking about Technoblade as an inherently violent character because of his voices is harmful, and a stereotype of people with schizophrenia.

Technoblade’s character is, in and of itself, inherently a stereotype (despite the fact that his chat are more likely to be a supernatural entity than a symptom of a disorder such as schizophrenia) in that the idea of “hearing voices that encourage violence” is a stereotype of people with schizophrenia. As an actual symptom, is a very uncommon one. More common auditory hallucinations for people with schizophrenia or psychosis are, reportedly, whispers or unrelated conversation. One of my friends hears screaming.

But the issue is with the implication that c!Technoblade is “driven to violence” by the voices. Canonically, he has dealt with the “bloodlust” of chat by grinding withers. He’s perfectly capable of being peaceful, even with “voices pushing for violence”, and he’s perfectly capable of being violent without the “voices” influence. It’s the connotations and the history that fandom has in demonising and villainising c!Technoblade for even having the “voices” in the first place, and acting having them makes him inherently violent and unstable. There’s precedent for that already in society, and it’s not okay to perpetuate it.

[Edit: as of 22/05/2021, I do experience auditory hallucinations, and I can confirm that I am not any more violent, and the voices I hear don’t push me to violence. The clearest one just said ‘click’ in my ear.]

9. Jokes about brain damage and the use of “brainrot” as a term. I made a post about how common jokes about brain damage are here, and I would like to reiterate bits of it.

Jokes like these are really really normalized in modern society. I’m sure a lot of you didn’t even register it as wrong, and that isn’t a moral failing! It’s a norm in society, and that means the majority of people arent going to register it as something hurtful, because it’s said so often. But it does still hurt. The idea of using a disability as an insult is really harmful and it feels dehumanizing, like our disability makes us lesser, something that should be laughed at.

“Brainrot” as a term originated in Skyrim, as a disease that literally rotted your brain. However, as a term, it has very similar connotations to “brain damaged” and has been used in similarly joking and insulting ways. It’s something that feels really off to me and other neurodivergent people to see used by neurotypical people. It even sometimes feels uncomfortable when used by neurodivergent people, even if it’s used in positive ways. I know quite a few people who have removed it from their vocab completely because of the connotations, and I have personally done the same. Once again, I am just asking you to please consider your words before you use them.

10. Calling c!Wilbur during his Pogtopia Arc “Vilbur”. Yes, he was a villain. Yes, he hurt people. But c!Wilbur during the Pogtopia Arc only has one major difference from c!Wilbur during the L’Manburg Arc: a visible depiction of mental illness, specifically paranoia and psychosis. Treating him as a seperate person and calling that seperate person “Vilbur” comes across as extremely hurtful, and contributes to the villainisation of mentally ill people. His mental illness does not excuse him from hurting people, but calling c!Wilbur “Vilbur” upsets a lot of us, because wether or not it’s intended, it feels reductive, hurtful, and insulting.

If you got to the end of this post, thank you so much for reading. I hope that this helped you recognise things that you might not have known were ableist, and that you consider what I’ve said here. I also know that I haven’t addressed everything ableist that’s spread through the MCYT fandom community, so if you’re ND and have something you’d like to add, please feel free.

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

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Maybe Jotaro, Risotto, Prosciutto, Bruno and Leone friendship HCs with a fem friend thats llike your generic dumbass but they are just like a soft dumbass, she is just too cute to get mad at no matter how stupid she is. So basically a smol sweet dumbass that just radiate baby energy. Like she just runs up to them saying she want to show them something cool and its just a pretty rock but she looks so happy xjsbkss 💖

Pure of heart, dumb of ass fem!friend with Jotaro, Risotto, Prosciutto, Bruno and Abbacchio HC’s

sfw // fem reader

lemme just say, reader is baby and that’s valid 🥰this is so adorably pure ugh ya done killed me anon 🥺💖✨(can very much relate tho, glad my friends put up with my dumb antics)

Jotaro:

“Why am I friends with you again? Yare yare...” A phrase you’ll hear every time you’re hanging out with this tall bastard. He’ll tease you for being a bit of a dumbass but is incredibly drawn to how kind, sweet and absolutely thoughtful you are.

You remind him of Josuke and Okuyasu which only makes him like you even more. And the added cuteness-factor made him admit to himself he does indeed love cute things, no matter how adamantly he denies it to you.

His favourite thing to do is bring you along to the beach for field research, knowing just how wide eyed and giddy you get when you’re allowed to collect shells and rocks or even poke a jellyfish. You seem very good at spotting irregularities in your surroundings, making quite the good assistant to Dr. Kujo.

You’re even allowed to help with lab research, studying petri dishes filled with algae as you excitedly point out a very important detail he hadn’t noticed yet, too tired from working such long hours. Sometimes you’re quite the genius without even trying.

More than anything he loves the amount of lightness you bring to his life, his studies and general headspace take a large toll on him. Any relief is a welcome one.

He’ll often find himself smiling at the thought of hanging out again, staring at the collection of trinkets he keeps in a cute little Hello Kitty box you once gave him, which rests on his nightstand as a reminder that it can’t hurt to adapt your lifestyle of mindless giddy; even just the tiniest bit.

Risotto:

Being close friends with Risotto seems a bit impossible without being in his squad, he’s very insistent at keeping outsiders of Passione more than an arm-length away. Good thing that the stoic man is your capo, phew!

He’s apprehensive at first, not really sure why the soft round pebble you brought him reminded you of the man as he studied the mineral, admiring its softness. “It’s like you! Soft and worn down, but very sturdy and unbreakable.” smiling sweetly at him, excitedly awaiting a response.

What was this new feeling of being appreciated and cared for? Risotto’s never really experienced a friendship so pure. He’ll quietly thank you for the pebble and keeps it on his desk, staring in awe as he’s reminded of your kind words every time he spots it.

He knows the others like to tease you for not always being aware of general human knowledge, shooting them an intense glare as a warning to keep any rude comments or jokes to themselves.

Your friendship consists of him mostly listening to you, quietly taking in all the stories you divulge- so full of excitement, telling him facts you picked up somewhere; the source of these often containing varying levels of credibility. He won’t correct you though. (unless it’s something that might actually endanger you)

He values your friendship so.much. He’s not used to being treated so kindly, receiving random gifts, being praised for a job well done, having someone who doesn’t judge him in the slightest. He’ll do whatever he needs to keep you safe, from others and yourself, along with trying to return your kindness and care. (he tries his best and it’s so cute)

(you guys hold hands for safety when you’re out in the city... just saying, it’s adorable)

Prosciutto:

Prosciutto has a chronic case of “caring older brother disease”. Will need to hold himself back from tying your shoelaces for you, the man knows you can do it it yourself but it’s just taking sooo long.

Just like Risotto, you’d have to be a team member to get close to him in any way. Good thing he recruited you ;)

It’s a bit hard to make him open up about anything personal. You feel like he knows everything about you, while you barely know a thing. When he sees your pouty lip and begging gaze that is way too cute to deny, he’ll cave. Perhaps finally realising it’s alright to lean on others.

He’ll still struggle with continuing the openness, but find relief in your loyalty and understanding. The way you intently listen to his troubles, there to hold his hand if he ever needs it, it makes his heart hurt to know how sweet and gentle you are.

Will keep you and Pesci separate during missions, he’s already getting a migraine from imaging everything that could go wrong without his guidance.

For someone who’s a little more on the dense side, you make up for it in emotional intelligence. Whenever you see how stressed he tends to get, eye twitching without even realising while his shoulders hunch together in discomfort, you come over to hug him. It’s something he had to get used to, the small gesture always calming him down enough to keep going.

Does not appreciate you slipping cute trinkets in his suit pocket. Especially not after finding a snail that one time. You’ve been forbidden from leaving pocket gifts since the incident.

Bruno:

It concerns Bruno just how clueless you can be from time to time. That one time they almost left you behind on a busy station with no cellphone because you found a coin on the ground made him realise you need some extra supervision.

He’s not the type to hold you back from doing things that are guaranteed to result in disaster (unless it’s literally deadly), he wants you to experience the consequences of your own actions.

You do make him hold back his laughter when you try out a stupid idea you know has failed in the past, but change your methods slightly to hope for better results. And you know what? Now he’s curious too.

The man has a weird sense of humour that sometimes even surprises you. He’ll copy your habit of picking up strange trinkets or rocks and asks you to compare findings with him. Like trading marbles, he’ll barter with a smirk.

“Mhh, if you give me that cute shell and that pointy rock... I’ll give you this keychain.” His alluring offer making you question if you’re getting swindled or not. “Hey! That shell is at least worth two stickers!” He’ll heartily laugh at your reply, a mischievous smile while thinking over the trade. “Ok, two stickers and a pebble then.”

With a firm handshake the deal goes through. The rest of the gang never knows how to respond, staring in amazement as their grown-ass capo barters with their grown-ass teammate. He loves being silly with you and forgetting all the pressures of life for just a moment.

Bruno takes his time opening up to you, but finds your presence so comforting it becomes very easy to trust you. As a vital part of his team he finds it important to be able to lean on each other for support and is glad you offer him just as much trust and loyalty.

Abbacchio:

Will never admit he can’t live without you anymore. You’ve become the shining beacon of assumed happiness the man never thought existed. He knows you won’t always be go-lucky and have your own troubles and struggles but admires how you handle them.

Don’t get me wrong, he’ll still gladly tease you for your occasional (well, more like frequent) stupidity. He’ll let you know with a big huff you should smarten up; “Read a book that doesn’t have pictures in it for once.”

He’ll be the first to correct any wrong info you’ve been given, unless he thinks it’s funny. Like when Mista made you believe you needed to order dessert at Libeccio or they’ll kick you out for breaking their beloved rule. It’s only when he saw the panic in your eyes when you finished your main course one day -too full for any sweets to come- that he assured you it was a dumb joke. (he’ll put all the blame on Mista)

Abbacchio seems to tether to people who have a positive influence on him without even realising, it won’t be obvious to him, but just like with his loyalty and admiration for Bruno, he’ll make sure you know it once he finds out.

Not that it’s a bad thing, his need to cling to anything that might help him stay afloat just needs to stay healthy. You didn’t even realise your effect on him, you were too busy trying to figure out a way to turn that scowl into that smirk.

After gifting him a handmade friendship bracelet that had the shortened versions of your names spelled on it, he hugged you. So tightly it was suffocating, you were shocked since he’s never been the touchy type. “Leone! I can’t breathe...” He’ll let go after the complaint but that look on his face will never leave your memory. The face of being loved unconditionally by choice, no matter how unworthy he might think himself of it.

#cozy request #physical affection from friends? it's more likely than u think #jjba x reader #jotaro x reader #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #bruno x reader #abbacchio x reader #jjba headcanons #jjba imagines #jotaro kujo #risotto nero #prosciutto #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio

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appleteeth · 3 years

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Bruce Week Fic #6

Sunday (July 25): Grief, Magic

(Warnings for mentions of domestic and child abuse.)

It was funny, being friends with someone who knew magic. Loki had somehow, after everything they had been through, become one of Bruce’s closest confidant on board the spaceship taking them to Earth. First they would merely nod at one-another in quiet respect, then Loki stopped Bruce in the corridor one day to explain how something seemingly innocuous he had done was actually offensive in Asgardian culture and Bruce, though wary he was tricking him, thanked him.

Then Bruce would make a habit of finding Loki in the makeshift dining hall and sitting with him, not exactly striking up conversation but letting him know they could talk, if he wanted to.

A few months into the journey and Loki was spotted laughing loudly at something Bruce had said, and whilst it made Thor a little nervous to see them getting along so well, it was also a relief. They were both part of his Royal Council, after all, so they needed to get along for the sake of his people.

Then, when Bruce moaned to himself about being unable to find what he needed in the cramped medical bay, Loki produced the vial out of thin air and handed it to him.

“That still freaks me out,” Bruce told him before taking the vial tentatively.

“I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t,” he said with a smirk.

“How does it work? Are you pulling items from somewhere else? Are you taught how to use magic or is it instinctual? Could I learn magic or is it an Asgardian thing?”

“No, I was taught by my mother and yes… to an extent. You wouldn’t be able to conjure items or control objects but you can learn basic spells.”

Bruce was excited for barely a second before he frowned. “Are you messing with me again?”

“Bruce, I have come to find you… relatively welcome company. I enjoy our conversations, even if you are a Midgardian.”

“Bit prejudiced, but thank you.”

“So I’m not messing with you,” Loki concluded. “I can give you some basic spells to try that will give you more insight into your being.”

“I, uh, think I’ve had enough insight lately," he said warily.

And Loki smiled, this time without a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What if I were to teach you a spell that helped you in ways you never knew you needed?"

Bruce snuck into the medical bay late into the evening whilst the rest of the ship went to sleep. It was the one place he knew he wouldn't be disturbed, especially as Asgardians were so resilient to injury, they barely came to him with less than a severed limb.

He read through the instructions Loki had written in elaborate cursive, mostly in English but certain words wouldn't translate so he had to work through how to pronounce them before starting. It was oddly pleasant following the instructions step by step, like he was trying out a new recipe, only this was more writing specific phrases in runes than measuring out ingredients.

He had to write the words as naturally as possible, like he had been writing in the language his entire life, recite them outloud and then… go to sleep. Which was easier said than done when he was expecting something miraculous to happen. He crept back into his shared dorm with seven other passengers and lay down, hoping that whatever was supposed to happen would actually help him.

He finally drifted off and there he found himself travelling, not sure what he was facing was a dream or effects of the spell, but welcoming it nonetheless.

He was standing in an old-fashioned kitchen, meticulously clean down to the top of the cabinets where nobody would ever bother to look. Whoever's domain this was, it was so well looked after it could very well be a showroom.

There were a few signs of life, however. There was a small stack of plates ready to be cleaned, a few novelty magnets on the refrigerator, a Captain America action figure on the table…

Bruce stopped, looking at the toy and realising where he was. He had spent so long trying to forget his childhood home he didn't even recognise the kitchen anymore. But he knew that toy like it was imprinted on his mind, having spent many hours clutching it, talking to it, wishing the real Cap was there to save him.

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting, would you like some water?"

And he spun on his heel to see her. It was so odd to view her now that he was a little taller than her, instead of being small enough to wrap his arms around her legs. She was still as beautiful as the pictures but she wasn't memorialised in his mind like some sort of perfect being. Her sweater was threadbare at the elbows, her hair was a little frizzy (thick curls like his, almost identical in colour) and she had dark circles under her eyes. She also wore glasses, which Bruce had completely forgotten because she took them off for photos.

"Uh…" he didn't know what to say to her.

"You must be parched, here," and Rebecca poured him a glass of water from a pitcher she kept in the fridge. "Piping in new houses is never deep enough to keep water cool, not like the old days."

He was still trying to find words when he realised a vision shouldn't be able to hand him things, and he shouldn't be able to feel the cool water tumbling down his throat.

"So, you wanted to talk about Robbie?"

He nearly choked on the last mouthful and hid it with a loud cough.

"Um, yes," he said, not sure who he was supposed to be in this scenario but going along with it all the same.

His mother nodded and indicated for him to sit down with her at the kitchen table. Again, it felt so strange to be big enough for a chair he used to sit at every day as a kid, his legs swinging and needing a cushion so he could reach the table properly.

"His teacher said he's been excelling," she said proudly but then immediately frowned. "You didn't speak to my husband, did you?"

"No, of course not," and he now knew his role like he had read the script. "Yes, young Br… Robbie has been working really hard and it's clear to see he is clever."

She smiled, but it was juxtaposed by her sad eyes. "You're going to say he should be in a gifted school, aren't you?"

"Uh…"

"Well I'm sorry but he can't. He just… can't." And she sighed tiredly before collecting herself. "I'm sorry, it's just--"

"I know," Bruce said quietly. "You don't have to explain your reasons. I know you would want the best education for him, but sometimes that can't happen."

And he couldn't help himself, she was right there in front of him. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it in comfort.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"And it's not like kids won't excel as adults just because they missed out on extra tutoring," he continued. "They'll catch up in no time and go on to do great things."

She smiled warmly and Bruce recognised his own features in hers. He never thought he looked like her, always hating how he was the spitting image of his father, but he saw himself in her smile.

"I hope so. Do you know he can name every bird he sees? Even the scientific names. He read about bird watching and within a day he was telling me facts about each one."

Bruce couldn't help but grin, having forgotten about that particular hyperfixation. "Is that so?"

"If he could… that is, if we agreed he could go to a gifted school, I suspect he would get a scholarship for college, maybe even go early."

She looked furious, if just for a moment, letting her guard down enough to show how she really felt. Bruce had never seen her angry; she had hid it well when he was small and already so scared of someone else's anger. She had shown him nothing but smiles and positivity, desperate to make his life as normal as possible.

But he remembered hearing her crying behind the bedroom door, trying to suppress her sobs so she could go read her child a bedtime story like nothing was wrong. The illusion was shattered that day.

"You are doing everything you possibly can for your son. More than everything. You--"

He stopped himself. Was this really a dream or had he really travelled back? What would it mean if he told her?

"I will lay down my life for him," she finished, eyes defiant and full of fury.

He felt his facade fading, no longer able to pretend he wasn't who he really was.

"You're going to save my life. Over and over. Until that bastard kills you for it."

He cried, clutching her hand and unable to look at her. She shouldn't have sacrificed herself for him. She wasn't supposed to be known as just a wife and mother. She was exceptionally bright in her own right, never one to boast but able to keep up with her husband and nudge her son towards harder sums and thicker books. It wasn't her fault the man who told her he loved her had used that love to control her, to make her feel weak and stupid.

Had she escaped that night, she would have done great things.

"I know," she said quietly, tears in her own eyes. "I figured I had a shot that night. He usually stays late at the bar and left the car at home, so I thought I had three hours. But I didn't know he had a meeting the next morning and drank a whole bottle of whiskey walking home instead. I miscalculated."

"It's my fault. You told me to pack but I couldn't find my stupid Captain America toy and…" he wiped his eyes angrily. "I held us up."

Rebecca reached across the table to wipe the trails of tears from his cheeks.

"You were a child," she said. "It can never be your fault. Hey," and she cradled his face in her hands. "It was never your fault."

"It wasn't yours either. None of it," he said defiantly.

She nodded. "Thank you."

The vision was starting to waver, like an old projection flickering as the film ran out. He clutched her hand desperately, wanting to tell her so much more, to tell her he hadn't wasted the gift she gave him that night. That he had excelled despite everything that happened. That he did everything to make her proud.

He felt her hand slowly fading, getting lighter in his hand as it faded away. He managed to tell her he loved her before he awoke back on the ship, his face wet with tears.

The next morning, much to everyone's confusion, Bruce marched straight up to Loki, grabbed him by the shoulder, and hugged him tightly.

#bruceweek #bruceweek2021 #tw: domestic abuse #tw: child abuse #skipped yesterday's prompt because i had nothing #anyway here's something terribly sad for y'all #bruce banner #rebecca banner

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twistedtummies2 · 3 years

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A Feline Valentine (Che’NyaXReader; Stuffing)

HUZZAH! It took me writing well into the night last night, but I was able to complete my Valentine’s Day Special after all! Hope you all enjoy! :D

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Six o’ clock. Tea Time. You really wondered (with a sigh) how Riddle got along so well with your boyfriend at times like this. Granted, you loved the fluffy-eared gremlin to bits, but if there was one thing he never seemed to care about… …Well…actually…he cared about very little. It was probably part of why Riddle didn’t dislike him for going to Royal Sword instead of Night Raven; the Cheshire Cat was by no means a hero…but he was also by no means a villain. And he was certainly by no means punctual. You paced around the table you had set up in the Tea Garden of Heartslabyul. In the light of the golden afternoon, you paused to look around. You had to admit, you’d always found Heartslabyul to be one of the most beautiful dorms; if the historic Rose Garden owned by the Queen of Hearts was even half as beautiful as the one Riddle Rosehearts and his pack maintained, it still would have been perfectly enchanting. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, but with a light breeze that whistled through and cooled it pleasantly to a perfect temperature. The heart-shaped topiary sculptures and vibrant red roses that poked from the great green hedge rows were the perfect natural decoration for a day like today…only helped by the special scarlet paper lanterns that had been strung up, in place of the usual blue and yellow. The paper was patterned with images of hearts. Similarly, instead of the black, red, and white bunting that was usually set out, you had purposefully selected pink and purple flag streamers, which lightly fluttered and flapped in the delicate wind. You frowned as you looked back to the table; you were actually starting to feel a little worried. You’d taken a lot of time to prepare this occasion. Riddle had even allowed you to make use of his personal table; he claimed it was due to Rule 214, but he never explained WHAT Rule 214 was, so you didn’t know why that was. You checked your cell phone to see the time; it was now a couple minutes past six, you still found no sign of hide nor hair from him. You bit your lip as you stuffed your phone back in your pocket; had something happened to him? Even on a day like today, when everyone was spending time with their special someone (presuming they had one), Night Raven had plenty of troublemakers out and about…and while your beau was no pushover, especially for the “pompous, pampered little princes” who stayed in the Dorms of Royal Sword Academy, you didn’t want to risk he’d run into beasts somewhat fiercer than himself. He only had eight lives left, after all. “Come on, kitten,” you mumbled to yourself, tapping your foot with impatient nervousness. “Where are you…?” “Twaaaas brillig, and the slithy Toves did gyre and gimble in the waaabe. All mimzyyyy were the Borogoves, and the Mome Raths outgraaabe!”

You knew that strange, up-and-down, melodic voice, naturally. You knew that song, too, and therefore knew who was singing it. You glanced about curiously, but you saw nothing; this wasn’t surprising, however. Your boyfriend from Night Raven’s rival college had a habit of being non-corporeal. “Che’Nya?” you called out, then smirked. “You might as well show yourself, that ‘ghostly singing’ thing isn’t as impressive as you think it is.” A pouting meow was heard, from seemingly everywhere at all. “I thought you liked my singing. In fact, I thought you said it was The Cat’s Meow!” You blinked dully. “Those puns are going to get you in trouble, you know that, don’t you?” you droned. “I suppose it ‘hiss’ possible.” “That one,” you snapped out, lifting a finger in emphasis. “That one was ‘Meowsy.’” “Awwww, my little bunny is making cat puns now, too!” crooned the voice of the Cheshire neko. “I’m so proud!” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I learned from the best,” you drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “Now come on out!” A pause. No response. “I’m waiting!” you called out, louder. Right on cue, you felt a tap on your right shoulder. You turned…and spotted nothing. Then came a tap on your left shoulder. You rolled your eyes, turned again…and once more spotted nothing. Then you started to turn around…and found yourself almost eyeball-to-eyeball with two large, glowing, golden eyes. “BOO!” “GYAH!” You yelped and jumped about six inches into the air, catching yourself on a nearby chair as you stared up at the disembodied head floating before you, a few feet above the surface of an empty table. The head giggled in a high-pitched, half-hysterical way; an unhinged but not necessarily dangerous sort of laugh, followed by a teasing grin filled with many large, sharp white teeth. “Gotcha! Nya!” sing-songed the fair-skinned face of your beau, his purple ears twitching where they sprouted from under his equally purple-haired head. A faint jingle came from the ears, courtesy of the little brass piercings shaped like signposts in each. You blinked…then frowned, blushing a bit at being caught off guard so easily. “Very funny,” you grumbled. “I thought it was!” chirruped the Cheshire Cat-Boy, his head spinning in place a full three-hundred-sixty degrees. You quivered. “How do you do that?” you muttered. “A good meow-gician never reveals his secrets!” “A GOOD magician,” you responded dryly, “Would be on time and not make such terrible jokes.” “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not one of those!” “…Yet you won’t reveal your secrets anyway.” “Nya-ope!” “…Your jokes just get worse from here, don’t they?” Your boyfriend giggled and rolled his eyes, then his head swooped forward. You went stiff as he sniffed at your hair, and his head began to orbit around your own. It was an unsettling feeling, and you squirmed a bit, blushing as he meowed and leaned close, the lone head nuzzling your cheek as you heard the big kitty purr. “Awww…no need to be so mean, my little bun-bun,” he crooned…then licked your cheek and rumbled as he added in a whisper: “It makes you taste less sweet, you know.” You blushed bright red, and he giggled more. “Awww, bunny-bun is so cuuute when they’re flustered!” he mewed, and once again came around to your front. “Don’t worry, my little rabbit! This big kitty won’t gobble you up! Today, anyway.” “That’s a shame…” “Hm? Nya? What was that?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head, then tilted it as you added: “Can you make your whole self visible? It’s…weird chatting with a talking head.” You had a feeling your significant other shrugged, but since you couldn’t see his shoulders at that point, you weren’t sure. In any event, slowly but surely, the physical body of Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka – alias, Che’Nya the Cheshire Cat – finally began to fade into view. He looked the same as he always did: dressed in a white dress shirt that was several sizes two big, under which he wore a pink-and-purple-striped t-shirt. A ring with the image of a smiling cat’s head was on one of his fingers, each of which ended in short-but-sharp claws, painted the same shade of purple as his hair. A matching purple belt held up the blue jeans he wore; it bore a silver buckle, and the words “Can You Stand on Your Head?” stitched into it with silver thread. All over the legs of his blue jeans were various colored patches, resembling mushrooms, trees, and Mome Raths – strange creatures that inhabited the realm of the Queen of Hearts. Purple boots with black laces were on his feet; they were decorated in gold chains with pendants that spelled the phrases “This Way” and “That Way.” Your boyfriend smiled and blinked his huge yellow eyes. His two canine teeth stuck out from his mouth, and with his large eyes and the way he cocked his head, you couldn’t help but smile; he really did look so much like a big, curious kitten, bushy purple-and-pink-striped tail swishing behind him and all. “Can I ask you a question, Bunny?” he mewed, as he hopped down and sat the wrong way on a chair. “Sure,” you nodded. “Oh, good!” grinned Che’Nya. A pause. “…So?” “So what?” “What was it?” “What was what?” “The question!” “What question?” “The one you just asked!” “I asked a question?” “Yes, you asked if you could ask a question!” “Well, then I already asked you a question, didn’t I? In fact, I think I just asked…” He tilted his head and counted on his fingers. “…Six! A half dozen questions! Now, isn’t that great? OOH! That one makes lucky number seven!” “But…that…that doesn’t…!” Che’Nya grinned and placed his head in his hands, his chin against the back of the chair, eyes half-lidded. Try me, bunny, his smile seemed to say. Go ahead. You blinked…then grumbled and reached out, booping him on the nose. Che’Nya’s smile fell. He blinked…then sneezed, and pouted as he covered his nose. “Heeeey, no booping!” he meowed, childishly. “Then stop talking in circles.” “I don’t talk in circles,” he smirked. “I talk in squares, triangles, occasionally hexagons, and even a few parallelograms, but NEVER circles!” “You’re impossible.” “Hardly,” Che’Nya chuckled. “I do believe in Six Impossible Things before breakfast each morning, though…then I usually go out and eat them.” He winked and licked his lips as he added: “For instance…Thing Number Five this morning was believing I had the best little human in the world as my S-O. Now, doesn’t that seem impossible?” You blinked. “…I can’t tell if that was a compliment or not.” “Then I have done my job,” Che’Nya said. So saying, the Cheshire Cat got up from the chair and hugged you close. You froze up, not expecting the sudden show of affection…but when he started nuzzling your neck and purring, you smiled and returned the hug. “You may be impossible…but you’re MY kind of impossible,” you whispered. “Awww…bunnyyyyy, you’ll make me blush,” mumbled Che’Nya. “Then I’ll have done MY job,” you teased. Che’Nya giggled. “Touche! Nya!” he sang out, then pulled back and grinned at you excitedly, tail twitching as he clapped his hands. “Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I wanna show you a trick! Can I, can I? Huh?” You chuckled and smiled; his exuberance never ceased to make you grin almost as widely as he could. Almost. Aside from maybe the Leech Twins, no one could smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat…and certainly no one could do so and NOT make it absolutely mortifying to behold. “Sure,” you said, and sat down on a chair, figuring the big event could wait till after he’d gotten it out of his system. “Go ahead, kitty.” Che’Nya let out a “squee” of delight, then made a show of clearing his throat. He then adopted a dramatic pose and waggled his fingers as he tugged on his baggy white sleeves. “Nothing up my sleeves!” he declared…then reached out with one hand. “But something back here…” You smirked and rolled your eyes as he reached behind your ear; this was an old trick, you knew how it- “Boop!” You let out a mousey squeak as suddenly something bopped your nose…then blinked as you realized, instead of a coin, he had pulled what appeared to be a golden pocket watch, tied to a matching gold chain, and had gently tapped your nose with it. Che’Nya grinned as he then lowered the watch into your waiting hands. You blinked as you looked at the gold watch; the outside was etched with your name, and when you flipped it open, the ticking watch hands inside were designed to look like Che’Nya himself (as the minute hand), with you as the hour hand…chasing him with a newspaper. You blinked…then looked up. The catboy’s eyes were very wide, and he was fidgeting anxiously. “Nya? Do you like it?” he meowed, sounding more nervous than you felt he wanted to show. “I…I do! It’s…it’s lovely!” you chuckled, and chastised yourself for using a word like “lovely,” before going on: “How did you get it? Did you…make it?” “Nope. But I have a friend who actually makes clocks and watches. He’s a bunny – actual bunny, not just cute-bunny-like-human, the way you are.” He took a moment to smirk at your blush before going on. “He gave me a discount, so I asked him to make that for me, custom. Oh! And there’s more!” Che’Nya added, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, sticking out his tongue as he focused on trying to fish something out. It took him several tries; he pulled out a yo-yo, a bag of jelly beans, a teacup, and a kitchen sink (you were NOT going to ask), before finally finding what he was looking for. “Aha! Purr-fect!” he exclaimed, and smiled as he handed over a large paper card. It looked like an oversized Ace of Hearts. Curious, you took the card, and realized it opened up; a greeting card. You looked at the words written inside; they were written over an image of a huge, cat-toothed smile. You read them aloud. “Keep Smiling, Bunny. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You looked up; Che’Nya’s eyes were very, very wide again, once again looking anxious and eager. You smiled and stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the nose. He mewed and you chuckled. “Thanks, kitty. I appreciate it a lot.” “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Che’Nya smiled back, swishing his tail happily as his ears twitched again, once again making the piercings tingle like little bells. “I would be a pretty meow-sy boyfriend if I didn’t get you a gift and a card.” “Now you’re just stealing MY puns, that’s plagiarism.” “I think you mean…” Che’Nya paused…then blinked…and tilted his head. He mouthed a few silent nothings to himself…then shrugged. “Never mind. I can’t think of a pun with that. There’s glory for you!” You crinkled your nose, and remarked, “I don’t know what you mean by glory.” “Of course you don’t, till I tell you,” Che’Nya sniffed, and explained: “When I said ‘glory,’ I meant ‘there’s a tough puzzle for you.’” “…Um…glory doesn’t mean ‘a tough puzzle’ though.” “When I choose a word,” Che’Nya responded, sagely, “It means precisely what I choose it to mean. Neither more nor less.” “Yeah, but the question is whether or not you can make a word mean-” You were stopped by Che’Nya placing a finger on your lips. His smile was indulgent, as if he were talking to a child. “The question,” he said, gently, “Is which is to be the Master. That’s all.” You were much too puzzled to respond to that properly…so you instead reached out and gave the mischievous kitten a tickling poke in the tummy. Che’Nya mewed and giggled backing up and placing his hands on his belly to protect it. “H-Hey! No! No tickling!” he meowed, blushing a bit. You smirked triumphantly…but your triumph was short lived, as the moment was broken by a deep, gurgling rumble from the belly you had just poked. GRRROOORRRLLLLBG… “Oooh,” murmured Che’Nya, wincing a bit and giving a more strained sort of smile as he scratched the back of his head with one hand, the other clutching his belly more tightly. “H-Heh…I think you woke up my tummy. I, um…I might have skipped lunch today…” “Awww, poor kitty,” you cooed, teasingly, then grinned back. “Well, thankfully, I asked you over here because I have my own Valentine’s Day gift for you.” Che’Nya’s ears perked up and he smiled wider, yellow eyes brightening. “Nya? You did? How purr-fectly wonderful of you, bunny-bun!” he sang, clapping his hands together in joy, and looking around. “Where is it? What is it? Show me, show me!” A twinkle was in your eye that might have made the Cheshire Cat proud as you stepped aside and gestured to the long table under a tree in the Tea Garden. Che’Nya stepped forward to inspect the table…then stopped in place, eyes widening all the more at what he saw. You chuckled as you looked to the fruits of your labors: with help from Trey, you’d gotten quite the little feast prepared. Half of it was store bought, the other half homemade. Given the spirit of Valentine’s Day, it was a feast that was sugar saturated: the only things not involving a great deal of saccharine sweetness were a basket of chicken tenders from Che’Nya’s favorite restaurant, and a Salmon Filet that you had gotten from the Mostro Lounge. Of course, Che’Nya’s love of tuna was renowned (right on par with Grim’s taste for it), so you had to have tuna at the table…but in the spirit of the holiday, you’d taken a different route than usual. Trey and yourself had looked up a recipe for CANDIED tuna: strips of the fish cured with salt, pepper, and maple sugar. From that point on, everything was sugary: a box of gourmet chocolates and a vase of chocolate roses were obvious must-haves for a Valentine’s meal. Vanilla cupcakes with purple hearts made in icing were also prepared, set beside a box of marshmallow bluebirds. A carton of Neopolitan ice cream was on the opposite side of the cupcakes…and last, but certainly not least, the favorite food of EVERYONE in Heartslabyul, and second only to fish and poultry for Che’Nya’s tastes: strawberry tarts, crisply cooked, and so fresh they were still steaming. You looked back to Che’Nya; his expression reminded you of a meme of a kitten looking at Christmas Tree lights for the first time, and you couldn’t keep the soft “d’awww” that escaped from you. “Like what you see?” you checked. Che’Nya blinked…then looked back at you. “You do know all that sugar is going to go to my hips, right?” “You say that as if it would discourage me.” Che’Nya smirked, and this time HE tapped YOUR nose. “Naughty-naughty, funny bunny,” he sing-songed. You blushed and grumbled to yourself as you brushed his hand away. Che’Nya sniggered, then made a show of cracking his knuckles and neck as he strutted towards the table, big bushy tail whisking about behind him. “Well…you know what they say: time to take the tiger by the horns.” You started to agree…then paused when you actually digested (no pun intended) that saying. “Wait…that’s not-” “ITADAKIMASU!” meowed Che’Nya, as he hopped into his seat at the table…and without so much as another word, grabbed hold of the cupcakes and began to eat. Ten cupcakes had been placed upon a plate, organized into a heart shape. The Cheshire Neko snatched up one of them and, without even the slightest ado (nor any sense of decorum) stuffed the entire cupcake into his mouth. NOMPH! You watched, wide-eyed and very still, as Che’Nya’s cheeks bulged with the cupcake inside his mouth; his eyes closed as he chewed slowly – GRUM, GRUM, GRUM – tail swishing, the look on his face like that of a very happy kitten as he purred softly at the flavor…then – GRULPH! – swallowed the cupcake whole. He licked some crumbs off his cheeks…then, his jaws opened wide again – wider than many would think should be physically possible – fangs parting as he began to shovel the remaining nine cupcakes into his mouth at record-breaking speed. CHOMPH-NOMPH-GROMPH-HROMPH…! You slowly began to approach the table, watching with something approaching awe as the half-cat tore through the pastries like famine was fast approaching. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen your kitty eat so much and so fast, and you knew it was only the beginning…but that never made it any less phenomenal. Between himself and some in Savanaclaw, you wondered if it was just a cat thing to be a living bottomless pit…though while some in that dorm preferred tons and tons of meat, Che’Nya was more well-known for his sweet tooth, when it came to his appetite. The cupcakes had soon been guzzled; Che’Nya next turned his attention to the chocolate roses, there were three in the vase. He plucked one free, and began to untie the wrapping around the chocolate bulb in thin strips… “Hmmm…my bunny loves me…he hates me not…he loves me…he hates me not…” You smiled as you pulled up a seat beside him and kissed the hand holding the rose playfully. “Either one works,” you shrugged cheerily. Che’Nya let out a giggle, and finished unwrapping the rose…before popping the chocolate into his mouth. He smirked around his closed mouth, winked…and then – SCHLUPK! – pulled the rose free. Only the plastic stem, wrapped in green paper, came out…he had managed to ingest the entire piece of chocolate. Che’Nya rumbled and moaned around a closed mouth; you watched as his right cheek bulged, and then his left, as he swirled the chocolate around, letting it melt in his mouth for a few moments…then, he swallowed faintly – GLURK – and you watched as his throat rippled every so slightly, Adam’s Apple rising and falling subtly, as he let the melted chocolate trickle down his throat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, as he plucked a second rose up. “Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is tasty…” He paused…then you let out an “eep!” of surprise as he leaned forward and licked the very tip of your nose. “…And so are yooouuu,” he sang, with a big, teasing smile. You blushed and half-heartedly swiped at his ears. He cackled and dodged, then chomped down on the second rose. You heard his teeth saw through the chocolate before he swallowed, then treated the third and final rose in much the same manner. This was evidently enough sweetness for the catboy, at least for the start, because the next item he selected was the salmon filet. As he pulled it closer, you reached to helpfully grab a couple of plastic utensils from a box you’d provided… …Then stopped short as the cat tilted his head back, and lifted the entire filet up over his head. His jaws fell wide open, tongue rolling out like a red carpet…before he dropped the pinkish-red fish meat in and slurped it up noisily before swallowing it all in one bite. SCHLUGULP! You watched, eyes tracing the bulge the salmon made in the Cheshire Cat’s throat as it slithered down his esophagus, before dropping past his chest, and vanishing into the belly behind his shirt. The shirt fit very loosely, so you couldn’t tell what it was like behind the garment…which only made you feel a bit disappointed… …No matter. Very soon, that would be changing. “Ahhhhh…tasty fishy!” chirruped Che’Nya, and blinked his big yellow eyes at you, one ear flicking as he asked: “Did you get anything to drink?” You nodded and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture, before reaching under the table; you pulled out three large bottles, each containing three liters of cherry soda. Che’Nya clapped his knuckles together his grin widening and eyes all but sparkling at the sight. “Oh, YAY! My favorite flavor! Thank you, bunny-bun!” “Don’t mention it,” you chuckled, and cracked open the bottle for him. The playful feline made grabby-hands at you as you offered him the bottle, which he wasted no time in placing to his lips as he began to chug down the bubbling, fizzing, dark red liquid within. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG… With every swallow Che’Nya took, his neck bobbed and pulsed, the super-sweet, tangy soda pop gushing down his gullet almost by the cup-full. You admitted it was slightly surprising that cherry was Che’Nya’s favorite soft drink; based on color, you would have presumed he’d prefer grape. But then again, the Cheshire Cat was nothing if not frequently surprising. As the soda sloshed down his throat, your eye fell towards the feline’s abdomen again; you could actually hear the fruity beverage dropping down, cascading like a waterfall into his burbling belly. Finally, you saw a sight that made your heart sing and brought pinkness to your cheeks once more: that baggy, ill-fitting white shirt began to became more taut and stretched around the middle of the Cheshire Cat’s lean, lithe midsection. It was finally starting to press out… …And it must have been by quite an amount, because as soon as he finished off the bottle, pulling it away with a somewhat dramatic “Pah!” and tossing it away (one of you would pick it up later; littering was against Rule Thirty-One), he grunted and reached down, adjusting his belt and loosening his waistband, sighing as his stomach no doubt sagged from the weight within… …If that knowledge didn’t make you blush enough, what happened next as the pressure was released slightly did. “BRRRRRUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” the Cheshire catboy burped, surprisingly long and loud for such a slippery creature. He blinked, seemingly surprised at the volume and power of the eruption, one ear flicking…then laughed childishly. “Hoo hoo hoo! I think my tummy’s getting a little bit bubbly,” he cooed, then smirked at you and reached out, taking one of your wrists. “Hmmm…c’mere…feel.” Even if you had wanted to resist, the firm grasp on your wrist denied you that privilege. So, instead, you scooted closer…and blushed more than ever as Che’Nya managed to lift up the veritable blanket of his oversized white shirt…revealing to you the pale, silky skin of his normally concave belly, now swollen by a few solid inches till it looked like he had swallowed a small melon or some sort of ball. The Cheshire Cat meowed softly as he guided your hand to his belly…and then released your wrist as your fingertips, and then your palm, rested over the curve of his midsection. His belly was textured softer than velvet, warm as a heated pillow. When you pressed upon it, it gave ever so slightly under your pressure. Che’Nya hiccuped and then stifled another burp, catching it in his cheeks… “HIC-MMMRRRRRLLLLPH…phoosh.” …Before teasingly blowing the gas right in your face. You coughed and blushed, tears springing to your eyes as Che’Nya smirked lazily at you. “…C-Cat Breath,” you gasped out. “You know you love it,” cooed Che’Nya, licking his fangs and winking…then giggled as he lifted one arm. “Hey, check this out…” He waggled his fingers…and, before your very eyes, the hand that had been there wasn’t there any more. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke; one second the hand was there, the next, it wasn’t. “Nothing up my sleeves again!” he sang out. You rolled your eyes…then yelped, momentarily allowing your hand to leave his belly (which you instantly regretted, perhaps more than you cared to admit aloud), as the hand reappeared, floating in mid-air, and holding the basket of chicken strips. You looked from the hand and the basket, and back up to Che’Nya…who, with his one remaining hand, gave you the biggest, widest “kitty eyes” he could…and then pointed into his mouth. “Feed me?” he meowed, innocently. …You couldn’t decide if that was cute, attractive, or both. You decided on both, and nodded with a wide smile, taking the basket from Che’Nya’s…disembodied…floating…hand (yeah, having the Cheshire Cat for a boyfriend was WEIRD sometimes), and placed it in your lap as you adjusted your chair. Che’Nya “recalled” his hand (it vanished from thin air and reappeared back in place at the end of his arm), and happily wiggled as he reclined slightly in the well-padded throne Riddle usually occupied. You dimly imagined Riddle complaining about cat shedding all over his cushions, and couldn’t help but snicker as you lifted one of the crispy, perfectly seasoned tenders from the basket. “Open wide,” you said. Che’Nya was only too happy to oblige, closing his eyes and letting his mouth fall open expectantly. You could have sworn a puff of steam came from his salivating jaws as he did so…you opted not to comment on it, for numerous reasons. You blushed as you had a very good look at the deep red, saliva-dripping interior of his maw, framed by pointed white fangs, including those two elongated canines that had a tendency to stick out in an (adorable) overbite…fangs that were primed to cut and rip into anything that got too close and tasted delicious… You quivered, suddenly imagining yourself being dangled over that wide maw like a mouse…and shook your head quickly to clear it before holding the chicken strip over his mouth. Your lips quirked as you saw his nose twitch in a decidedly catlike way, ears pricking up happily as he no doubt smelled the spices and seasonings used in the batter to bread the tenders. Without any further ceremony, you let the chicken tender drop…and Che’Nya quickly scarfed it up in three fast bites, like a cat snarfing down a very fat rodent. He rumbled pleasantly, sighing through his nose as he chewed, teeth piercing into the juicy white meat…before – GRULP! – swallowing it down in one bite. Your eyes followed the lump in Che’Nya’s throat as it vanished…and you let out a soft squeak as the cat let out a low, rumbling burp, once again right in your face. “Uuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrp…hoo-hoo, excuse me…more, please!” You didn’t have to be told twice. One by one, you fed the boy with the catlike ears all of the chicken tenders. There were eight in total; the first four, Che’Nya chewed up happily…but with the last rest, he didn’t seem to chew at all, wolfing them down (ironically for a big cat) and swallowing them whole. Hot, moist breath pelted your face, steadily smelling more and more strong as you added food to the organic cauldron deep within the catboy’s core. As you watched him scarf down the last chicken strip, and put away the empty basket, the purple-and-pink tail of the felid hybrid swirled out and swept up the heart-shaped box of gourmet chocolates you had chosen, and carefully desposited it into your hands. You smiled and opened the box. “Any you would like first?” you said, offering to show him the contents…but Che’Nya shook his head, looking quite excited. “Surprise me!” he meowed happily. You chuckled and looked into the box briefly, trying to decide…before plucking up the chocolate of choice: a simple mini-bar drizzled with a spiral of white chocolate. Che’Nya stuck out his tongue, and you blushed as you placed the chocolate onto the tongue directly…then yelped, barely having time to pull your fingers away before the tongue retracted and the sharp teeth snapped shut. Che’Nya chewed a few times and purred. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and swallowed before commenting: “GULP…orange crème! Yummy! More, more!” You smiled wider, and, just as you had with the chicken strips, began to feed the big kitty one chocolate at a time. The orange crème was followed by one of raspberry crème, which was then followed up by caramel, then nougat, then a chocolate truffle… GLUPP-GLUPP-GLUPP… The purple-and-pink-haired catboy happily swallowed each chocolate, purring pleasantly as each morsel was placed inside his mouth and sent rolling down his neck and into his stomach, melting into cream and pooling in his tummy, which gurgled in a happy, high-pitched sort of way as the sugary, milky confections plopped half-solid into the pit. Every so often, his slippery, sloppy, somewhat sandpapery tongue would brush against your fingers, slurping over your hands…the first couple of times, this MIGHT have been accidental…but after the third slurp, you caught the hungry gleam in his golden eyes, and knew it wasn’t. There were two dozen chocolates in the box; two of each kind available. Ironically, the last chocolate you gave to Che’Nya turned out to be identical to the first: an orange crème-filled morsel drizzled with white chocolate in a spiral shape. You reached out to place it in his open maw… NOMPH! “YEH?!” You yelped in surprise and instinctively tried to pull back…and blushed when a playful growl and firm resistance met your efforts. You felt as if steam might be pouring from your cheeks, as Che’Nya had somehow managed to wrap his mouth around your entire hand. You felt his tongue slurp over your fingers as he suckled on you with a deep rumble; you barely even noticed the moment when the chocolate was flicked away and sent tumbling down his throat to join the rest in his guts. Finally, Che’Nya released you – after what was probably less than a minute, but felt like more than an hour – and you absent-mindedly wiped your hand clean with a napkin. Che’Nya licked and smacked his lips, before letting out a short, sharp sort of belch. “BRUPK! Mph…yum-meow!” he declared, snickering at his horrible pun. You blinked slowly. “…Are you referring to the chocolate, or me?” you asked, dryly. Che’Nya grinned and winked. “Yes.” God dang this teasing cat. You grumbled and tried to bap him on the nose…only to swat at thin air as his head disappeared from his shoulders. Just as you registered this anomaly, you nearly jumped a foot in the air as a loud, abrasive noise blasted like an airhorn in your ears from behind you. “BOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” “GAH! D-Don’t…don’t DO that!” You panted, startled and blushing all at once. The belly of the headless body of Che’Nya bounced as his disembodied head spun around in mid-air, laughing good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry!” he chuckled out, and winked teasingly. “No need to LOSE YOUR HEAD about things.” You grumbled and huffed, trying to show him you were ABSOLUTELY mad at him, yes, totally. He blinked, and meowed…then his floating head nuzzled your shoulder. To anyone else, this would have been surreal and disturbing. To you…at this point, it was just Sunday. “Will you feed me those bluebirds if I say I’m sorry?” he mewed, glancing towards the marshmallow birds and giving you his most innocent eyes. You blinked at him…then smiled, and scratched him behind his ears. He purred happily, a cheery smile on his face at the attention. “Sure,” you said, in a warm, simple voice. There was a pause. “Well?” “Nya?” Che’Nya murmured opening his eyes as his head pulled away and floated just out of reach. “Well what?” “Say you’re sorry!” “I already did!” he grinned happily. Your mouth opened and closed a few times…but you finally just gave up, throwing your hands up and half-sighing, half-chuckling before reaching for the marshmallow birds. Che’Nya smirked triumphantly, and his head flipped clear over yours before landing back in its proper place atop his neck, fingers drumming over his already bloated tummy, which inched out further and further… You opened the box of candy bluebirds; there were only a half dozen of them in total. Feeling rather playful yourself now, you mouthed the word “Catch” to your half-cat boyfriend, and lifted one of the marshmallow treats, preparing to throw it. Che’Nya nodded, catching onto what you were thinking instantly, and opened his mouth. You thus tossed the six birds – once again, one by one – into his mouth.

Che’Nya did not close his mouth nor swallow till all six of the marshmallow goodies were dropped into his craw…then, and only then, did he shut his jaws tight. He chewed three times, grinding away at the squishy, spongy stuff…and then swallowed it all in one go. GLULP! A thick, round, distention formed in Che’Nya’s neck. He grunted and thumped his chest as it passed behind his ribcage…then sighed and patted his belly, which let out a deep “glort” as the food was dropped into place. “Oof…nya…I think I need to wash that one down,” he mumbled, and grabbed hold of the second bottle of cherry soda himself. He cracked it open, paused to allow the pressurized air to settle…then unscrewed the cap and rapidly began to swill down all three liters. His Adam’s Apple bobbed and bounced as if suspended in tumultuous water… GLUG, GLUG, GLUG…! You listened to the sound of the soda pouring down into the Cheshire hybrid’s belly. GLORSH, GLORSH, GLORSH…your mind began to wander, conjuring up a mental picture of what it must have been like inside that swollen stomach, as it continued to expand, creaking against the waistband of the cat’s trousers, the pulled-up shirt draped over its upper curve. Dark…swampy…slimy…smelly…the walls ever moving, always working to stir up the contents of the beast-man’s bowels…you imagined being squeezed in-between them, the soda pouring down over your head as the stomach growled hungrily in your ears… …The rumbling belch from your boyfriend snapped you out of it. “GWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP! Ahhhh…you chose the BEST soda, bunny!” Alchemi smiled widely, tail flipping happily behind him as he grunted and once again adjusted his belt, groaning with relief as his gut was allowed more breathing room. “Ooof…I’m feeling kinda heavy now…mmmmrrrrroooowwwwl…” “I’m not surprised,” you mumbled, eying that engorged stomach, which was now bigger than a basketball, tightly compressed behind the waistband of the kitty-boy’s patched pants. Your fingers twitched and fidgeted, but you somehow restrained yourself, watching as Che’Nya rubbed over his belly himself, claws lightly brushing against his sensitive, supple skin… “Oooooh…soooo full already,” he half-moaned, half-purred. “I can feel it all getting sloshed and churned around in there…” He patted the side of his belly and hiccuped before sighing and going on. “HIC! Ohhhh…all that sugar’s making my tummy feel all hot and heavy, too…I might not have much money, but I’m gonna be a literal ‘fat cat’ when it’s all done, I know it…” “One can only hope.” “Nya?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head…then reached for the dish of candied tuna strips, holding it out with a hopeful smile. “Sure you don’t have room for more?” Che’Nya blinked; one of his ears flickered and he leaned close, innocently sniffing at the dish; his gut let out a powerful, NEEDY roar as the scent of maple and that wonderful fishy odor all cats seemed to like teased his tastebuds. He licked the very tips of his jagged teeth. “…Well…no, I don’t have any room,” he admitted. You turned your head down, a little disappointed…not only because you wanted to see your boyfriend even more stuffed than usual, but because you’d really been looking forward to him trying the tuna… …But your spirits were lifted when Che’Nya added, “But I think I can fit more in my belly. Always space for tasty fishies!” “But…you just said you don’t have any room.” “I don’t,” the Cat sniffed, somewhat snootily, and gestured about with his ring hand. “We are here in the great outdoors, and there are no rooms out here! MY room isn’t even at this CAMPUS, so therefore, I can’t have it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t space…” He poked his belly with one finger; it wobbled. “…In. Here.” You squirmed a bit and let out a whimpery noise…which you immediately covered up with a cough. Che’Nya tilted his head, as if confused by your reaction…but you waved him off and simply offered the plate again. “Whatever…go ahead and dig in, you silly kitty.” “I can’t dig without a shovel; I’d get dirt under my claws!” pouted Che’Nya. You responded by giving his belly a light shove…which resulted in him grunting and burping crudely out the side of his mouth. “Mph…BWWWOOOORRRRRK! Heeey, not nice!” he huffed, brushing the burp aside. “Actually, that sounded VERY nice to me,” you muttered. Che’Nya’s face immediately became a smirk, and he playfully tousled your hair. You swatted at his hands with a half-hearted sneer, and he chuckled before finally beginning to eat the candied tuna, picking it up two strips at a time and dropping them into his wide open mouth. He growled, the caramelized coating on the fish creating a sweet-and-salty taste that ignited his tastebuds, making the feline’s golden eyes roll in his head as he crunched them up like pieces of bacon – MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH – before swallowing and chomping down on two more slices. There were eight pieces of candied tuna, just as there had been eight pieces of chicken. After four rounds, Che’Nya put the empty plate down on the table, and purred as he licked and sucked on the fingers of his other hand. “Mmmmm…sooooo tasty,” he crooned, and grinned widely at you. “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted! It’s purrrrrrr-fect! Can I have more of that? Pleeeaaase?” “Some other time,” you chuckled, smiling very wide at the exuberance of the kittenish imp, and pointed to the table. “There are still two more courses left.” Che’Nya nodded, and hummed thoughtfully, one hand scratching his chin, and the other scratching his “slorshing” belly as he tried to decide between the tarts and the carton of Neopolitan ice cream. “Hmmmm,” he murmured…then, seemingly out of nowhere, summoned a silver coin into his hand and looked to you. “Quick! Heads or tails?” “Uhhh…h-heads?” you exclaimed, taken off guard. Che’Nya flipped the coin and caught it again, checking it quickly. “Well?” He looked to you…smirked…and you blinked as his head AND his tail both disappeared. “That,” his disembodied voice answered, “Would be telling.” So saying, his tail suddenly reappeared, and tickled your nose. You sneezed and glared half-heartedly as his head returned with a laugh, and he reached for the ice cream, as well as a plastic spoon. He opened the carton, dropping the lid onto the table…then smirked at you as he scooped up a spoonful from the strawberry side of the carton. “Nya…THIS is ‘digging in,’ funny bunny,” he winked…and proceeded to shovel the ice cream at record-breaking speed into his mouth, arm practically a blur as he gobbled up the cool, creamy dessert dish… GLOMPH-GRULPH-NOMPH-MRULPH…! Globs of ice cream chased each other down the Cheshire Cat’s gullet as he guzzled it up as fast as he could; it was like his esophagus had become a cooled conveyor belt. Idly, you marveled at how he didn’t seem to get brain freeze from slurping it up so rapidly. Che’Nya alternated between the three flavors in a rhythmic pattern: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate…he chowed down, lapping up the melted cream like a cat might lap up milk before continuing to virtually inhale the more solid stuff. He soon finished a quarter of the carton…then half…then two thirds… “Guh…oooof…fffaaahhhhaaaa…” Che’Nya panted, dropping the spoon into the empty carton, and then dropping that into the grass at his feet. He panted, clutching his belly with one hand as the ice cream sat heavily in his belly; his guts sounded like a processing vat at a factory, stirring and swirling the thick mush within, thickened by the sweet, cold cream he’d pumped down into the pit. “BLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUGLP!” he belted out, and sighed deeply. “Nyaaaaa…tummy’s sooooo – HIC-URP! – so gurgly…I feel – HIC! – so heavy…” You were red as a strawberry as you glanced between Che’Nya’s face and his belly. He seemed to know what you were thinking, as he looked to you with his widest, most innocent, most pleading “kitty eyes” and mewed sweetly. “Tummy rubs?” was all he said. That was all the invitation your twitching fingers needed, as you had to hold yourself back from lunging at his bloated gut. You reached towards his waistband; he rumbled curiously as you unfastened his belt, and then the button of his pants… ZZZRRRIIIP! BLORGSH! “NYYYYYYYYYYAAAAOOOOORRRRRRUUUUUUUUUEEEHHHUUURRRRRRRP! Ahhhhhh…sooooo GOOD…” Your eyes widened as Che’Nya’s belly poured out like a huge ball of dough into his lap, completely freed from restraints, surging forth from under the draped portion of his baggy white shirt. His navel was stretched into a tight ellipse, and you felt your heart pound faster in your chest as you looked upon the bloated mass of his middle. “…Eeee…eeeeeeeeeeeeee…” “Awwww…bunny liiiiikes?” Che’Nya breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he grinned at your expression and let out a giggle; his gut sloshed and jostled with his mirth. “C’mon, bunny-bunny…it’s nya-ot gonna rub itself…” Once again, you needed no further invitation. Your hands soon found their way to the warm, soft belly one of them had been pressed to earlier, and you began to tend to your boyfriend’s big, bulbous belly. Across the silken surface, your fingers caressed the softest, most tender portions of the belly of the beast-boy, and kneaded and massaged at the tenser areas. You let your hand wander to the side of the burgeoning belly, the size of a large medicine ball, and gave it a few hearty pats; each little slap made a satisfying thump, like smacking the sides of a ripened gourd. Che’Nya meowed and purred deeply; for several moments, he didn’t move or say a word, eyes closed as he just enjoyed the wonderful gut rubs you were giving him: a gift almost as good, if not better, than the bountiful, super-saccharine feast you had prepared. He lay limp and totally relaxed, crooning and meowing a few times as you scritched and scratched at the upper curve and the sides of his globular gut…being pampered was soooo good… …Then his nose twitched…and he opened one yellow eye. The glimmering golden iris smoldered like a dying candle as he eyed the last dish on the table. An arm draped over your shoulder, momentarily stopping you…and you watched as Che’Nya pointed with his other arm at the strawberry tarts. There were five of them arranged on the plate in a neat little array. He said nothing, but simply pointed into his open mouth, then poked his giant belly with one finger. You smiled, nodded, and paused to grab the plate. You placed it upon his gut…and with one hand gently rubbing back and forth over the center-part of his gastric globe, you used the other to feed him the tarts. The first tart was finished in just two bites…but after that, the cat ate more slowly. His teeth sank into the crispy, warm, buttery crust and pulled away the strawberry filling within with a growl as he chewed steadily before GULPing down huge mouthfuls…but the mouthfuls came with greater gaps between them. The feline breathed more heavily, even letting out little keening sounds as he went on: the second disappeared into his guts in another two bites, though more widely spaced out…but the third went down in three bites. The fourth went down in four…and, at last, the fifth and final tart was eaten in a number of bites that matched the pattern. Che’Nya licked his chops, lapping up some stray crumbs…then coughed and grimaced. “That…th-that last one was…a little dry,” he panted out, clearly finding it harder to breathe from the sheer weight in his bowels. You nodded and reached for the final bottle of soda, offering it to him. Che’Nya eyed it almost distrustfully, very much like a spoiled pet cat not sure what to make of a new brand of cat food…then shrugged and took the triple-liter, cracking it open and slugging it down as he had the two before. GLUG…GLUG…GLUG… The half-cat drank more slowly as he began to drain the final three-liter of strong-and-sweet cherry soda. You watched as it flooded down his gullet in waves. Unable to contain your flustered curiosity, you carefully lowered your head, and rested it upon the belly of the beast-man like it was your own pillow. The first thing that registered was the wonderful warmth of your kitty-cat’s body…then, you could hear the gurgles, louder than ever. The splashing noises as soda slushed down into bubbling mire, making it froth more than ever as the muscular contractions swished the fluid and sludge inside. You closed your eyes, and you could almost imagine those sounds surrounding you…the borborygmi a peculiar lullaby, making you feel as if you could melt away and forget your problems… …Not literally, of course. You were kinky, not suicidal. And besides, while Che’Nya may not have been the most heroic student of Royal Sword…the fact he chose that over Night Raven said something about his ethical viewpoints. With some, like Leona Kingscholar or Floyd Leech, you had no clue if their threats to devour and digest you were truly jokes or not. With Che’Nya, there was always that safety blanket: he really was just a big, fluffy kitten at heart. “Gruh!” grunted said fluffy kitten, as he polished off the last of the cherry soda…and you could actually hear the gases in his belly ROAR as it rumbled deeply before a HUGE eruption sounded off just above you. “BYYYUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLPK!” Che’Nya sighed deeply and let out a long, moaning meow before speaking: “That…was…a GOOD meal..mmmmmmmaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…” You smiled and gave his bloated tummy a chaste kiss. He mewled and wiggled a bit under you, gut sloshing and bobbling more as a result. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, kitty-cat,” you said, and nuzzled against his belly lovingly. “Mmmm…I think I’m enjoying my own way right now…heh heh…” Che’Nya gave a lazy, languid smirk…and rested a hand over your head. He didn’t press down, didn’t exert any force at all…he just let it rest there. That was fine. You were in no hurry to move your head away from his pillowy, plumpened gut. “So…how do you feel?” you asked, tracing circles around his belly button. “Satisied?” Che’Nya growled deeply; you swore you could hear his toes curl in his boots. “I feel – HUUUURRRRP! – ohhhhh…I feel like I ate away one of my eight remaining lives…” He slurped over his lips and added with a low, bubbling belch: “Worth it.” You chuckled and moved your hand down towards the underside of his gut; the softest, warmest, most sensitive part of his belly. He gasped sharply…then sighed, melting at your touch as you carefully moved your hand with a feather-light sensitivity over that region. “Nyaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa…so THAT’S why you’re my favorite human,” he mumbled out, slurringly. You sniggered and gave the underside the very softest of pats, biting your lip and pressing into it slightly, just to feel how very, very warm and tender it was. “I try,” you said, simply, and paused before adding: “It helps that you’re my favorite kitty.” “Well, I’m clever and adorable, so I better be.” You smirked, and responded by giving his gut a shake and saying: “Well, you’re not very humble.” “BUUUUURRRRRRP! Ahhhh…humble is not in a cat’s vocabulary,” Che’Nya responded with a shrug. “Or have you ever known a cat that didn’t show some level of vanity?” You felt this could not easily be denied, so you just decided to stick your finger in his navel and move it around in there to distract him. Che’Nya’s eyes fluttered closed and his tongue flopped from his jaws. He panted heavily, tail flopping limp as he relaxed all the more. “Ooooooooh…bunny? Have I ever told you you’re the Cat’s Meow?” “On many occasions,” you answered, choosing not to remind him he’d used that joke already, too. “Mmmm…well…telling you one more time won’t hurt,” Che’Nya murmured with another shrug, twining his fingers in your hair. You rolled your eyes with a loving smile. There was a pause. “…Thank you.” “Nya? For…mph…for what, my bunny?” “The pocket watch. And…and for just being you. Every greedy, confusing, fun, silly, wonderful thing that is you. I…sometimes feel like, since we’re from different schools, so I can’t see you as often as I like, you may not realize how much I-” The hand in your hair gently lifted your head…and the other hand placed a finger on your lips. Che’Nya smiled with a half-lidded, affectionate light in his eyes. “I realize, bunny. I realize,” he said, simply. Those were all the words you needed, and you gave him a peck on the cheek. He blushed and mewed before letting go of your hair and letting out a deep yawn. “Nya…I think I need a catnap…wake me up before it gets dark, so we can clean up. I don’t want Riddle to have a cow…or a horse…or any other farmyard animal. They’d make an awful mess…” You rolled your eyes, but said you would. “Rest easy, my kitty…and Happy Valentine’s Day.” Che’Nya smiled, but he didn’t say Happy Valentine’s Day back. His eyes had closed, and he had already fallen asleep…but the warmth in his smile, the way his arm tightened around you protectively and possessively, and the lustrous purr that thrummed through his core, said everything for him. You smiled just as warmly, then shook your head with amusement and closed your own eyes as you rested your head happily against his sugar-laden stomach once more. “Heh…asleep within seconds. I guess that’s a cat thing, too…”

The End

#disney #twisted wonderland #kink fic #stuffing #belly #belching #burping #implied vore #fanfic #valentine's day special #che'nya #alchemi alchemivich pinka #cheshire cat #alice in wonderland #royal sword #royal sword academy #we're all mad here

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straykats · 4 years

Text

this isn’t out of sympathy, not anymore

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: requested! originally an enemies to lovers request, but idk if this ending count as exactly “lovers” yet? this is so long overdue i’m so sorry. and the title sucks too rip :(

On a Sunday morning, one would normally enjoy the pleasures of sleeping in; of the sounds of birds outside and morning traffic below. They would wake up late, have what could be considered a brunch, and sit down with a book and a cup of coffee

But that wasn’t how things were for you.

The clattering of pots and pans could be heard, followed by the familiar ticking of the stove.

“Damn it.” With a groan, you roll to the other side and try to block out the sound with a pillow, your mind chasing for a dream long lost. You soon come to the acceptance that it was futile to try and fall back asleep.

This was not the ideal start to the week.

It had been just over a week since Seungmin moved into the flat with you, and it had proven to be an odd sort of hell, fueled by the mutual dislike for one another.

“What are you doing? It’s barely 9am.” You poke your head out of the doorway, squinting at the sun reflecting off the white walls of the apartment.

Seungmin turns at the sound of your voice - something about him strikes you as odd - and glares. “Making breakfast, obviously.”

Any worry immediately leaves your system. “Jeesh, I was just asking!” He ticked you off - you didn’t even know why. It had always been like that since you first met him in school. “No need to glare.”

“Idiot, you were the one glaring at me first.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around.

Oh, he had mistaken your sensitivity to the light as disgust. He wasn’t too wrong, but it hadn’t been your intention. “Yeah, well you can blame the sun. Can’t you do that-” You jut your chin out in his general direction. “-later?”

“Some of us have a lot of work to do, y/n. We don’t all get to sleep in.”

You deadpan. “Seungmin, you do this every morning.”

He throws his hands up, and you spare a thought for how funny it’d be if the spatula flew from his hand. “I’m a morning person. Sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The two of you barely speak another word to each other for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because Seungmin was locked in his room the entire time, but you weren’t too sure that anything would be different if he hadn’t been locked in his room.

When you had put up the advertisement looking for a flatmate (for rent was not cheap), there had been only a few people who had been interested. It was weeks into the academic year, and most people were already settled. Of the four who had contacted you, you had chosen Seungmin, who unfortunately but surprisingly seemed the most tolerable. In hindsight, you thought, it might have been because you felt more comfortable with him. Yeah, you guys didn’t get along, but you knew him, and the people around him. It was a safe choice.

Come dinner time, and you had still not seen Seungmin. Thinking about it… had he even had lunch?

You were aware that he had some major music assignment coming up, worth almost half his grade. He had even bothered to ask you about his composition, to listen to a rough audio file and see how it was, and you had tried to be civil and rational in your answers. Nothing too rude (it wasn’t a bad composition; being rude to Seungmin just came as a habit) but nothing too nice. You’d like to think that your feedback had been objective.

Dinner was nothing fancy - it rarely ever was. You had before you a bowl of rice and eggs, your laptop playing your favourite show. As if he had sensed your earlier thoughts about him, Seungmin comes out of his room. You glance at him - his hair is tousled, brows furrowed and glasses askew.

“So, were you sleeping or working all day?”

When he gives you the weakest glare in the history of glares, you realise what it was that had struck you as strange that morning. His complexion was paler than usual, and you noticed the redness high on his cheeks now.

Stupidly, you dismiss it. Seungmin was old enough to take care of himself. Right?

Nope.

You jump when something shatters against the kitchen floor.

“What are you- Seungmin, what the hell?!”

On the floor, patterned shards of what had once been a cup were splayed out. The boy in question stood with a hand against the counter and another against his head.

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” he murmurs. You could barely hear him, for he spoke so quietly.

“Just- Just go lay down or something. I’ll clean up.”

The shattering had made you hyper-aware of Seungmin - the way he carried himself now, the way his eyes were barely open, his brows furrowed and hands shaking slightly. It was like the sound had cleared your head or slapped you in the face, telling you to wake up and pay attention!!!

“Oh, so you aren’t a complete-” He cuts off abruptly with a groan, holding his head.

“Well at least I’m not stupid enough to force myself to work until i’m… like that.” You eye him with raised brows, but your spirits weren’t really onboard with teasing him. Watching him as he leaves, you start to worry about how unwell he actually was - surely a night’s rest would help, right?

It takes you only a few minutes to clean up the shards - thankfully, the cup had broken into decently sized pieces. There were only a few small ones laying around, but they were quickly collected with a dustpan.

In a stroke of sympathy, you go to Seungmin’s room. He was normally very on-top of his health, and as much as you hated to admit it, it scared you to see him like this.

But when you get to his door, you hesitate. You couldn’t really go barging in, could you? Not that you were planning to be barbaric about it, or come in demanding answers or anything. Instead, you put your ear to the door. If he was still up, typing or scribbling away, you’d bust in and force him to rest.

Not that you cared too much. As his flatmate, it was probably your job to take him to the doctors - or the hospital - if something were to happen. You’d be the one dealing with the trouble and all, and it was easier to prevent it, right?

The evening progresses into night, a sombre silence filling the flat. It must have been around midnight when you heard Seungmin’s door open. You froze in your bed, pausing the music playing through your earphones. He must be going to eat, you realise. He hadn’t eaten dinner and had instead gone straight to bed.

Silently, you leave your bed and watch from your doorway as he peers into the fridge. The yellow light from the fridge was the only thing that lit up the kitchen.

“You need to rest, not mess up both your sleep schedule and your meal times.”

“Has anyone ever told you that sick people need to eat too?” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two eggs. It isn’t until he takes out a pan that you move in.

“You like them scrambled, right?” Taking the eggs from his hand, you crack the eggs into the pan. “Go make your ramyun.”

“Why… are you cooking my eggs for me? And how do you know I like my eggs scrambled?”

“Scrambled for ramyun, sunny side up for rice.” You shoot him a grin. “You’re a simple being, Kim Seungmin.”

You stayed in the kitchen while Seungmin ate. You busied yourself with washing the pan, and then getting yourself a glass of water. These tasks were completed rather quickly, and you were left to lean awkwardly against the counter while Seungmin finished his meal. Would it be strange to go to your room and get your phone? Probably.

Seungmin speaks up, breaking the awkward tension. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t sleeping before.”

“You should have been.”

“I could say the same back to you.”

Seungmin looks at you over his noodles but doesn’t reply.

“Well, go to sleep when you’re done eating. Don’t stay up late. I will call Hyunjin and make him tie you to the bed if I need to.”

You turn and make your way to your room, trying not to laugh at Seungmin choking on his noodles.

“You don’t even have his number!”

The phrase “disappointed but not surprised” seemed very applicable to the scene you saw at two in the morning. It snapped you right out of your half-asleep state.

“This idiot-”

Seungmin was slumped over in his chair, his head resting on his arm. One of his earphones dangling off the side of the table, the other end plugged into his laptop. The bowl of ramyun sat to the side, chopsticks carefully balanced on top.

Making your way closer, you shake him awake gently. It was almost shocking how warm his arm was, even through his clothes - you were a little cold, for it was the middle of the night.

“Seungmin. Seungmin, wake up.” Upon hearing a disgruntled sound come from him, you prod him again. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Why are you sleeping out here, and why did you start doing work again?!”

“Thought I could-” he clears his throat, eyes half open as he sits up. “Thought I could do some work while I ate… Must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit, genius.” You grab his laptop in one hand, being sure not to shut the lid incase you delete any of his work. Using your other, you shake his shoulder again. “Come on, you’re already unwell. Stop forcing your body.”

You walk a few steps towards his room before turning back. Seungmin was still in the chair, hunched back and arms dangling between his legs. His eyes were closed, head nodding as he tried to keep it up.

With a defeated sigh, you put his laptop on his desk before coming back out for him. “Come on, up you get…”

You grab onto his arm and almost sigh at the warmth it radiates. Another hand was on his back to help guide him to his room.

It hits you as you pull the cover back on his bed that… well, you’d never been inside his room. Sure, you’ve stood at the door to bicker, but never had you gone inside. You hadn’t really ever had much physical contact with him either.

You make your escape with a mumble about getting medicine. He’s in his bed when you come back, laying straight and facing the ceiling like Snow White.

“Here, take these,” you say gently, bending down to help him up with one hand. You feel a bit bad, to have made him lay down only to get back up. Handing him the painkillers, you watch as he washes them down with a gulp of water. “Gosh, one minute we’re arguing and the next, I’m your mother…”

Handing you back the glass without a word, he slides back down under the covers. Having placed the glass down on his bedside table, you stay there for a while and look at the pictures he had hung on the wall. You recognised some people - Hyunjin, for one, and another boy with fox-like eyes that you had seen once or twice. You recognised some of the seniors in school too - the ones who had been in a band with Seungmin.

At the sound of rustling, you look over to see that Seungmin had turned onto his side and was looking at you.

“Amazed that I have friends?”

“I- no, I never thought that you were a friendless loner. I just… I mean, I guess it’s my fault,” you admit sheepishly. “I just never really considered your social circle to seem so… wholesome?”

He laughs lightly, keeping his eyes on you. He looked tired, and his hair fell across his forehead. Cute, you thought, and then quickly snap your head around to look at the photos again.

Cute? Well, you had never considered him ugly before. He wasn’t - he was fairly good looking, and it used to annoy you when the kids at school wouldn’t stop talking about the honey-vocaled Seungmin… But he did have a good voice, you has to admit. And he was fairly smart and very passionate about music. But he was annoying. Yes, he was annoying. Too annoying. He wakes up too early, you could never deal with that.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak up again.

“You know, I read a story once.”

You hesitate, having only just settled your mind. Was this an invitation to engage in conversation? To stay? Or just an attempt at breaking the awkward silence? Instead of replying, you take a seat on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. Seungmin takes the silence as a sign to continue.

“There was a prince, and he was sick, and the servant girl never left his side even though he had been a cruel prince. She tended to him night after night, prepared his bath, changed his sweat-drenched sheets.” you crinkle your nose at that, and Seungmin laughs. “But when he was better, everything went back to normal.”

“Did he ever thank her?”

Seungmin shook his head. “He was a prince, afterall. No need for him to thank a servant for doing what they were supposed to do.” He sees you tense. “Don’t worry, y/n, I’m no prince, and you’re no servant.”

“Then you better do your own dishes tomorrow morning,” you joke.

“Ah, no sympathy for the sick?” He pouts weakly. His eyes are closed and his voice is softer. You become conscious of your movements. Subtle, nothing too quick or too loud.

The room is dimly lit. The cool moonlight came from the window, and on the opposite end came the kitchen light, slipping past the door left ajar.

Seungmin speaks up after a while of silence. “You know you can go, right? I don’t need your presence to bore me to sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a smile at his words - an effort to be himself, you realise, but there seemed no real annoyance behind the words.

“Well, you might not need the boredom, but you need to sleep.”

“Touche.”

It takes a while, and you find yourself nodding in and out of sleep. When your head suddenly hits the edge of his mattress, you decide it was finally time to reutnr to your own room.

Your legs are numb, jumping with pins and needles, but you hobble out of Seungmin’s bedroom with only one look back at him, who was sleeping soundly.

It was strange to find yourself the first one awake. The flat seemed oddly empty, and you kind of missed the smell of fried eggs and cooked rice. You open the curtains in the main living area, letting sunlight flood into the flat.

It was Monday. A new morning, a new week, a new beginning.

You look around the flat - things really have changed since Seungmin moved in. Signs of his occupance were everywhere - a guitar pick laying on the coffee table, a hoodie on the couch. His bowl of ramyun, unwashed and left in the sink.

Ah, right. Last night.

Butterflies seemed trapped inside your body as you walked towards Seungmin’s room. Why were you nervous? Surem you don’t normally go to his room to wake him up, but he was sick, right? It was just… a friendly gesture, right?

Friendly. The word struck an odd chord within you.

Knocking tentatively on his door with one hand, you lean in close.

“Seungmin, are you up?”

There’s a hum, muffled by the wooden door. You turn the knob and peer in. It’s dark, sunlight peeking out from behind a closed curtain. You can see Seungmin, curled up under his blanket. It was pulled up to his chin.

“How’re you feeling?”

He lets out a positive sounding hum. You don’t push him further.

“Well, I’m going to make breakfast… do you want any?”

Seungmin sits up, his eyes still closed. You watch as he takes a deep breath. “Yes, please.”

As he starts to pull the covers off himself, you close the door.

Quickly scanning the fridge, you take out some fish and green leaves. It doesn’t take long to cook up a simple meal of pan fried fish and boiled greens. Instant rice is out fresh from the microwave and you’re doing the dishes when Seungmin emerges from his room.

“What happened to me having to do my own dishes?” He asks, as he takes a seat behind the counter. He eyes the fish and boiled vegetables, taking in a deep breath.

“Sympathy for the sick, or something like that,” you say with a shrug. “Half of these were from cooking just then, anyways.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You glance over at Seungmin as he turns his eyes to the clock. He did look better - his cheeks were still a little flushed, but he seemed better. He was moving better too, not as sluggish as yesterday. He looked like he had attempted to brush down his hair, but a tuft at the back still stood up. You hide your smile, turning back to the dishes.

“Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“For last night. Taking care of me.”

With warm cheeks, you stack the last of the dishes aside to dry. “Again, sympathy for the sick or whatever.”

“Y/n.”

Turning at your name, you find him looking very intently at you.

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

You gulp, and the only thing that calms you a little is the realisation that his cheeks aren’t pink from feeling unwell anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly.

He looks up at you, and you awkwardly fiddle with the towel hanging off the cupboard doors under the sink. It was undeniable that something had changed after last night - the dyanmic between the two of you were different now, and you weren’t too sure how you felt about it.

“Okay. Cool. Can I eat?”

The question catches you off guard, strangely, but you nod and take out plates. “I- I was going to just fry an egg for you, but i decided you probably need a change after last night.” part of your brain was panicking - but why? “We had fish, so I thought hey, why not, right? This probably isn’t much of a better meal, but-”

“It looks great, y/n. Thanks.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “By the way, you don’t…” Seungmin clears his throat. “Do you actually have Hyunjin’s number?”

You give him a sweet smile, clasping your hands behind your back. “You’ll never know, will you?”

You don’t, but the slight twitch of his eye and subtle pout are worth it.

Shaking his head, he looks back at his food. He seemed very concentrated on separating a single grain of rice. “I’m just asking, jeesh. It’s an innocent question.”

“Innocent. Right. Anyways, I need to get ready to go. Class starts in a bit.”

You make your way to your room and change, gathering laptop and notebooks. When you exit, Seungmin’s at the sink, washing his plate.

“Don’t strain yourself while I’m gone, okay? Actually, just sleep while I’m gone,” you say from the hallway as you put your shoes on.

Seungmin’s head pops around the corner suddenly, and you see him take a deep breath.

“What time do you finish?”

“... 12:30, why?”

Having finished with your shoes, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Do you- Can I-” He cuts off and swallows thickly. “Lunch? Can I treat you to lunch?”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze.

“As a thank you, obviously,” he adds, but it’s only half convincing.

“I told you, it’s fine. Sympathy for the sick, right?” You joke, trying to ease your nerves.

He manages a small quirk of the lips. “C’mon, let me treat you. And don’t say yes out of sympathy.”

Well, things were different now, right?

“Sure, why not.”

You could see his shoulder relax, a strand of hair falling into his face as he exhales. “Great. I’ll… I’ll meet you at the front of your building then?”

When you give him a nod, you can see him trying to keep in a smile.

“See you later, then.” He pops back behind the wall, and you hear from the kitchen, “Have a good day!”

Letting out a small laugh, you ignore the buzz in your veins as you open the door.

“It’s a date, Kim Seungmin!”

#kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin angst #kim seungmin imagines #kim seungmin drabbles #stray kids angst #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #strat kids angst #stray kids #stray kids imagines

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gevejsbvdj · 3 years

Text

Fine. Pt 1

Okay. I did NOT want to do this. I don’t want it to look like I’m trying to start something. When I made the announcement post, I thought that would be it. But a lot of you got really angry and reeeeally bitter about it, suspiciously enough. I am actually hoping that after I post this, I get an explanation and an apology. I tried to explain to these people time and time again about how I was hurt by this situation but they refused to listen. So here I am, spelling it the fuck out. Also, this account is dead anyways and i am so tired of keeping this to myself. I can’t do it anymore.

That’s enough preamble for now, I’ll make more notes at the end. Let’s get onto the “situation” that was the final straw for me and inspired my complete leave.

For comprehension purposes, this took place in the Crackerbox Palace discord server.

For a warning, I’m pretty theatrical when stressed. If I joke here I’m sorry. I’m going to hold back on the humor.

CW: mentions of sexual abuse, pedophilia, racism, and seizures. You have been warned.

It sounds disgustingly simple, but when I joke about this (to myself, because it’s better than crying about it), I say that me having a seizure was the cause of this all. It isn’t really, but- let me explain.

I was alone, and I was chatting with the people in the server when suddenly- I just felt fucking weird. Initially, I was like “oh what the hell” until I realized that the weird sensation was actually familiar. It’s what people who have seizures call an “aura” or a “ting”, and it’s a numbing, buzzing sensation that’s kind of like an alarm bell that lets your body know what’s about to go down. And I have a habit (you can decide whether it’s good or bad) where I feel like I have to tell anyone around me that I’m going to have a seizure as SOON as I recognize the aura. Well like I said, I was alone. There was no one physically around me that I could tell, but I already had the chat open, fingers on my keyboard, I typed: I think I’m gonna have a seizure. Something like that. And I did. Don’t worry, I’m fine now. The older I get, the less extreme my seizures are for the most part. I got a splitting headache for the next two days, but we’re getting it checked out! This is only context for what happened next.

After that happened I eventually came to and as soon as my senses were recollected and my memory came back, I felt so embarrassed that I told my friends who I thought were super cool that I had a SEIZURE. But I noticed that Ley and Emma (in their genuine concern) were discussing seizures and how dangerous they could be, and was wondering if I was okay. I was honestly so relieved they weren’t laughing or anything like that. Vulture then responded saying “hey can you censor the word seizure, it’s a trigger.”, and so Ley and Emma did so. I was confused by this because I thought Vulture was saying it’s MY (me, a person who has them regularly) trigger, or that they were saying it was a trigger in general? I soon found out that it was a term on our “blacklist”, which makes sense.

So In our server, we had a channel (the prior mentioned blacklist channel) where people can suggest words and phrases to avoid. Phrases/topics that make you very uncomfortable, triggering, etc. Someone suggested that the name “Zack” be blacklisted because it’s the name of someone that manipulated them. And no, not Zach like me Zach, but Z-A-C-K, you know? Anyways, sometimes the sheltered southerner in me jumps out, and someone asking for that name to be blacklisted rocked my world! Even more so that the admins I worked with were willing to blacklist it. I thought, wait all this time I could have asked you all to blacklist a NAME that upsets me? I didn’t know I could do that. Never have I ever been in an environment where something like a name could be avoided to ensure my comfort. While THAT was what I was thinking, when I went to type it in the chat, it did not come off that way to vulture. Here’s what I said:

Vulture took what I said wrong, which is totally fair. Words fail me as they do everyone else, and looking back, I could have done better in explaining what I felt. I’m not blaming them for the misunderstanding, and I'm not even blaming me that much. It happens, man. But what got to me, was them accusing me of belittling or more so INVALIDATING the trigger. Me, someone actually has seizures, invalidating someone being triggered by them. Okay. Here was my response:

My response was unnecessarily snarky and I am still sorry for that. I thought I got better at thinking before speaking but it’s evident that it’s still something I need to work on. However, like I said I’ve never been one to accept it when someone’s trying to have an attitude with me. And no I’ll be the first to say that Vulture wasn’t explicitly rude to me, but I was gobsmacked that someone was trying to tell me how traumatic seizures are and accused me of invalidating them after I just said that I have them frequently. And that even after I explained what I meant, I was still met with an accusing response. Can you imagine if I went up to a homeless man and said “you have no right to invalidate my trauma with homelessness. I read matchbox girl.” Like okay? Also, yes that mod chat had a history with taking everything I said as aggressive or belligerent, hence my telling them to stop that. I was always met with a dismissive and antagonistic response. Remember that. I will get back to that.

Because of Vulture’s immature response, I removed them as chat admin. Do I regret it? Halfway, yes. I should have pulled them to the side and spoke with them about what they did. But looking back on that, after seeing the things they’ve posted today? It’s probably for the best that they weren’t a part of the admin team.

Andy (also known as shadowylemon here) and Cody are partners who also helped me run the server. They were admins,obviously. Andy asked me why I removed Vulture as Admin. I explained to him why, very civilly with the help of one of my friends because my response almost WASN'T. And to be frank, I ignored most of what he said because again I was being made to be the evil villain and I wasn’t being heard. So I ignored him. Also I was on a call so I wasn’t going to break my brain listening to ten people at once. I was so tired, my seizure happened like only a couple days prior and my head was still affected.

I mulled over that whole ordeal for a bit until me and my friend (the same friend I mentioned earlier, who helped me with my response to Andy. Lenny. He also helped me mod there and was the original co-founder of the server) came to the conclusion that the mods were too young. We need an age limit. So I told them, like “hey you guys are fine for now but I think that in the future, we should start having the mods be older”.

At this point I’m super careful with the way I word things. I’m always like that to be honest, as a black (visual-wise, a female) female you learn real quick that you’re the angry one in every situation unless you learn to talk super duper civil. But I didnt think I had to be that way in THAT server, you know? I thought I was safe there. Apparently not. Anyway-

I was met with, again, an aggravated “how dare you” type response from Cody. Which was okay with me, still is. When you work with someone in a group, you’re not going to agree with them all the time. So we were having a pretty civil, short lived back and forth until I mentioned that we tone it down on blacklisting every word. I suggested earlier to blacklist the word “blue” to see how far they would take it and they literally blacklisted it. I didn’t get to say this then, but I’m actually against over censoring, even if it’s supposedly for someone’s mental health. I have ADHD, RSD, on the damn spectrum, all that good stuff, so don’t come for me. But if you’re wanting to avoid words like blue, or a very common name, that is not my responsibility. That is your therapist. The server had people in there who- well English wasn’t their first language, and adding more barriers to their language is, I feel, very inconsiderate.

Cody started to threaten to delete the blacklisting channel all together and was acting really panicky. AGAIN (if I can find the screenshots, I will share) I was met with a very victimizing, whiny response. Like come on now. I told them to please do not make me the aggressor or I will leave.

No response.

So the rest of us were just getting ready to start a call and play some games until we noticed something.

Channels, titles and colors, and nearly everything was being deleted.

By who? Andy and Cody. This is just one screenshot. I wouldn’t include what’s over ten i have saved on my phone.

I was afraid that they got hacked and was being made to delete them. Until I thought “wait...it’s funny how they’re the only mods that are being ‘hacked’ while the rest of us were left alone. RIGHT after I just had a disagreement with them. Oh my god is this a tantrum.” The server then echoed my concerns. Please don’t be a tantrum. We noticed they left and so I dmed Andy. I said “Why” and he blocked me. That confirmed that it was indeed a tantrum. A tantrum because I IMPLIED that they were being micro aggressive towards me. Alright.

Me and the server joined a sort of conference call where we discussed what happened and they asked me questions as well as talked about what our next move was. At the time, I thought I was being dramatic because my breathing was super labored, and my face was super hot, and my heart was pounding. I was furious. There was a tiny voice telling me that ‘hey, you’re mad because after you told them that you were uncomfortable and upset with them treating you like an unhinged angry person, they did all this shit’ but I ignored it.

That is a common theme with me. I know a lot of you think I’m using my race as a weapon and that I call everything racist, but I HATE calling things racial discrimination for that exact reason. I don’t wanna look sensitive, or get called a snowflake. I honestly used to be a self-loathing black person, and you could hurl slurs at my face and I’ll excuse it. My friend group in the 9th grade was mainly racist white people. I’m so glad I grew out of that nonsense but damn some of that toxic mentality stuck with me to the point I never wanted to acknowledge when someone was biased against me.

I mean, how could it be any more clear? Do I think that Andy and Cody are racist? Of. Course. Not. I think that’s why a lot of you got so mad at me when you realized that what you did was microaggressions rooted in racial bias. Because you thought I was calling you a RACIST. I’ve had white people who will march with me during protests say and some really off-putting shit the next day. You can be an ally and make mistakes. You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. None of us is. You have to allow yourself to make errors, and be confronted. Running away cursing and kicking rocks just tells me that you don’t want to listen to black people.

But anyway, we attempted to move on from the childish ordeal and I enlisted the help of new people to help me mod since we were short two, and could have used the help anyway.

We were doing alright, really. One day, though, Joane messaged me saying that Vulture wanted to apologize and wanted to talk. And I was like great now's the perfect time to talk to them like I should have the first time, but wrongly didn’t. So I told Joane to dm me.

Well, Joane sent me a screenshot of some of hers and Vultures conversation.

As you can see I initially did feel willing to apologize and speak to vulture. Because like I said earlier, my snarky response was UNNECESSARY. However, Joane joining in the discussion with her “I can’t understand him which frustrates me lmao” peeved me. As did Vulture acting like I’m unhinged. While I didn’t need to make the “imma blacklist lmao and lol since it bothers you so much” comment at ALL, it wasn’t that deep….at all. Vulture has a habit of virtue signalling too. Their comment “I’m patient and forgiving” is an example.

While I was annoyed initially, I soon felt pretty hurt that Joane would say that about me behind my back? It made me wonder if there was more she didn’t show me. Joane was a really good friend and I loved her a lot so I was extra sensitive about it. I’ve never spoken ill about her behind her back.

Now, this is a recurring theme in this post but let me say now: I am aware that no one is OBLIGATED to treat me a certain way because I was nice to them. Of course not. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt? Talking negatively about someone isn’t a problem, but having them think you’re their friend while doing so is. You know? It’s very deceiving, but in Joane’s case, only slightly deceiving.

So I just didn’t speak to her for a bit. I was already annoyed at having to re-build my server because of a couple of teenagers having a tantrum, as well as things that were happening in my personal life. Also, the news was no damn help at all, you all know. But I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day and I...I hated it haha. I don’t like avoiding people when I’m frustrated, and after I saw what happened with Vulture when I did the same thing, I should know better. Plus I felt bad. Joane was still a friend, and I wanted to get to the bottom of things.

I’m not going to include every little screenshot and whatnot, but I messaged her like hey what’s up let’s finish our discussion. Because I thought that at that point, I had my head screwed on a bit better.

During our discussion, I eventually showed Joane me and vultures conversation, and she acted astonished that Vulture didn’t show her all the context, and even said that they were being irrational. This was after I told her that after everything Andy and Cody did, they made a server with Vulture to which she informed me that she was aware, and she was invited. Honestly, at the time I didn’t think vulture was being irrational. While I said it’s no excuse, PTSD can make us say and do pretty wild things, and calling someone like that irrational feel like ableist language.

So me and Joane had a little moment. I apologized to her, and she apologized to me.

I was sure that after we both had our respective breaks, that we would be good to continue our friendship like normal. Just a bump in the road. It happens

That was until I got a certain anon from Vulture.

She asked me why we were done, but when I went to ask her “what in the world did you say to them” she blocked me.

Sorry I keep showing me messaging them, I just don’t wanna get lied to or something again.

I was really sad about that. I went to bed, and when I woke up, I was still sad. Joane was telling me one thing, and Vulture another thing. She was changing her opinion on a person depending on who she was talking to. It was dizzying and disingenuous and I didn’t even get to talk it out with her because she blocked me. Which was really suspicious. She told me that she would be taking a break from the server and that she still respected me as a friend, but went to vulture and told them that I treated her like SHIT, or at least acted enough like a victim to make them accuse me of that. I’m sorry, but where in the world did I do that? If me confessing to someone that they hurt me is the same thing as treating them like shit, then fuck man a lot of us are assholes.

Wow, look at me treat her like shit. Absolute garbage right?

I wasn’t even being completely honest to Joane about my feelings for that reason. Because of accusations like this. Another instance of someone taking literally me being normal and civil as being AGGRESSIVE. Vulture, I’m sorry for accusing you of utilizing white girl tears. I accused the wrong person. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.

I went to our #vent channel on the server and told whoever was online and whoever was listening about the whole ordeal, and how HURT I felt because I was literally played by this girl. And I was accused of basically being abusive. Treated her like shit? Cmon man…

But another user in the server, as it turns out, had a similar experience with Joane, and provide in-depth screenshots. Which made me even madder, so we kept venting about the situation.

Also, because of a couple of dms, and because the more I ranted, the more pained I got, I felt compelled to say the following, NOW LISTEN CLOSELY:

I first prefaced my concerns by saying “I AM BY NO MEANS CALLING JOANE A GROOMER”. That was fucking useless of me to say because- okay I’m getting ahead of myself.

So I was saying (and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have. I know. But like I said, it was in the heat of the moment and I got a dm that made me feel bad) that it was strange how as soon as someone young and innocent was present, Joane would cling to them in an obsessive way. I’m not the only one who noticed that, and even one of the younger users in question agreed to my statement.

Listen fucking closely. I don’t think Joane is a sexual predator at ALL. That’s why I had that warning before I said anything in the chat. I do, though, think that if you’re a grown adult and you’re obsessed with being friends with people who are as young as 14, that it’s concerning, not in a sexual way, but in a power dynamic way. I’m only 19 and I honestly don’t get older people who become besties with much younger people. I was “friends” with the users as well, but I was a mentor/brother/dad more than anything. Do you understand? When I was 15, I’ve had people who were 20 and older become my friend and dump their adult problems onto me, as well as expect adult reactions and responses out of me. It was stressful and damaging and I did not want that happening to anyone else, especially the younger people in the chat. Okay? Okay.

That being said, my protectiveness is a major flaw of mine. Oh my god, do I take it too far sometimes, man. I didn’t want really young teenagers (13-16) to have a serious relationship with an adult because of what happened to me, and I didn’t want Joane to play and hurt anyone else the way she did me and my other friend. So I went into the announcements channel and told the users to read what we’ve been saying in regard to Joane and come up with your own decision. I did not have to do that, I can sit here and say that the things that transpired the past few days really took a toll on me whatever blah blah blah. But I could have kept it in vent, really. And the dumb thing is, that before I sent that message in announcements, I was literally telling myself that THIS is a bad idea. GOD, Zach. But I was at work, it was the last day before holidays started, and I was feeling super protective and I wasn’t thinking and- well yeah.

During all of this, I was having a conversation with vulture in Tumblr dms. I gathered the courage to finally dm them after receiving the anon. That conversation was on my old Tumblr, so I don’t have a screenshot of the key points, but I typed my starting message in notes, and this is what I said:

“Hi vulture. I don’t want to be here for long but I just wanna ask: why? You accused me of invalidating a trigger and even after I told you that’s not what I meant you still went off on me? You’re mad at me about an inaccurate perception and it really upset me. I’ve been terrified of talking to you specifically because I’ve been dealing with micro aggressions from you, Andy, and Cody and it’s really been wearing me down. And when I told Andy and Cody about their treatment of me, they deleted shit from my server and leave? How do you think that makes me feel as a black person? Makes me never want to talk about my feelings ever again out of the fear of being antagonized. I’m sorry I was snarky towards you, if you didn’t like my remark about “lmao” and “lol”. I agree it was immature. But don’t forget you came at me first. If you’re willing to further discuss this with me then great, which I am sure you are seeing that you asked me to on anon. I finally gathered the courage to contact you so let’s do this.”

We had a brief conversation. Vulture dismissing my microaggressions concerns but really- it happens so much that at that point I was so numb to it. Also a little bit “it’s not about your race. Remember when I…” more virtue signalling. Bleh. But after all, I did thank them for actually wanting to talk to me. Andy didn’t wanna do it. Cody didn’t wanna do it. Joane didn’t want to. Vulture did. And I appreciate that to this day, after everything. I can always admire that about someone.

It ended prematurely because of me. I was at work and got distracted by that as well as by what happened in the server next.

Emma sent a pretty long message basically calling all of us out for “bullying Joane” and talking ill of her behind her back, as well as announcing that she would be leaving the server and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves. This was right after someone confessed that Joane made him feel uncomfortable with constant flirting. I admitted that I should not have put the message In announcements, but guys.

I went off. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I was sick of trying to be docile and sweet. I didn’t care if I would be portrayed as the angry black again I DID NOT CARE. Bullying Joane? Me talking about how she hurt me is bullying? Let’s look up what that means.

Yeah okay. That’s incorrect usage, right? I didn’t even call Joane names. I didn’t persistently harass her. I spoke about what she did to me in distaste, but I was done with her as a friend at that point, and she knew that, so was not going behind her back. I wasn’t being predatory towards her. And I definitely wasn’t being AGGRESSIVE or BLUSTERING. Emma was using broad pronouns and terms (you guys, you all, etc) but I knew she was talking about me, as I was the most prominent in my venting about Joane due to my situation with her happening just yesterday. I sent the most messages, I- while wrong in doing so- posted the announcements. That message primarily was directed towards me. When I say that microaggressions tear you down, it tears you THE FUCK down.

That being said, I did cuss Emma out (she wasn’t present when I went off, but still) and cussed out everyone who agreed with her. I was so blinded by rage and hurt I don’t even remember at all what I said. One line that sticks out to me though is “y’all saw a white girl crying and thought oh man we can’t have that” and that’s a mantra I’ve repeated a couple of times when I find myself in scenarios such as this one.

But- I do regret going off like that. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t justified slightly, though. I don’t expect any of you to understand completely what I went through, but please try. I regret going off like that, though. And I’m sorry.

I guess I was also upset because I was JUST in a good mood? I was literally singing to myself all happy and shit, but Emma’s inconsiderate message threw me off. It’s making me even more upset now that I know why she said that. She wasn’t the only person to tell me I should be ashamed of myself for manipulating (yes, MANIPULATING) Joane.

I dmed Emma in an attempt to fix things, but i gave up quickly. I was too raw with emotions anyways. So I mournfully told her that we probably should’t be friends anymore, to which she responded

Carelessly?...ouch.

From the moment Joane dmed me about Vulture, and the moment Emma sent that message, all of that transpired within three days. Three fucking days and THAT much happened. It was taking a toll on me, that’s not even counting Andy and Cody’s tantrum.

I was in a dark place, still am. I made a post saying that I was going to take a break from Tumblr and then made one saying that I was going to kill myself in the tags. Not exclusively because of all this, of course. So. Much. Bullshit. Happens to me on a daily basis. Abusive parents. Sexual assault. Racism that’s actually violent. Dying relatives. So much. I’m crying as I type this it’s just so much. In real life, I have no friends. Not even fake acquaintances. Yes, I cut off all those people because they were extremely toxic, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have literally no one. That server was my escape. Parents fighting? Open discord. Mental spiral? Discord is there. Just had a seizure? Don’t worry, you have friends. And now I don’t. And all because of some dumb shit that wouldn’t probably have happened if two kids didn’t get mad at ME because THEY were ignorant. I know it’s not good to rely on a server to improve your mental health, but I couldn’t help it. I was desperate. And I really did think so highly of everyone in that chat. I loved them.

I received a couple asks that night saying that I don’t have to hurt myself, I’m loved, all that. Very kind messages. And right when I was going to delete the post (I was so embarrassed for posting it), I got a message from ley that read something like “I don’t agree with what you said at ALL but that doesn’t mean I want you to kill yourself or leave” something along those lines. I thought, really? You couldn’t just say you didn’t want me to leave and have it at that?

I really don’t want to make it seem like I posted something so graphic for attention, man. I can’t stand that manipulation tactic and I don’t want that harmful stigma about suicidal people to be encouraged.

But Ley’s message threw me off. Agree with what I...huh? Then it pissed me off

So I deleted my account. And fell off the face of the earth for 15 days.

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maxtothemax · 4 years

Text

Hawk Annotations

It’s been some days since Hawk came out so I figured I’d post my stupid annotations on here. Putting it all under a cut because, obviously, there are so many spoilers, and I had a lot to say.

Started reading: 7/6/20

The 10th Maximum Ride book

It just came out today and I just got it in the mail so let’s see what this dumpster fire is all about.

2 – well! the world building is already bad

3 – I do sorta like the narrative voice though

8 – there’s so much swearing. wonder whether she’s allowed to say fuck though

she says “feck”???

11 – how is there an even remotely functional government like 15-20 years post-apocalypse

13 – why’d she wait the extra half hour?

15 – “my kids” I’m going to assume this is more of a flock situation than a teen mom situation?

19 – so much exposition :/

23 – I’m really not invested in any of this. Ugh, and I have 400 pages to go… [well, okay, it was more like 375. My hardcover copy was long.]

26 – for someone who doesn’t care about her parents, Hawk sure does bring them up a lot

37 – oh, that’s probably Fang, isn’t it

39 – is that a fucking smiley face? [It actually had J in the narration. What??]

40 – “Anytime I heard the word ‘experiment,’ my ears perked right up” okay just call me out like that I guess

43 – that would make sense

46 – black lab coat? [the future of lab fashion?]

67 – hmm this is weird, I don’t like it

69 – she didn’t really seem like she was into that

72 – …but apparently she was?

77 – I WAS RIGHT

78 – well that escalated quickly

82 – I don’t know how to feel about this

84 – WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED???

85 – has Max been in solitary for 10 years? What the fuck?? [It wasn’t solitary confinement, actually, just regular prison.]

87 – none of this world building makes any sense

101 – this is incredibly poorly written. Barely even follows the rules of reality

102 – It’s also very dark, edgy, “Life sucks deal with it” flavored and I’m not a fan

General note: this is reminding me of Witch & Wizard in all the worst ways. Especially page 105. [It’s been brought to my attention that Gabrielle Charbonnet also co-authored at least one book in that series, so that’s probably why.]

106 – Why does McCallum sound exactly like Trump? [The most shocking part of reading this book was finding out that Jimmy Patterson apparently disapproves of Trump.]

108 – so we’re not ignoring the “he was like a brother to me” thing?

109 – JP has torn this series apart so thoroughly. I hate him.

116 – Fuck this. You killed her after giving her maybe 2 minutes of page time. There’s nothing meaningful about that!! Nothing!!

119 – oH SHIT OKAY

121 – that didn’t make it any better, actually

Everything feels so pointless here

I don’t even want to read this but it’ll bug me if I don’t :/

127 – At least this book is better about describing characters

129 – HOW COULD HE POSSIBLY TELL?? Isn’t Ridley enough to prove it?

Side note: will we ever find out who Rose is?

130 – multiple sets of what now?

133 – HOW DO THEY FOLD TWICE???? [Their wings! Fold twice! How the FUCK does that work??]

138 – I’m sorry what

141 – Okay yeah McCallum is definitely a Trump stand in

145 – that’s not gonna happen

147 – I know Jeb is dead but I would be totally unsurprised if McCallum turned out to be Jeb. [Spoiler alert: he isn’t. Evidently Jeb’s still dead. Good for him.]

148 – Okay that line was actually good [the line was: “I’m Maximum Ride, you son of a bitch!”]

149 – Max ALMOST said fuck. Very nearly.

[God just let her say fuck, she deserves it the most]

153 – well this is fucked

154 – you’re not allowed to judge anyone’s names, you named yourself Hawk

160 – It doesn’t even really feel like the flock is older. Except Nudge, probably b/c she keeps calling Hawk “sweetie”

163 – why is Freak capitalized?

164 – “We try to keep the body count low. Part of our personal growth.” I’M SCREAMING NUDGE IS SO FUNNY

173 – OH SHIT

181 – Crismins? Did they change the word for Christmas?

183 – As usual, Nudge is the only one here who I respect

190 – Nudge would be an amazing mom

I’m actually so happy about Nudge’s characterization so far, I love her. Nudge stan for life.

[In the original series: Nudge who? I don’t know her.

In Hawk: Nudge is everyone’s favorite person.]

193 – “You want a wing! Find yourself a goddamn brain first!” that’s so fucking good actually

203 – Are you fucking kidding me

205 – OH GOD DAMMIT

209 – savage

215 – this just in: horses aren’t real

Hey also where the fuck’s Angel? Did she finally start a cult or something?

221 – “he’d put his dad wings on” that’s… quite a phrase

When did Fang become such a hardass? [Edit: actually he was focused on rescuing Max so I guess that’s justified.]

225 – “eyeless Rain” are we doing the blind mentioning thing again? Really? [JP has a bad habit of traumatically removing characters’ vision and then always bringing up that they’re blind as though that’s their only character trait, and I for one think he should be banned from writing for that alone.]

234 – well that escalated quickly

237 – way to avoid describing Gazzy or Iggy’s wings lol

246 – seeing Max call Fang “my love” is very uncomfortable

247 – Okay, that’s cute. [Cutest scene in the whole book, actually.]

257 – Nudge does have curly hair!!! See!!! [@ Narae Lee: take some fucking notes.]

259 – Gazzy’s environmentally friendly bombs. He should make a business.

269 – “forking”? Excuse me sir this is [definitely] not the Good Place I’m sure you can just say fuck

271 – Oh god I don’t want to think about how old the flock is now

HAWK HAS TATTOOS??

272 – These Ride girls are really prone to fainting I guess. Real convenient for transitions between scenes.

278 – I’m still so pissed that the flock was separated for ten years. Not even in a heartbreaking way—it just feels like there was no point to it

Also: how did they find out what happened to Rose? [Also: why use a random character you just made up instead of characters we already know? Hello? Wasn’t Fang’s gang still around post-apocalypse? Weren’t they all friends by then?]

283 – Oh god, is it Angel?

284 – YEP! And holy shit did Total have a kid or something?

285 – Okay so I was this close with the cult leader thing

287 – TOTAL’S ALIVE??? and remarried?? where is he? [I still want some fucking answers, James.]

295 – what the fuck is with the spelling here? Did Angel really just say “staaaahp”?? [As in “stop” but the 2010 internet way of saying it.]

Did she just say “LOL” out loud??

301 – this feels like when you’re in the car with a friend while they’re having an argument with their parents…

This all feels so pointless. The whole first series was about building a better world, and things somehow only got worse.

306 – wow it really doesn’t take much to set Hawk off

307 – you know what, Max is right

The fact that it’s been 10+ years and the flock still has to save the world is really dissatisfying. [It’s passed off as a “it’s what we do” sort of thing, but that shouldn’t be their fucking lifelong job.]

315 – Breaking news: Hawk is introduced to the concept of daddy issues

320 – wait when did Ridley get here??

323 – why are there so many mentions of wearing ponchos to hide their wings? [There have to be better ways]

333 – this was the only major spoiler I got but even though I had warning I’m still mad about it

355 – “Could that could be sky?” has to be the worst mistype I’ve seen in here

365 – Okay this is super uncomfortable

370 – “200 km per hour” I don’t know the metric system but I’m guessing that’s not accurate [it’s 125-ish mph so… I don’t know enough about flying speeds for this, okay, that’s the author’s job]

375 – How would Hawk know what a geocache is?

378 – so she’s just leaving him to die?

381 – okay, zero foreshadowing on that one

396 – so Pietro lived

397 – so actually everyone lived except for Clete :/

399 – “More Epilogue”??

Finished: 7/7/20

I… have no idea what to say about this one. It was a lot. Some parts were decent, others were boring, and it didn’t really feel like a “new generation” book, just an excuse to show the old flock as adults.

I was pleasantly surprised with Nudge’s characterization, and I really liked the “drop the Phoenix” scene, but that’s pretty much all I liked.

[Additional note: the book had no plot. Zero. Like… there was an attempt, but it didn’t really come together.]

#they speak #maximum ride hawk #hawk spoilers #long post #very long post #annotations #i thought i was done with those god dammit

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

a little help (cadnis one shot)

tol!cady, smol!janis and piggy back rides

Cady has always said there’s nothing she’d ever change about Janis. That every little thing about her-her prickly exterior and loud voice, her obnoxious laugh and habit of bursting into song whenever she feels like it-they all make up her, and Cady loves and adores every piece of her. So no, if you were to ask Cady Heron what she’d change about her girlfriend, nine times out of ten she’d smile and simply say ‘nothing at all’.

But then come days when Janis has the brilliant idea of climbing up a tree to sketch the skyline, falls out of said tree and breaks her leg, and then just for a second, Cady thinks that maybe she’d want Janis to be a little more cautious than she is.

Which is why now, she’s in Janis’ kitchen with her girlfriend sitting at the table and glaring at the cast on her leg, her crutches abandoned on the floor before Cady picks them up and places them against the chair. That only makes Janis glare harder.

Cady bites back a laugh. Janis is kind of adorable when she’s grumpy. All puffed out cheeks and wide eyes and pouted lips that can’t even be tough in dark purple lipstick.

“Don’t look at me with that face,” she mumbles, which only makes her want to laugh even harder. The phrase ‘you’re so cute when you’re mad’ definitely applies here. Janis crosses her arms over her chest and deliberately turns her head away from Cady, the one leg that isn’t in a cast swinging freely. Seconds pass in silence until Cady gives into the twinge of guilt in her chest and sits down in the chair beside her, trying her best to catch her girlfriend’s eye. Her head is turned so far away it’s almost at 180 degrees.

“Janis,” she sighs. “Come on. I know it’s not me you’re mad at.” Nothing. She just keeps swinging her leg. “Look, I know you’re not happy about this. But you… You can’t just ignore me because you’re annoyed at yourself.” She doesn’t reply, and her face remains turned away from her. The novelty quickly begins to wear out and Cady does her best not to be irritated. “Come on, Jan, talk to me. Or are you really going to give me the silent treatment?”

Janis’ lips roll into a thin line, her shoulders shake, and it takes all Cady’s control not to slap her across the face. She settles for punching her shoulder instead.

“You little-”

“I’m sorry!” Janis replies between giggles. “I wanted to see how long I could keep it up!”

“You’re not funny,” Cady tells her, despite the grin on her face. She cover’s Janis’ hand with hers, softly squeezing her fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Doesn’t even hurt.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it,” she replies, raising an eyebrow at her. Janis rolls her eyes, so quickly that if Cady had blinked she’d have missed it entirely and plasters a grin onto her face.

“I’m fine. I mean really, how hard can these things be?” She grabs one of the crutches and examines it, using the end to poke Cady’s stomach.

“They hurt more than they look like they do,” she scolds, slapping it away, much to Janis’ amusement. Seventeen going on seven, that’s how Damian describes her.

“So I’ve got a weapon,” she says, a glint in her eye that spells trouble. She jabs the crutch in mid-air, snarling at her invisible enemy. “No one’s going to come at me now.”

“Hardly anyone came at you before,” Cady points out. “Here, you want anything?”

“Um, it’s my kitchen,” she reminds her indignantly. Oh crap is all Cady can think. Janis pushes herself up and before Cady can stop her, grabs both her crutches, wriggling her fingers as she grabs the handles. Pride practically shines on her face as she stands there, using them to push herself up so her good foot doesn’t touch the ground. “Huh? What do you think, Caddy?”

“Adorable,” she replies, laughter lacing her voice. “Now back to my actual question-”

“I will get us the refreshments,” she tells her. “Thank you very much. You just sit there on your little cute tush.” She hops over to her, and to her credit she’s steady, lets go of one crutch and tucks it beneath her arm before tapping her nose. “Boop.”

“That took longer than necessary.”

“Silence,” she commands. Resigned, Cady watches as she hobbles over to the fridge, silently struggling to keep a grip on the crutches and taking a moment between getting to the fridge and opening it, no doubt to catch her breath.

“What kind of Capri-Sun do you want?” she asks over her shoulder. “We have fruit punch and apple.”

“You really are a permanent child,” Cady says. “Fruit punch, thanks.”

“Says the girl who has a toy lion on her backpack,” she points out. She nudges the fridge closed with her shoulder and immediately finds a challenge. Three things to hold, only two hands. The two drinks sit in her left hand, her crutch dangling from her arm. It’s in this moment Cady sees a flicker of the side Janis likes to keep hidden; the one who maybe needs a little help sometimes, the one who relies on others. Who trusts them. It’s no secret to Cady why Janis hides it. Even if she doesn’t need to, least of all around her.

“Here, give them to m-”

“No ma’am,” she says, shaking her head at Cady’s outstretched hand. “I um… I’ve got this. I’ve got this, watch.” She places the pouches between her lips and grabs her other crutch before giving Cady a triumphant look. “See?” she asks, muffled by the aluminium pouches in her mouth.

“Genius.”

Janis hobbles back over to the table, still shaking in this unfamiliar way of walking, and deposits the pouches on the table, hands free.

“You’re like a puppy.”

“IN the way that I’m adorable and precious and you want to give me belly rubs and cuddles?” she asks. Cady’s insides melt, especially when she bats her eyes like that. This girl may be the death of her, if she isn’t the death of herself first.

“Mm, maybe,” she admits. She leans in and gives her a surprise peck on the cheek.

“You know, we might enjoy these better up in my room,” Janis says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “On my bed. With my laptop.” She lowers her voice and leans across the table with her fist on her chin. “Sharing the same headphones.”

“Did the hospital give you any drugs while you were there?”

“Quite possibly.” Cady laughs and Janis breaks with her, the two giggling in the low light of her kitchen.

“Come on, space alien,” Cady says. “Let’s go then.”

Janis is fine, if still slow and unstable, as they go down the hall, but it’s the stairs that bring them to a halt. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly, the expression so strange for the bold and brilliant Janis Sarkisian. Flat surfaces like the hall are one thing. This is another. Her eyes are trained on the top, her expression hardening as she places one crutch on the first step, then the next and pushes herself up. At least she let Cady hold the drinks.

“You okay?” she asks carefully.

“Fine.” Janis’ voice, by contrast, is hard and ragged and near fully exerted. And that was just the first step. The climb may not kill her, but it may well kill her spirit, especially with Cady watching. Cady cocks her head and looks up the stairs. They may as well be Kilimanjaro to Janis. She would know, she’s climbed the mountain with her parents-

Bingo. That memory gives Cady possibly the best idea she ever had.

“Hey, Janis,” she says just as she’s gearing up for the next step. “Come on here for a second.”

“Mm?” Janis turns to look at her and butterflies flurry in Cady’s chest. No, not butterflies. Fireflies, she decides. She places her hand on Janis’ shoulder and tilts her chin to make her look at her.

“You trust me?”

“Yes…” Cady knows she means it, even if the scepticism in her voice would suggest otherwise.

“Then drop your crutches.”

“What?”

“Trust me,” she says. “I have an idea of how you can get up without them.”

“Okay…” She drags the word out for as long as her lungs will allow and lets the crutches fall to the ground. Cady stores them safely by the wall. They don’t want Janis’ parents finding them thrown around like that. “So what’s your big-oh my gosh!”

She has to sympathise with her here because it must have been a shock. She’s standing on minute, then hoisted onto Cady’s back the next. Her dad used to do it all the time with her, and that’s how she learned. Just grab the arm, pull her up and grab her legs to keep her steady. Simple, and thankfully Janis has the sense to grasp her arms together once she gets her bearings.

“Oh my gosh, Caddy,” she gasps. “What the heck?”

“This is how we get upstairs,” Cady explains. “I give you a piggy back.”

“I don’t need a piggy back,” she says.

“You want to take your chances with the crutches?” she asks. Janis is quiet for a while, her thumbs twirling around each other below Cady’s chin. Eventually, her cheek rests against hers and her heart beats against her spine.

“Fine.”

It doesn’t take long for her to start enjoying herself. Maybe it’s the lateness of the hour, or she just likes being carried around if it’s by Cady, but her breath tickles Cady’s ear as she laughs, her good leg flailing next to her. On Cady’s end, she’s equal parts glad her idea worked and enjoying Janis on her back, although she’s heavier than she looks, and her legs are burning by the time they get to the top.

Thank God her bedroom is on the second floor.

She deposits a giggly Janis on her bed and pulls off her jacket before pulling her hair into a ponytail, away from her sweaty face.

“You’re strong,” Janis says.

“Strong enough to carry you,” she replies, collapsing on the bed next to her to catch her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. Janis lays next to her and takes her hand, her thumb rubbing the back of her hand.

“Thanks for helping me,” she says after a while.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Cady turns on her side and Janis does the same, so that she’s looking into the face she loves so much, all smiles and dimples, sparkling eyes and laugh lines. This is her best look, she thinks, and she strokes the side of her cheek. “Though if you really want to thank me… make me promise.” Janis nods, her face in complete earnest. “Don’t get into any more scrapes that involve breaking bones.”

“Can’t promise that,” she teases. Cady sighs and presses her finger into the dimple in her cheek.

“Yeah I know,” she says before kissing her, slowly and sweetly. There's no need to rush here. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

#cadnis #mean girls the musical #mean girls broadway #cady heron #janis sarkisian #i was thinking danie!cady and english!janis but any tol!cady smol!janis duo will do #behold.... a pointless thing i found bc i needed to write something

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vivxwrites · 5 years

Text

Guardian Angel || Part I

*not my gif*

Word Count: 1196

Summary: I kinda want it to be a surprise...

Warnings: Brief Mention of Death, Some talk about love, Mentions of Heaven

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

A/N: Hi everyone!! I’m super duper excited to share the first part of my first series today!! The idea was given to me by my lovely teammate @aesthetiff because I’m incapable of coming up with things myself and I sincerely hope you are just as excited for this as I am! Ok, enjoy :)

Parts: {I}, {II}, {III}, {IV}

You thought it funny that humans described one of the stages of love as “falling.” Out of all of their silly phrases that one has always stood out to you as the most confusing. The humans liked to use “falling in love” to explain the attachment of feelings to another human but you didn’t see how falling had anything to do with it.

Love was something that had always fascinated you, it was an emotion that Guardian Angels like yourself didn’t feel. For millennia you watched on as your assignments declared their love for human after human, sometimes ending well and other times not. Love encompassed each and everyone of your assignments and over time you found yourself studying it in its many forms. From mothers to brothers to girlfriends to grandkids, love was always abundant and plentiful.

When one of your assignments would pass, obviously at the time they were supposed to (you were nothing if not meticulous), you would spend your time surveying the next assignment’s circle of love to find out more about their life. Your job didn’t demand you know about the lives of your assignments, in fact most of the friends you had made during work refused to get to know theirs, but you had gotten into the habit of doing so.

On one particular year you watched with tears in your eyes as one of your assignment’s wives laid them to rest. They had lived a long happy life but it wasn’t always easy, especially in the beginning. Your assignment was bullied at both school and home for who they identified as and while it broke your heart, it was all part of the process. It was against the rules for you to intervene in an assignment’s life unless an action was required of you to ensure that your assignment remained on the path that was selected for them. In the end, they ended up attending many protest events and became a public figure who did their damnedest to prevent children like them from going through the same harsh childhood. You got to experience their love and passion for their cause and eventually, their wife. You mourned right alongside the world when they died, until you had to move on again. Another clean slate.

You had just arrived back at your office from their funeral, where you were kept hidden with a cloaking spell, when your boss Stan strolled in and slapped a file on your desk.

“Danvers, Carol. Currently she is in her mom’s womb but she is destined to be a hero, a legend. You’ve been assigned to ensure that she follows along that course and to simultaneously protect her from the dark realm. Your success is of the essence. Good luck, (Y/L/N).”

As always, you were ecstatic to meet Carol. You wondered what she would be like and who she would grow to love. Time passed and Carol grew to be a strong young woman, just like the origin of her name stated. At ten years old you had only had to intervene a grand total of two times. At fifteen the amount raised to four and then at eighteen, the number four stuck. She enlisted into the Air Force and you could tell that she would fly (haha) through the ranks with ease. Everything was going just as planned for Carol but you couldn’t help but be concerned over her love life. Yeah, maybe that wasn’t what you were supposed to be focusing on, but at the age of eighteen, an adult, most of your other assignments had at least one person that they loved. At twenty she had gained two loves, but you recognized them as strictly platonic from her side of things. You watched as she was abducted by an alien force called the Kree and as she absorbed the powers of the Tesseract, which you knew to also be the space stone. You were powerless to do anything, as these events were all meant to happen, but you frowned deeply as she aged, still sans love. Carol deserved love! All of your other assignments got someone to love so why shouldn’t she?

You quickly developed an obsession over Carol’s love life. So maybe it wasn’t healthy, sue you; finding love was just as important as fulfilling one’s destiny. You started taking more risks with your job, intervening and sending Carol people who you thought were worthy of her love. She rejected each and every one of them and you grew frustrated. She was such a strong woman and she would only grow stronger, she deserved to have someone who loved and cared for her by her side.

One day you got lucky, Carol was paying attention to one of the women that you had sent her way for the first time ever. You cheered and sent the woman some of your thoughts that you had for dates. Carol responded well to each date she was taken on and so you took it upon yourself to take over the woman’s actions completely. You set up each date for Carol and the woman, who was essentially just a mask for you at this point, and you talked to Carol for the first time. Once you started talking to her you couldn’t stop and so you didn’t. You lived your life as the woman and things were going smoothly until one fateful day: You and Carol were on a date in the park when a raider of the dark force struck her out in the open. Before she could be injured you stepped protectively in front of her and took the hit for her, which was what you normally did- but normally you were cloaked and not visible and not using a woman’s body to hide and shit. You screwed up majorly as you watched the woman’s body perish from the hit and Carol fell to her knees, sobbing.

You rushed back to heaven and hid in your office, nibbling on your fingernails. You were busy cursing in your head when Stan stomped into the room, radiating anger. “Stan! I can explain! I didn’t mean for that to happen, I just got so caught up in things an-“

Stan held up a hand to silence you. He shook his head in both disappointment and dismay. He didn’t want to have to punish you but it was the only way. You were in way too deep with Carol and being in love with an assignment was strictly against the rules. Guardian Angels simply could not experience love. With a swift kick to your behind you tumbled off the edge of the cliff and were sent airborne.

Which brings you to now, present day: you were in love with Carol and simultaneously, you were falling for her.

Falling falling falling, first through the white skies of heaven, then through the golden gate of the realms, and finally through Earth’s bright blue skies. The lush-green ground was getting closer at an alarmingly fast rate and the last thing you heard before impact was the whistling wind that swept you towards the pristine white building in the distance.

A/N: Please please please let me know what you think of it! I really hope everyone likes it because I’m going to make it a series. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist and have a good day. Sometimes we don’t have the energy to do things and I want you to know that that is ok, and that I would never judge you for anything. Thanks, Viv :)

[NEXT]

#carol danvers x reader #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers imagine #my fic #guardian angel series

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captain-aralias · 4 years

Text

Worse ways of writing a sex scene - Hang the Moon deleted scenes

as usual, after writing something, i have a doc with a bunch of stuff that i wrote and then deleted because i thought it wasn’t working, but i liked it enough that i thought... maybe i will regret my decision to delete this and want to either put it back extant or refer back to it.

it’s a random collection of stuff - not the best ideas i had but didn’t use unfortunately. because to end up in the doc, i have to have written whatever it is and remembered to copy and paste it, rather than just deleting it.

as usual - i thought i might as well put it on the internet as not, although the real version is better.

from the recently completed ‘hang the moon’ / ‘the sky isn’t black anymore’ pair - apparently i have:

- one real deleted scene, and some tiny snatches of conversation from ‘hang the moon’ (and that’s it, really - apart from some scenes i thought i would delete, but then put back in)

- some baz thoughts, and three-ish attempts at writing baz trying to explain gay sex to simon. which i clearly absolutely hated writing.

when baz says “It’s just – the Simon in my imagination knew how to do this too. Without prompting” that’s my literal pain on the page.

----

Hang the Moon:

Chapter 2 -

(barely a real deleted scene as it still basically happens this way - but i show it to you because you can see baz doesn’t start the chapter in jeans in this draft - i went back and forth on it. then i thought, he might as well go away and get changed when he gets too embarrassed at breakfast, plus we get the trad jeans moment. also in this draft mordelia is fiestier. EVEN fiestier)

“You should – tell him that,” I say when I can breathe enough to get the words out. “Please.”

“All right,” Mordelia says. She hops off the bed, like she’s going to do it now, and heads for the door.

“I didn’t mean it,” I shout after her (I don’t want Baz to murder his sister in front of me), but it’s too late. She’s already yanked the door open and Baz is actually there, standing outside. He’s dressed for tennis, I think, even though the court is being used. White shirt and shorts.

He steps back, confused. He must have been about to knock.

“Mordelia. What are you doing in Snow’s room?”

“Mum sent us to get the Chosen One for breakfast.”

It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but I’m definitely excited to try breakfast in this house. It must go on for hours. “I should probably get up then.”

Chapter 3 -

(This is the real deleted scene. It’s an alternate version of the scene between Baz and Simon after they finish talking to Fiona. i’m pretty sure it comes after this exchange, or maybe a slightly different version of essentially this exchange:

“All magicians like me,” I say, because it’s true. My magic means that I’ve never had to try to make friends at Watford. “You’re basically the only one who doesn’t.”

Baz huffs. “Well. None of the others have to live with you.”

I deleted what you’re about to read because although Simon getting upset is good for showing he loves Baz, it’s the wrong mood. so instead simon is aggressively good-humoured about it and baz is like - argh, i love him. you can see i kept some of this in the version as written with simon reflecting on where baz will live after watford in the privacy of his own head before he coincidentally finds out the answer on a shopping trip.)

That pisses me off, even though it’s not exactly a surprise that he thinks this. I know I’m a terrible roommate, much worse than Baz. Objectively. (He doesn’t try and kill me when I’m in my room so I don’t think I can count it against him). I leave my stuff around and I snore (apparently) and I leave the window open even though I know Baz gets cold easily.

“I suppose you must be looking forward to eighth year being over,” I say as he hits the bottom of the staircase. “You’ll finally be rid of me.”

Baz stops and turns back towards me. I’m still a few stairs away from the bottom, which means I’m taller than him but it’s still like Baz is looking down on me.

“Simon,” he says, like I really am exceptionally thick. “We’re getting married.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But not really. It’s not like you have to live with me, if you don’t want to.”

Chapter 4 -

(A few extra lines here - although you can also tell from the tense-choice that this was literally going to be the end of the ‘simon snow hung the moon’ scene - then i shifted it into the next section and shoved it into a flashback, which is a good trick for when you really love a piece of dialogue but it’s going to require you to write more than you want to to get to it/when it ends the scene at the wrong point)

“I’ve got a theory that your family uses insults to disguise affection.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

“It’s all right, Baz,” I say. “I know that means I’m amazing and you can’t wait to be my husband.”

“I can wait,” Baz says. “It’s only eight hours.”

---

that’s all i’ve got for ‘hang the moon’. sorry.

---

The sky isn’t black anymore

(fuck knows what baz is talking about in this snippet - WHAT IS THE TRUTH?? i don’t know. i think it’s from the stripping scene. but it might not be. i almost put something like this back in, but in the end, i couldn’t be bothered.)

It’s the truth. Living with Simon for seven years has required an extraordinary amount of willpower on my behalf. And this week has been a kind of blissful torture. Since the day my father told me the Old Families were looking to marry one of our own the Mage’s Heir, I’ve been in agony.

It had to be me, that was obvious. And then he arrived, in that suit – I’ve never seen Simon in a suit before, one that was made for him

I can only hope it’s been even half as bad for him; I know it wasn’t. He didn’t even know he fancied me, he didn’t even know he was gay. But this seems to be torturing

---

OK, here we go. time to try and write this scene.

I squeeze some into his hand.

“Start with your fingers – or, actually, one finger. Work up to three.”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Simon asks as I slide down the bed and end up on my stomach. I can’t work out if he sounds jealous. Or if I’d even want him to be. (He doesn’t have to be jealous. There’s never been anyone else. There could never be.)

“Not with anyone else.”

“Right,” Simon says. (He doesn’t question that statement, thank magic – I’m not feeling so honest I want to tell him about my masturbation habits.) “But you know you have to be on your front.”

“It’s easier. Apparently.”

“Yeah, but it means I can’t look at you,” Simon says. “Which you know I want to do.”

That’s true – he has been unerringly consistent on that point.

I turn over onto my back and Simon rewards me by pushing his tongue into my mouth. One of his hands is wet with lubricant and he’s holding it above me

(and again) (i like the phrase ‘without sounding like a complete pillock’ - classic british 90s slang. might bring it back later in something else)

“I’ll let you know when it’s enough. Then––”

I can’t work out how to say, then slick your cock up and shove it into me – vigorously – without sounding like a complete pillock. So instead I just do what I should have done earlier, what I haven’t been doing or even thinking about, because I didn’t want to frighten him with how much I wanted it. I slide my lubed hand down his cock, all the way to the base, before drawing it back up.

It should just have been a demonstration. One quick stroke, but Simon closes his hand around mine before I can let go – and I don’t want to let go. So I don’

(and again)

“Fingers first,” I tell him. My voice is shaking again, even though he isn’t touching me. He should be touching me.

I take his hand and draw it down my body as I roll onto my stomach. He lets me do it. I feel his slick fingers start to trace a line down the cleft of my arse. Fuck, this is happening.

Is it? He still isn’t quite there.

“Start with one,” I prompt.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Simon says.

“You won’t.”

I hear a soft snort from above me.

“All right,” I concede. “I’ll tell you if you hurt me.”

(and we’re done with that! this next bit is from slightly later in the sex scene. this is where baz has just come but is still getting off on simon’s magic. at this point i thought i was going to teleport baz out to the pond with simon, so he needed his wand with him so he could get back in. i went back and added loads of ‘where is baz’s wand’ into the narrative to get us to this point - and then i was just like, this is too unrealistic, and it’s also more dramatic if baz doesn’t go, so all of that was wasted)

I’m running one of my hands over his back and feeling for my wand in the other. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do with it. I don’t know any spells about gay sex (there aren’t in my library), but there’s much magic here it feels a waste not to cast something. Something showy. Something Simon will like. Something––

that’s all i saved. although i definitely wrote a bit for simon at the end where he says something like ‘If we see your dad, I’m not waiting. Just run’. which i thought was funny - but again, wrong mood. so you just get a glance towards it in baz’s POV about simon being wrapped in the blanket.

the fic was also going to end with ‘on love’s light wings’, although i never wrote it. i don’t know how obvious that is now i told you my trick about putting stuff you like but don’t want to lose into flashbacks. like baz, i love the image of baz carrying simon up to the window, and another major spell that only works if you’re really in love. i would have tried to bring it back thematically by having simon grumble about how he could have cast it and carried baz, if he’d had his wand.... or something like ‘give me a year, i can cast that’. or even just having baz think it was ok to tell simon he loved him - but i didn’t think that was giving us anything new i hadn’t already told you. so - it gets cut.

is ‘let’s go back to bed’ a weak final line? i think it sort of is, because it’s just about leaving a room, which was my go-to ending for a long time. but i thought it worked because the whole fic is about sex and being in bed, and it starts with baz being in bed. anyway - once i wrote it, i wrote a few more lines for simon ...... and then deleted them, because ‘let’s go back to bed’ felt like the ending.

#my fic #my deleted scenes #my content

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rachelsehon · 5 years

Text

Readerly Exploration #4

10/16

Holdaway (1982), “Shared Book Experience: Teaching Reading Using Favorite Books”

“Big Takeaway”

Holdaway argues that using shared reading, a natural model of learning, is extremely beneficial for students as it attempts to replicate learning in an environment where children are comfortable and excited about the book selections, and can see the book closely as they would at home and experience the shared enjoyment from the adult presenting the book.

“Nugget”

I loved the emphasis on the importance of children wanting to read a book over and over again. Holdaway points out how this is learning was “self-selected, intrinsically rewarded, and highly individualized” (Holdaway, 1982, p. 2). I have read books to so many children and have constantly been asked to read a book over and over again, but I have never considered how this could have contributed to those children’s enjoyment of reading as they got older.

*****************************************************************************************************

Readerly Exploration

For this readerly exploration I chose the habit of exploring relationships with other people, through the exploration of sharing an excerpt with a family member. The excerpt I shared was:

“Children who are already reading and writing when they enter school at 5, or who are so ready to learn that they take literacy in their stride, have had a rather different introduction to the real processes of literacy. Some of their deepest satisfactions for several years have centered around their fumbling but excited attempts to read, write, and spell. Almost invariably they are familiar with a wide range of favorite books which, to use one of Bill Martin’s delightful phrases, they can ‘zoom through with joyous familiarity’ (1972)” (Holdaway, 1982, p. 1).

I decided to talk to my 16-year-old brother Jack. Our mom read to us very often when we were little, and I was curious to see if he felt those experiences played a role in his school learning. Our mom would read to us at night before bed. Sometimes she would read picturebooks and other times she would read a chapter from books like The Magic Tree House. I started by asking Jack if he remembers being read to as a young child, which he affirmed immediately. I then read Jack the excerpt, and as he thought about it, asked him if he thought reading at home with our mom helped him to have a positive attitude about reading and learning when he began school. He said that it did, so I asked him to explain. Jack first described to me that he thinks reading at home made reading fun. Like the article talks about, reading was an enjoyable experience for Jack. He then went on to explain that he felt reading at home gave him the confidence to read when he got to school. The practice he received at home began to help him understand what he was reading, which then helped him in school. Just by talking to Jack about his memories of reading I can tell they were very positive. I truly think that Holdaway’s belief that creating this similar at-home reading experience in school can be very beneficial for children. If children love reading so much prior to starting school, shouldn’t we use the same ideas to make school a place where the students feel they can continue to explore literacy in a fun, engaging, and comfortable environment?

*Funny side story- I read my brother the excerpt and apparently did not make it clear that it was an excerpt from an article as he responded with “That was really good!” I then had to explain that unfortunately, I did not write those scholarly words! Although I was flattered that he thought I did. :)

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firesoulstuff · 5 years

Text

Being Human is Hard

An expanded version of this prompt from @agentmarymargaretskitz , because I got very carried away and wanted to write the whole thing.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315074

Gideon feels nauseous.

She has felt nauseous on and off for the past two days, yet she hasn’t actually felt the need to get sick. She isn’t sure if Rip’s noticed, she’s been trying to be discreet about it. She doesn’t think he’s noticed, it normally goes away by the time she should eat something. Actually, she isn’t entirely sure “nauseous” is even the right word to describe what she’s been feeling. She’s felt nauseous before, when she first became human and her body was getting use to actually being alive. This doesn’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel like her stomach is twisting and flipping over itself, but more of an achy feeling. Perhaps the term “stomachache” is more accurate to some human ailments than she previously thought.

Still, now she has reached the point in which she is making a conscious effort to stay standing straight the pain is so crippling, so maybe she should start worrying.

She manages to make it into the galley for breakfast and grabs a banana, she isn’t sure her stomach can handle anything more than that right now, even if she is hungry.

“You alright Gideon?” Zari asks when she lands heavily on the barstool next to her, and Gideon has to fight the urge to groan before answering her question.

“Yes Ms. Tomaz.” She says, wincing as she catches herself using Zari’s last name, old habits. “Or no, maybe not. I don’t know. I think something might be wrong with my body, I’ve felt sick for the last two days.”

Zari looks mildly worried by that announcement, though not so worried that she pauses in bringing her donut to her mouth. She’s been fine ever since she became human, for the most part, but Nora and John had still cautioned her to be aware of her body’s adjustment even as the months passed by, since they had essentially created an entirely new spell to give her full humanity.

“We should get you to the med bay.” Zari says, powder from her donut still coating her lips.

Gideon nods weakly, ordinarily she would probably put up more of a fight over going to the med bay for something as minor as a stomachache, but she is a little nervous about how it’s been getting worse.

She huffs, bracing herself for the simple motion of standing up, and with her palms pressed against the surface of the breakfast bar she pushes herself to her feet.

“Or not,” she hardly hears Zari’s quiet exclamation. “Um… Gideon?”

Gideon huffs, still leaning the majority of her weight onto the counter, but when she looks down at Zari she sees the other women staring at, of all things, her ass.

“What?” She asks, twisting herself and pulling at the fabric of her pajama bottoms because Zari’s face is one of almost worry, and she doesn’t understand why… until she sees it.

It’s like a bull’s-eye, nearly centered on the seat of her soft grey sweats; a dark red circle roughly the size of her thumb.

“What?” She exclaims, panic coursing through her as she tugs on the waistband of her pants, trying to twist the spot closer. Did she sit in something? But there’s nothing on the chair, and… Oh.

Oh.

Thankfully Zari’s mind is processing this much faster than her own, as she is still coming to the realization of what the red spot is when her friend’s favorite red flannel suddenly covers it, the arms of it’s owner snaking around her waist and trying the sleeves to secure it.

“Ok, scratch the med bay, let’s just get you to the bathroom.”

Gideon nods, and suddenly her stomach pain makes a lot more sense.

They walk down the halls of the ship in silence, something Gideon is very grateful for. They pass by Ray, and Sara, but not Rip; thankfully, because he would likely greet her and ask where she and Zari are off to, and that isn’t exactly a conversation she feels she knows how to begin right now.

Of course, her luck runs out at the bathroom.

The door is closed, which means someone’s inside. Zari doesn’t hesitate to knock, though, and the voice that calls out “occupied” belongs to Mick.

“Gideon and I need to get in there!” Zari replies with a roll of her eyes.

There’s no response, but there is the sound of a deep-throated wad of spit being hacked up, followed by the sink being turned off. Mick comes out a moment later, scowling at them both before he simply pushes through them with a growl.

“Thanks Mick.” Zari calls after him, gesturing for her to enter the bathroom.

She does as she’s instructed, and she’s grateful that her friend follows her in before shutting the door. It isn’t like she’s a child with no idea what is happening to her, she is fully aware of what is going on and the methods of dealing with it, but at the same time she is still a little freaked out.

“Ok, um…” Zari drawls, “Do you… You know what it is right?”

“Yes,” She nods with her answer, a little anxiously. “Menstruation. Although I believe the common phrase for it is a period.”

“Good.” Zari nods as well, her hands settling on her hips. “Ok, have you ever had one before?”

She shakes her head, “No.” She confirms, “No, Ms. Darh- Nora, warned me that it could take time.”

If she got one at all. The whole spell had been a gamble, but the chances of her reproductive system working at all had been one of the biggest parts of that. Nora had warned that she couldn’t be sure about it, in any aspect, so this? This is promising.

Another wave of pain hit her right then, of course.

So it’s progress, no matter how much it hurts.

“Ok.” Zari says, turning her attention to the closet. She shuffles various things around until she pulls out one box of pads and one box of tampons. “Ok, do you know how to use these?”

She eyes the boxes, biting at her lip as she thinks that question over, along with her track record with doing things on her own the first time.

“Logistically.” She answers, very unsure of herself.

Zari nods and gives her a quick rundown of each product, and then leaves her with them while she goes off to fetch her some clean underwear and pants.

There isn’t a LOT of blood, which she’ll take as a good thing, and soon she’s all cleaned up with her soiled clothes waded in her hands, along with Zari’s flannel, and she’s back to following Zari through the halls.

“Does it always hurt so much?” She asks as they reach her room, and she really has no idea where Rip has been this morning but she is grateful she is still yet to run into him; she’s still processing this.

“Sometimes.” Her friend answers, while she busies herself in burying her old pants at the bottom of the hamper and, ok, maybe she stays bent over the edge of it for a second or two longer than necessary, but it just feels so good to crouch into the pain.

“It depends on the woman.” Zari goes on, “Mine usually hurt the day before and the first day, but moving around helps, and sometimes I take painkillers if it’s bad. I remember my first one didn’t hurt, or have any side effects for that matter.”

She scoffs at that as she forces herself to straighten up.

“Well lucky you.” She remarks and her friend smirks.

“I was also a lot younger.” She recounts, “You’re a full grown adult, your body can handle the side effects.”

Again, she scoffs.

“Try telling my body that.” With that she flops down onto her bed, because now that she knows what’s wrong with her she isn’t planning on moving unless there is an actual emergency, and maybe not even then. “This sucks.”

Zari chuckles at her proclamation.

“First day’s usually the worst.” She offers as a small condolence, “I’ll get you some pain killers.”

“Thank you.”

Once Zari leaves Gideon lets out a low moan, pressing her head deeper into the pillow. She feels a little stupid for not having realized sooner what was going on with her, but to be fair, she wasn’t even sure this was a possibility for her.

When the pain increases again she closes her eyes and presses a hand down firmly on her stomach, hoping to maybe alleviate some of the discomfort with pressure. It doesn’t work, not really, but it works enough that her thoughts start to drift to what this could mean for her.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that she can have children, but it’s a step in the right direction. Not that she wants children anytime soon; she and Rip have barely figured their relationship out. Not to mention she isn’t even sure if he wants children.

The door opens and she looks over, but instead of Zari standing there and holding the bottle of painkillers and another of water, it’s Rip; and he looks worried.

“Why did Ms. Tomaz ask me to bring these to you?” He asks, to which she chuckles before forcing herself to sit up with a wince.

“Nothing serious.” She promises, reaching out for the bottles and he comes over to the bed obediently.

Taking the painkillers is a test all in itself, she is nowhere near use to swallowing things whole and she actually spits them out at one point before she finally manages to get them down. She gasps once that’s finally done, and Rip is looking at her with the absolutely most worried expression she has ever seen on him, it’s kind of cute.

Still, she does have to ease it.

“I’m alright, really.” She promises, “I just um… I got my period today.”

His face goes a tint of red, and then, of all things, he laughs.

Not just a little bit. No, he stands up and barks out maybe the most genuine laugh she has ever seen from him, even doubling over from it.

“It’s not funny!” She protests half heartedly, standing up herself and regretting it instantly because the painkillers have not kicked in yet and OW.

“I… I know.” He manages between his bouts of laughter, straightening himself up and doing his best to compose himself, though the amused grin is still there. “I know it’s not. It’s just that I ran into Ms. Tomaz, and she shoved these things into my hands and asked me to bring them to you in your room, so I thought you were dying.”

She folds her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at him.

“She gave you a bottle of standard painkillers, and your immediate thought was that I was dying?”

He shrugs, “In my defense, Ms. Darhk and Mr. Constantine both did say to keep an eye on any seemingly random pain that strikes you, as it could be a sign of the spell failing.”

She nods; she often tries not to think about that possibility. It’s been getting easier lately, she’s pretty sure that if the spell was going to spontaneously fail it would’ve done so by now. Still, the idea frightens her, but as the pain flares up in her belly again and she sinks herself back onto the bed she’s convinced more than ever that it isn’t going to fail.

Seriously, how long does it take these painkillers to work?

“Being human is hard.” She groans, flopping back on her back with her hands on her stomach again because, ok, that pressure did help a little bit.

“Really?” Rip scoffs, clearly amused by her handling of this whole thing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She lolls her head to the side, groaning and glaring at him.

“Shut. Up.” She’s blunt, because now not only are the painkillers still not kicking in, but he is being the exact opposite of helpful. “You don’t have to deal with this.”

“I know.” He says, a flicker of sympathy finally in his eyes as he ambles over to the bed and perches himself on it’s edge.

She nuzzles her head against his leg, one of her arms slinging over his knees to keep him close to her. Ok, so this part of being human sucks, but with Rip stroking her hair in the gentle way that he is she just might to be able to get through it.

So long as she gets some better painkillers.

#DC's Legends of Tomorrow #human gideon #zari tomaz #rip hunter #timeship #fanfic

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folie-aplusieurs · 6 years

Text

Birthday!

A bit of a belated birthday present for the most amazing @das-verlorene-kind , who'd requested a scene of Patrick returning Pete's necklace. I do hope this is what you were looking for and I hope you had the most fantastic birthday <3

*an AU of an AU, I have other plans for that necklace lol Just go along with any changes made for this cuteness!*

*Writing is under the READ MORE cut!*

Despite his fascination and interest, Patrick’s never quite understood the humans as well as he supposes he should. Even with the years he’s spent watching them, eyes on the beach and heart doing its best to follow theirs, he’s never grasped the finer details. Why they live scattered and far from each other, preferring solitude to the community. Why they create dastardly things of pain and horror, too like the monsters of the deep for him to feel safe.

Why they fall in love so easy; and why they fall out of it twice as fast.

Patrick shakes these thoughts from his mind as he sinks deeper into the water, eyes adjusting to the darkness in their old familiar ways. It’s been a while since he’s had reason to travel down so deep but his body hasn’t forgotten how to go along with the change. Scales harden against the cold pressure and his body temperature drops to match the chill. A small shudder that has nothing to do with the icy touch of water travels down his spine— a reminder from the stars not to go too far down.

And he won’t. Or, he doesn’t plan on it, anyway. It’s nearly night and the mermonsters should be retreating back to whatever cave they’ve been keeping in since arriving at his beach. It’s a dangerous mindset and a foolish hope but it’s one he holds onto anyway. Certainly, the stars can protect him if he makes any mistakes? Surely, they’ll defend him as he swims after one of their own?

At last, he reaches the bottom of the beach— far from the deepest part of the sea but still low enough that no human would dare come out on their own. Water passes over Patrick’s gills, calming him, and he begins to search. Something bright, shimmering, lucky.

Something in the shape of a sun.

The sand down here is finer and more like a sort of mud or clay as he digs through them, his memory calling upon the image of the star that once hung around Pete’s neck. A sun, he remembers the humans calling it. He’d only ever learned it as another star but, it seems, this is just another human thing he’s not yet meant to understand.

A sun, he thinks, he needs to find a sun in the ocean. A sun, a star, a good luck charm but, in the never still waves and the darkness, there’s no sun to be seen. Patrick flicks his tail harshly, frowning as he circles around.

He was certain he saw it fall down here, certain the stars had been doing more than showing off when their beams landed in this patch of ocean. He’d prayed to them, begged for them to lead him to a sun charm without knowing why its importance weighed so heavily on his mind.

The one thing he understands even less than he understands the humans is himself; he realized this long ago.

But the night goes on and he turns over too many shells and rocks and lost treasures with too little success. His hopes ebb in time with the tide, pulled by the cruelty of the moon and all the darkness she shrouds herself in.

“Useless,” he says to himself in the old siren tongue, the word a guttural utterance of water and breath. He flaps his tail once more, this time brushing up dirt as he does so. He frowns at the specks of brown and grey now littering the water, frustration building up like a storm in his mind. He’d asked the stars for one thing, the first time in years he’s dared question them, and this is what he receives? Dirt and mud and irritation? He swings his arms into the cloud of dust before him, snarling as he does so. “Useless, useless, useless!”

On the third cry, he feels a familiar heat behind his eyes and, for a moment, the water around him glows a brilliant golden shade. Bright enough he’s certain he’s revealed the lost sun; bright enough he startles back, hitting a group of rocks behind him.

As quickly as it had appeared, the light fades and he’s left with his empire of dirt once more.

Dirt and, he sees as he drifts forward cautiously, a small glimmer of silver. Half-hidden beneath plants and rocks, he spots the shimmering light of a metal sun. It’s almost funny how easily the sight makes him smile, how the thought of it hanging around Pete’s neck warms his cheeks. He doesn’t think as he reaches for it, doesn’t ponder on the strange light he’d seen or why he felt as if it had come from him. No siren powers speak of finding lost objects— or none he’d been taught off, anyway— so he brushes it all to the side, tucking the confusion away for another night.

Another night or, hopefully, never. He’d rather keep away from those siren traits, the abilities painting a target on his back in all the colorful shades of stars and suns. If he can just keep the gold and blue that Pete talks so often about, the nighttime moments without the night, he’d be just as happy.

As Patrick cradles the necklace in his palm, he imagines he can feel a bit of starlight within it. What stories would Pete tell of an object retrieved from dark waters and hidden sands? Would he find the magic he always speaks of when referring to Patrick, the pretense that mystery is synonymous with power?

Or would he merely accept it as it is? A necklace of luck and nothing more?

Patrick closes his fist. He shakes his head and begins to swim upwards. It’s fully night by now and he should know better than to linger in places his kind are not welcome in.

Still, with every glance at the treasure he’s found, he can’t help but laugh at his own curiosities.

He can’t help but hope that the descent into darkness had been worth it.

He doesn’t learn about worth until after Pete’s returned, smiling about nothing more than the fact that he doesn’t have to miss Patrick for a second longer.

It’s a smile Patrick doesn’t have to return— not when he’s already wearing his own version of the joy.

They meet on the rocks and they speak of life without each other— as if this is something that can be called life. Pete’s more lively than he’d been before, rambling on about freedom and time and control. No more books to write, he says. Nothing keeping him away from this beach.

“It’s really lucky I was able to get out, you know,” he says, leaning over the edge and drawing circles in the water with a finger. “It’s basically impossible to ever escape the city and celeb stuff. God, I almost got sick of my name while I was there. And no one should ever get sick of their name.”

Patrick laughs louder than he needs to, the exuberance at seeing Pete again bringing every emotion to the extreme. “Well, I always did say you are a lucky person— for others and for yourself.”

Pete blinks in mild shock but smiles all the same. “Perhaps that’s why I’m so charming.”

It’s a human phrase, one Patrick has vague memories of from children telling stories of princes and princesses while their parents weren’t looking, sneaking out to the ocean to share… what were they? Ah, yes, fairy tales with the creature outside.

Charming. Yes. He supposes Pete is a bit like the princes from those stories but the word has other meanings for Patrick. It reminds him of stars casting spells and trinkets passed from kings to sons.

And sons and charms and…

And it reminds Patrick of something else.

He ducks beneath the water without warning Pete, hands scraping along the rocks as the sound of Pete calling his name sinks into the waves beside him. He almost feels bad for ignoring him but it’s easy to push away when his fingers catch on a familiar shape. Cool and rounded, connected to a type of chord or string.

When Patrick comes back out of the water, Pete’s breathing hard and his eyes are wide. “What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” Patrick says, only half meaning it. “I just remembered… Well, I suppose, would it… It has been a while but I thought… Would you mind if I gave you something? It was yours to begin with, after all.”

Pete’s eyebrows furrow together but he nods all the same, though hesitation lingers in the action.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.”What is it?”

Patrick holds his breath— a human habit he’s picked up from the time he’s spent with Pete— and reveals the object in his hand. The charm. The sun.

The necklace Pete lost far too long ago.

“It is yours,” Patrick says softly when Pete’s gaping silence goes on for too long. “I… I may not understand your ideas on luck and charms but… while you were gone, I had thought that you may want it back. You seemed quite fond of it and I know you missed it and… I wanted you to have it back. I… I hoped it would make you… happy.”

His speech is nothing special, tripping over words he hopes mean something. It’s just his luck, his brand of coincidence, that he’d fall for a writer— a master of words and emotions, tying the two together as easily as a fisherman preparing the bait on a hook. Patrick’s always been shy around the humans but it was always for a logical reason: his tail, his fangs, his secrets. Is there any logic in fearing the judgment of his speech?

Pete says nothing but he does reach out. His fingers press into Patrick’s palm but he doesn’t take the necklace back just yet, as fearful as he had been the first night they’d met.

“You… I thought it was lost,” he says, at last, his words nothing more than escaped breaths. Patrick smiles, laughing only because he has no other reaction to give.

“It was. For a while.” When he swims closer to Pete, his body carries all the same nerves they’d had the night he first saw how beautiful a human can be. Dark and wide-eyed, afraid but still leaning into the waters the way no other has ever done before. It’s the same twist in his gut but it’s still so different, traveling like starlight in his veins and collapsing around his heart, keeping every inch of him warm. “I asked the stars to help me find it. Is that okay?”

When Pete smiles— bright and burning, another inexplicable burst of gold and light— Patrick feels the comfortable warmth in beneath his skin explode into a burning heat.

“It’s… It’s amazing, Patrick. You’re amazing.” He pulls his fingers away, leaving the necklace in Patrick’s palm. “I didn’t know it was so obvious that it meant so much.”

“I do not think it was because it was obvious,” Patrick says, head spinning with the need to get these words right, to make sure Pete understands every sound. “I just think that, from the beginning, I knew I you in ways I have never known a human. Understood you even when I thought I did not. And that means I understood that this necklace was important.” He speaks slowly and then pauses, looking at Pete with flaming cheeks, praying for the stars to keep him from hearing the storm of reckless emotions raging through his mind. “Does this make sense?”

“It does.” Pete doesn’t hesitate in his response, nodding still with that smile on his face.

And Patrick wonders if it does, if he’s said the right things. Because, if he could speak in his tongue, he’d use words the humans haven’t had the mind to invent yet. He’d tell Pete how every celestial body aligned itself perfectly for their meeting, how the stars and planets shine only so they can be together. He’d tell Pete how, for the first time, he hadn’t wished to be a human or anything other than what he is— he’d only wished for the chance to know Pete and to have Pete know him in every way no one else could.

When Pete first arrived, he’d wanted a story. Now, more than ever, Patrick wishes he could give him one.

“Patrick,” Pete says and it’s only then that Patrick realizes he’d been pouting. “Patrick, I understand. I promise.”

Patrick’s not sure, not yet, but he accepts it all the same. Another worry to lock away; another rumination to forget.

“Here,” he says, changing the subject. “Let me put it on you.”

Pete laughs and ducks his head, bent over awkwardly so Patrick can toss the chain around his neck. He toys with the latch, pretending to understand it.

He wonders how long he’ll have to accept every understanding as a pretense.

“There,” he says. “I think—”

And Pete looks up.

His eyes are the sand found on the bottom of the sea, clay and starlight melded together to create something wonderful. Patrick finds every grain, every glint, lovely.

“I know,” Pete says, voice low. “I know exactly what you mean to say. Always. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

Patrick pauses, captured by Pete’s words and gaze. They stain him every color of the night sky, golds and sunset reds burning across his skin like the kisses he wishes he could trail on Pete’s.

“I know,” Patrick says, surprised to find he means it. “I know you do.”

When Pete pulls Patrick in for a kiss, lips pressed together with saltwater and stars, there is no need for words or breath. Their thoughts are one— they’re perfect and together and lovely. Understood and understanding; knowing and wanting and speaking without a voice.

They are never-ending.

Pete breaks apart only to slide into the water with Patrick, only to pull him until Patrick’s tail is pressed to his hips and their chests are touching. They’re steady in the rocking waves, embracing and kissing.

And, as Pete holds him close enough for that sun to press itself into Patrick’s skin, Patrick realizes, for the first time, that Pete has always understood. He’s never looked away or turned his back.

Despite everything, Pete’s never been the one to get lost or sick at sea.

And this, Patrick knows, is something he will always be lucky to understand.

#k speaks #i am a bit later than i had hoped but i still want you to have this #fanfic #mertrick #peterick #patrick stump #pete wentz #fall out boy #i read it over a few times but it's late so please forgive any mistakes!#please lol #read more

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