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chxmpionofjustice · 4 years

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STUDY : TSUKINO USAGI ♡

♡ BASICS.

♡ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE? Usagi is the shortest of all of her friends. She’s 4′11″ or 150 cm and yes, she’s fun-sized.

♡ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT? Yes and no. Her lack of height can come in handy sometimes, but it really is a pain in the butt to buy pants. She compensates with shorts and skirts and she can’t really complain because she’s looks amazing in them. And her boyfriend’s face is too far away from hers for her own liking, but standing on tip toe for a kiss feels like something out of a romance, so she can deal.

♡ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE? Long, blonde, and shiny. She tries to keep it cut to around knee/calf length but ever since she awoke as the Moon Princess, her hair seems to want to grow much farther than than of its own accord and... well it seems to get a little lighter over time. She keeps her hair up in her signature odango-and-pig-tail style on either side of her head. The hair style is held to together painstakingly with hair bands and bobby pins, all of which come out when she goes to sleep. Sometimes she’ll wear her hair in two low pigtails when she sleeps but more often than not, she lets her hair loose.

♡ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING? Hahahahahahahhahaha. What do you think? YES. Usagi’s hair is one of the few things she puts real effort into. Her hairstyle itself takes a lot of time to do (She’s got the thing down to a science but it still takes her around 10 minutes and would take anyone else a LOT longer), not to mention what she does to keep her hair healthy. Usagi has a whole basket of hair products in her room, ranging from shampoos, conditioners, hair masks, and oils. Maintaining all that hair is hard, okay?

♡ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK? Yes and no. She definitely cares what she looks like. She loves fashion and putting together outfits so she looks kawaii wherever she’s going (this also counts work as an adult, she will be the girl in the office wearing the cutest blouse and skirt combo with a pair of adorable kitten heels and this will clearly fool everyone into thinking she can adult). But she doesn’t really do that because she cares what others think. She does that for herself, to make herself happy. And if people happen to think she looks good, well that’s a plus. She can be a little vain like that, but who isn’t?

♡ PREFERENCES.

INDOORS OR OUTDOORS? outdoors

RAIN OR SUNSHINE? sunshine

FOREST OR BEACH? beach

PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS? gems

FLOWERS OR PERFUMES? flowers

PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE? personality

BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD? being in a crowd

ORDER OR ANARCHY? order

PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES? painful truths

SCIENCE OR MAGIC? magic

PEACE OR CONFLICT? peace

NIGHT OR DAY? day

DUSK OR DAWN? dusk

WARMTH OR COLD? warmth

MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS? a few close friends

READING OR PLAYING A GAME? GIVE ME GAMES OR GIVE ME DEATH

♡ QUESTIONNAIRE.

♡ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS? HAHAHAHA. Okay do y’all even have TIME to read this? Seriously, there are a lot. To name the biggest bad habit of hers, it’s over-indulgence. Usagi shamelessly indulges in EVERYTHING she loves to the point of excess sometimes. She’s banned from a couple buffets because of her eating habits, the girl is a black hole for food, and will eat whatever she wants to eat. She wastes money on food, mostly junk food because she doesn’t cook.

Despite the fact that she can’t cook, she will buy ANY cute appliance available for the kitchen that she can. Hello Kitty Toaster? Got it. Sailor Senshi chopsticks? GOT THE WHOLE SET (of course for when everyone comes over, they can eat with their designated chopsticks, duh). Mickey Mouse Waffle Maker? BOUGHT (Girl doesn’t know how to make waffle batter). Every single cup she owns has a character on if from some anime, movie, or manga. She even has commemorative Sailor Senshi cups too. Oh you thought it ended with the chopsticks? NOPE. She spends money on plushies, pillows, pens, bags, etc, of her and her friends and does it QUITE HAPPILY. Of course, the thing she buys the most of (besides herself)? Tuxedo Mask. Tuxedo Mask plushies. A Tuxedo Mask pillow case for a body pillow (listen don’t judge her), the rare Tuxedo Mask action figure and the Tuxedo Mask vibr-.... Well let’s just say that she doesn’t only buy every day items with his brand.

A lot of her indulgence has to do with money because she has no impulse control. If she sees a cute thing, she wants it, she buys it. Be it items or clothes. And whatever she buys usually ends up... Well, not put away. Usagi can be pretty messy (it’s a system that works for her, okay), to put it simply. And she’s messy because, to put it quite frankly, she’s kind of lazy. She’s a queen procrastinator who prefers to play games, read manga, doodle, and SLEEP rather than do homework or chores. Usagi would rather do anything under the sun except her responsibilities and everyone who knows her knows this. Boy, do they know this.

That being said, when she is facing her responsibilities as Sailor Moon, she does almost a complete 180. The Earth is her responsibility to protect and she will do anything she has to to keep it safe. Even if it means sacrificing herself. Despite how selfish she can act with certain things (food mostly, she’s like Joey, JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD), Usagi will give herself to save a life in an instant. No hesitation. Because to her every life is precious. The world is precious. So if she has to use her crystal to the point where she has no life energy left to defeat someone evil or divert an asteroid, she will. If she has to throw herself into an abyss to defeat an enemy and save everyone else, she will.

You may be asking yourself why I wrote that all out. “Altruism is a good thing!” I did it because the level of altruism she displays is destructive. To herself. She is so willing to save everyone that if she sees her own demise as the only way to keep everyone else from dying, she will let herself die. And that’s not giving up. Giving up would be going without a fight. Usagi is gonna fight until her very last breath and that’s gonna be what takes her. Unless someone can come up with a way to save everyone where she won’t have to do that, there’s no stopping her, either.

♡ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM? Yes and no. Usagi and her friends have all died more than once. Losing them and Mamoru the first time it happened was absolutely devastating to her. She still has nightmares of seeing their bodies lifelessly laying in the snow. Of watching Mamoru, her prince, die in her arms and then be taken away from her only to become a pawn for the enemy.

The first deaths are the hardest to get over.

And then watching one by one as her friends were taken by the Black Moon (she only BARELY saved Venus, if she didn’t have Mina-P with her, she doesn’t know if she would have been able to go on like she did), her future daughter was corrupted so heinously that she took her own father hostage for her own amusement, and then Sailor Pluto’s death.

I won’t even get into how Galaxia practically vaporized Mamoru in front of her and she was so traumatized that she wiped it from her own memory and was convinced he got on the plane to America. Or how Galaxia also did the same to her friends. There are nights Usagi wakes up in tears with the awful inability to breathe and the only thing that can calm her down is hearing their voices.

She clings tight to Mamoru when anyone gives him an all too appreciative lingering look (seriously, the man is too pretty for his own good, he attracts so many bad guys) because god forbid they end up turning out to be something evil and try to take him away from her.

The long and the short of it is that Usagi definitely has some form of PTSD. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

♡ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS? Usagi had a sunny life and continues to live wearing rose-tinted glasses even when she has to stop and save the world now and then. She has so many fond memories of growing up like playing dress up with her mom, meeting Naru in primary school, playing in parks and going to the beach with her family. She has even fonder memories of meeting her best friends, her sisters in arms, in middle school.

And, despite how it ended, sometimes Usagi likes to think on some of the memories from her past life in the Silver Millennium. How she and the senshi would spend day after day with each other. Memories of her mother doting on her and of extravagant balls held in opulent ballrooms. Memories of meeting the beautiful prince of Earth and of the first time she felt his lips on hers.

She has an awful lot to sort through.

♡ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL? Hell no. She struggles with that idea. The only time she kills is when the enemy has shown their truest form and she has no choice. Otherwise, Usagi will do her damnedest to save everyone. The bad guy included. Because everyone deserves a second chance to do the right thing.

♡ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN? Usagi is known for being a crybaby. We establish this early on when we meet her. So one would think her break downs are loud and dramatic because that’s how she is when she cries. That’s... Not strictly true though. When Usagi breaks down, really breaks down, its because she’s holding onto her pain quietly. Usagi breaks down with silent tears and full body sobs. She breaks down with trembling hands and their white knuckle grip on her pillow that she’s holding against her face to muffle when she can’t be quiet anymore.

She breaks down alone.

When someone finds her and tries to comfort her, it can go one of two ways, either she’ll just keep letting it out and allow herself to be comforted, or she’ll suck it all back in, put a stopper in it and assure whomever it is that she’s fine, really, she was just crying because Lawsons didn’t have any more red velvet cake, honestly.

When Usagi breaks down, she’s at her lowest emotionally, usually feeling horrible about herself. That’s a point that you’d think would be particularly difficult for her to get to right? Right?

♡ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE? She literally does this all the time. Usagi is an amazing judge of character. Not counting her senshi, Usagi has put her life in the hands of people that her allies considered untrustworthy multiple times. And she was right to trust every single one of them. The first one being Tuxedo Mask, then the Outer Senshi. After that, Hotaru. Helios. The Starlights. Usagi knows when she can trust someone with her life and yes, yes, YES, she is very capable of doing it.

♡ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE? Haaaaaaaaaaaa, gosh. Usagi in love is... She loves with her whole self. Usagi is not good at hiding her emotions, even when she’s trying to hold them in. She’s the definition of ‘heart on your sleeve’ because she’s so very open with her emotions and she doesn’t know any other way to be.

When Usagi is in love, you can take one look at her with the person she loves and it’s obvious. We’re talkin’ heart eyes muthafucka. She’s clingy, likes to touch and be affectionate a lot. And, this goes back to her indulgence thing, she has no problem letting her person know she wants them when she wants them and indulging in that. She’s not subtle in anything with her love.

She is very physical in her love, but that’s because that’s how she is. But being in love is also tender. Kisses pressed into sleep warm skin, banter and giggles over breakfast (that the other person made because once again, ya girl cannot COOK), cuddling on the couch or in bed while having soft conversations or talking about their day, going out to spend the day at the park or where ever for a day date, romantic dinners in her favorite restaurants or, even better, at home. It’s secret smiles and softened eyes and soft brushes of skin. It’s being completely open and endlessly patient when the other person can’t be just yet. Usagi in love is both in-your-face and achingly tender.

And yes, I know that Usagi had heart eyes when she saw Rei. Listen. Usagi has a big heart. Like a humongous heart. She falls in love easily. She could say she’s in love with her ice cream and totally mean it, okay? Usagi loves with all of herself and that’s not just romantically. But the type of “in love” Usagi can be in, because of her heart, can seem fickle, even when it’s not to her. Just because she started loving one thing doesn’t mean she doesn’t love something else just as fiercely.

♡ TAGGED BY: @adversitybloomed ♡ TAGGING : WHO EVER WANTS TO TBH

#about usagi;;#dash games;;#GABBY THIS TOOK ME 3 HOURS #AND I DO NOT EVEN CARE ABOUT THE READ MORE AT THIS POINT #DEAL WITH THE LONG POST Y'ALL.

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Bane (DCU) Additional Tags: Reconciliation, Developing Relationship, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bruce Wayne Is Trying His Best, The rest of the family play a very small role, Slow Burn Summary:

Change is a hard thing for people to grasp, even when they’re billionaire vigilantes and reanimated pseudo-criminals.

Going from parent and child to zombie-son-left-unavenged and shitty-father-figure was rough, and trying to find even ground after Bruce and Jason had been so fundamentally changed by Jason’s death had been almost impossible.

But after a year of improved communication, rooftop tacos, and the foiling of a terrorist attack, they find a new normal for taking care of each other.

I have written over 30k words for this gd fandom since the day @setsailslash got me hooked and every day the mania just grows deeper.

Or,

That time I scrapped smut 300 words in because I thought if I did that how would you know they love the hell out of each other and haha here’s 10k of the concept of Third Thursdays instead: An Odyssey

Read on Tumblr:

Change is a hard thing for people to grasp, even when they’re billionaire vigilantes and reanimated pseudo-criminals.

Going from parent and child to zombie-son-left-unavenged and shitty-father-figure was rough, and trying to find even ground after they had both been so fundamentally changed by Jason’s death had been almost unovercomeable.

Acknowledging the differences is key, though. Where it had been obvious to Jason that Bruce’s problem was that he couldn’t accept that Jason’s different from before, it had taken him a lot longer to figure out that he was still holding Bruce to the standards he’d held when Batman was more like a god than a distressed man desperately doing his best.

In retrospect, he reckons that death’s actually an infectious disease. Jason got the blunt end of a crowbar and his rose-tinted glasses ripped right off his face, and Bruce came away only slightly more lightly with yet another heaping of trauma, and a chronic condition wherein every day he wishes he could kill the Joker while absolutely knowing that he won’t. It’s self-enforced suffering; the Bat is ruled not by absolutes but by ‘should’s and ‘shouldn’t’s, because ‘can’ and ‘can’t’s are too thin a line for him.

It’s been a fistful of years since Jason’s gone full-time on this Red Hood the crime lord thing, and Gotham’s calmer than she’s ever been; if he wants to have the streets crime-freeish, he just tells his underlings to work less.

Heading a criminal empire provides a much better work-life balance than being Robin, and don’t that hit like a bullet to the head?

(Hahaha.)

It’s been a fistful of years since he woke up, and Jason thinks it’s about time that he have a sit-down with Bruce, because they really fuckin’ need to talk about change and loss.

So he orchestrates a casual heist on a quiet night, and sits at the rooftop of the Natural History Museum with a hunk of meteorite that’s ever-so-lightly laced with Kryptonite, and waits.

It’s frigid as fuck for late April, but to be a Gothamite you sure do have to earn it, and ‘it’ sometimes means sleet down the back of your neck in the middle of the night while you’re trying to meet a man. The helmet’s keeping his head dry and muggy as always, but Lord god he might need to come up with an on-brand scarf design to protect the gap between nape and jacket if the weather keeps being Like This.

Jason’s halfway through troubleshooting the concept of a leather scarf when heavy boots land dramatically on the top of the building, the quiet hiss of a grapple line disengaging in the background.

That’s a thing, too. Bruce generally errs on the side of being Creepy and Looming and a shadow creature of eldritch horror to get people to fear the Batman, but he’s all big loud moves when he’s with Jason, all shout-y and hand gesture-y and frowny. The mystique of him in full-on Bat mode disappears when Bruce strides towards him briskly like an agitated goose coming in for an attack, while his cape just drags on the floor instead of obscuring his fundamental humanity.

Bruce had made more of an effort to keep up the persona back before, tried harder to seem significantly less mortal with the cowl on. Now he’s just all human all the time around him, and Jason sees that Bruce is always bleeding out, only sometimes literally.

“Hey, B,” he calls out, though his helmet probably glows like a beacon to where he’s sat on the water tank.

“Red Hood,” Bruce growls out, too professional to use real names, but too worked-up to not be angry. “Why are you stealing Kryptonite? If this is a plot against Superman, I have no choice but to-”

Ain’t that a joke and a half. “No choice but to do what, B? For the guy calling all the shots all the time, you’re talking some pretty amazing shit.”

At that Bruce doesn’t snap back, turning this way and that instead to do a sweep of the roof before he seems satisfied. “Hood, if this is a plea for attention-”

“Ding ding ding,” Jason says as he unlocks his helmet and takes it off, groaning a little when the light drizzle hits his overheated scalp. “Got half of it in one. I’m not pleading for your attention, B, but I am going to get it. We’re going to talk.”

It’s a new technique, just for today. Usually, any interaction between them turns into a clash; somebody lashes out and the other hits back, and fifteen minutes later either somebody’s bloody or they’ve stormed dramatically off the side of a building.

Today, Jason’s going to pull a Batman ( Thou shalt not steal (the tyres off the Batmobile), Thou shalt not kill (the Joker) ) and put down lines in the sand, make this a lawful argument instead of a raging one.

Getting pissed on by freezing April showers, Jason’s feeling unusually benevolent. It makes him want to laugh, a little, that Bruce has the time and the luxury to be angry with him on a rooftop right now because that’s what Jason wanted to do tonight.

It seems to work, though. Bruce is quiet for the longest time, before he comes closer, clearly wary. “So talk.”

“Much as though I love looking down on you, old man, calm yourself down and just come sit with me. You know as well as me that this place’s in a blindspot, so get up here already.”

Another line, another non-request. Jason expects that he’s going to have to wear Bruce down with this, but instead there’s the quiet boom! of the grapple going off, and in six and a half seconds flat, he’s got a seatmate.

Facing the same way, they have as good of a view as you can get of Gotham; the museum’s on a hill close to the bay, and from here you can make out the city lights and the barest outlines of buildings through the mist and rain. Even the looming hills that cocoon the city and contribute hugely to the awful weather and spectacular air pollution are visible, if you squint.

Absently, Jason notes that this is the longest they’ve gone in a while without either of them shouting, even if Bruce is radiating enough tension to heat up a house.

“So,” Jason starts them off, because he should expect no help from the dumbass next to him, “you know that I, like, died, right, B?”

The sharp intake of breath is like a reflex at this point; if Jason ever wants to get a punch in all he needs to do is look Bruce in the eye and remind him of Jason’s death and bam ! An opening right there.

That’s not the point tonight, though. Not quite.

He keeps going before Bruce can interrupt. “I know you know I did, B. I know you blame yourself for it, and you blame me for being angry you didn’t kill Joker, and then you go back to blaming yourself for not actually killing the fucker anyways. You’re all twisted up inside, and you probably always have been, and I guess the thing is I kinda only noticed that recently.”

So recently, he realised it mid-conversation. Wow.

“If you only wanted me to come so that you can berate me, Hood, I have better things to do,” Bruce says, terse and hideously impersonal.

Jesus, he’s bleeding out right now.

Jason nudges him in the side, but mostly just bruises his elbow on kevlar and leather. “It’s not about that. If I was berating you, I would be real fucking clear about it. I just need you to get through your thick skull, that the boy you took in and did your best to kinda take care of, he died and you mourned him and you’re still mourning him, and that’s fine .” It isn’t, not really, because Jason wants Bruce to mourn him , but that’s just a whole ‘nother kettle of fucking fish, really. “He died, and I came ‘round in his place, and we’re not the same people. Death really changes a man, you know, and I’m not your son anymore. I made my peace with that.” Sort of. -ish. Enough to function, enough to know they need this conversation.

He turns to look at Bruce, right at the eery white lenses. “The question is,” he says with a heaviness he doesn’t usually like to show, “have you?”

Lenses can’t blink, obviously, but Jason’s looked at and thought about this man long enough and often enough that he knows what’s going on even when Bruce’s face is obscured.

It’s a stare-off that Bruce somehow loses. He looks away, jaw still clenched tight. Jason can see the muscles twitching there, can almost hear the grinding. If he closes his eyes he can even imagine the little purple case and the clear night guard that Bruce has on the counter in his bathroom.

He wonders if the case is still covered in the stickers that first Dick, and then he himself had covered it in. He wonders if the tradition continued with the newer Robins, and if the guard and the case is still there, or if Bruce in his unwinding madness had just, god, laser-cut his teeth so that they wouldn’t touch or something.

Bruce’s answer is a long time coming, but it does come, eventually. “No,” Bruce tells him like it’s truth taken through torture. “No, I haven’t.”

(It is, truth taken through torture).

Any admission of weakness was well beyond anything Jason expected, and while his first inclination is to take that given inch and make it a vicious mile, to mock the absolute hell out of Bruce, he doesn’t.

Instead, he finds himself scooting over closer, close enough that their shoulders are touching. Bruce flinches, and Jason ignores the tell of discomfort.

“That’s all right,” Jason tells him, mostly meaning it. “He died for me too, you know. So at least this time, B, you got a mourning buddy.”

They sit in silence for a long, long time, until Batman’s communicator goes off and the spell’s broken. Bruce doesn’t say anything after the transmission’s fed right into his ear, just leaps off the water tank and lands on cat-quiet feet on the roof.

It’s as clear a sign as anything that their potential bonding’s come to an end, and Jason’s resigned to going back to his ratty apartment and rage-eating some cold pizza.

Instead of leaping right into action, though, Bruce turns and looks up at him. He holds up his hand, and it’s the stupid chunk of greenish rock. Jason rolls his eyes, but can’t help breaking into a grin. How a man so big and imposing got around to having such sticky fingers is pretty impressive.

“Thank you, Jason.”

It’s the first time tonight Bruce has actually called him by his name, and it’s such a wholesale fucking miracle that Jason is actually left speechless as Batman smirks, turns on his heel so that his cape snaps out dramatically, and disappears.

They meet up semi-often, after that. Jason sent out a company-wide memo; every third Thursday, everybody just stay the fuck at home. Anybody found breaking the order gets to have some personal one-on-one time with Jason and his favourite toy for the week, and about two months after that first meeting, Gotham’s taken to scheduling their outdoor celebrations and festivities to take advantage of the periodic significant decrease in shit like gun violence and kidnappings.

Jason’s got no complaints; it means that whatever rooftop they end up on, they get a view of lanterns and glossy food-trucks, loud music booming up to the rafters even though it’s the middle of the workweek. There’s a taquería-on-wheels that usually sets up shop on the corner of King and 18th, and Jason’s made it his mission in life to make a pilgrimage to it every haloed Thursday to get half a dozen pulled pork tacos. He does it partly because they literally are the best tacos he’s ever had in his life, and also partly because if it’s the matriarch María José at the cashier she will inevitably pinch his cheeks, call him handsome, and give him a glass of rice milk on the house so’s that he can grow some more.

Three months into this, whatever the hell this is, and a whole two tacos regularly go to Bruce, despite the fact that Bruce always comes by with food from whichever truck he buys out that night, a takeaway bag for them and the rest sent to the charitable organisation du jour .

Jason feels a weird sense of satisfaction in providing , though, so he always says he’ll bring home whatever Bruce’s brought to eat later, and instead has them share his tacos and drink and whatever corner store trash takes his fancy on the day. Trying to get Bruce to just go with the damned flow is a lot like trying to socialise the world’s most paranoid cat, and the first time that comparison occurred to him Jason had laughed to himself because he thought it was hilarious.

It came in a little later that cats that are paranoid and wary of people usually have a damn good reason for being so, and if that ain’t just the world’s most relatable shit….

The meeting after that realisation Jason had splurged on two horchatas as well as some churros, and when María José had asked if it was for a date, he had said of course not, ma’am, I’ve still got my eye on you , but in his head he thought Jesus, maybe .

By the fifth time they meet for what amounts to late-night snacks and aching chats, Jason notices and works very hard not to mention that Bruce has foregone the heavily-armoured suit that he usually wears on patrol, and is instead in the Batsuit Lite™, the version he would keep in his office for quick costume changes but couldn’t take a bullet half so well.

The actual Gotham Bat is literally lowering his guard around him, and Jason feels so goddamned all-powerful that he almost wants to send out another memo to say that all crime is all cancelled now, thanks, just so that dinner and drinks with a Bruce who is slowly but surely coming to terms with Jason being his own man can happen more often.

It never sat quite right with him to be provided for, he learns over the course of these dinners. Call it the result of a rough upbringing, call it a trick of the mind, but Jason’s never felt so settled in his skin as when Bruce is sat with him on a night that Jason finagled to be calm enough for the Bat to get time off, eating food that Jason bought for him, dressed as casually as the Bat can because Jason was there to guarantee his safety.

He never really knew what to do with the lavish life Bruce gave to him, before.

He’s beginning to think he has an idea about what he wants to give to Bruce, now.

There’s nothing unusually worldly about Jason’s porn preferences. It’s a secret he’ll take to his second grave, but he has a paid subscription to one of those tasteful for-women pornsites because some nights he and his right hand just want to watch people be kinda sweet to one another, you know? He’s surveyed the length and breadth of what the Internet can offer, doesn’t have any use for the ones where people aren’t having a good time, likes actual orgasms both behind and in front of the screen, and has a good grasp of the kinks that make him tick.

It’s not even sexual, this thing with Bruce. Sortof. It’s literally not sexual to sometimes go as backup with Bruce on cases so wretched they would make even Dick blanch and get queasy, or to share intel he got through nefarious means, or to avoid a kill shot when he can go around after and put the fear of the Red Hood into a perp and a bullet into their kneecap instead. It’s intimacy, yeah, to pick up a phone that rings at 4 o’clock in the morning whenever the usual cocktail of screaming horrors in Bruce’s head becomes literally unbearable and he just needs to hear that Jason’s alive still, tonight.

It’s a sign that he can be there to support Bruce, when he went with the man to his grave next to the Waynes, to just say hello and thank you and goodbye.

It’s not sexual, but close to a year into this, they’re both better off and better people. It started small and it grew big, and Jason just wants to give Bruce even more, make him take it, and more importantly, make him enjoy it.

They’re perched on some gargoyles for old times’ sake tonight, and far, far beneath their feet thousands of Gothamites are out on the streets. Jason’s lost track of the number of new celebrations that have cropped up, timed to meet the regular lull in crime, but tonight’s thing has lots of live bands, and lots of people dancing in the streets, swigging beer from plastic cups as they loosen their ties and kick off their heels and gently groove their way to train stations.

Loud block parties in the city centre on a Thursday are so on-brand for Gotham; it inconveniences absolutely everyone, but also if anyone tried to make them stop they would be mobbed. On any given day there’s no telling if Jason loves the people here or wants to beat them into the ground.

The same can be said about Bruce, as though there’s anything more through-and-through Gotham than the Bat and the man. The night’s been pretty chill, a little on the quiet side, but Jason thinks he’s about to change that. He’s going to draw another line between them tonight, but this one he wants Bruce to actually cross.

Plus, who would’ve known? Unwind the Bat enough and Bruce ends up being pretty decent company. He had a deep well of deeply entertaining bitchiness that was usually smothered under the facade of superheroism, he listened to hostage demands and a casual recap of the latest episode of Love Is Blind with the same amount of near-angry focus, and had a powerful implicit bias for anyone he cared about. Jason’s still in that category, somehow, and that was another group lesson; Jason’s a different man but actually, at the same time, maybe not.

God, identity politics are a riot when you throw adoption and death into the mix.

Nevertheless, Jason’s at the end of his tether. Getting laid’s not got the same kick to it, and sometimes mid-fuck he’s thinking about checking to see if tangerines are in season because if he scores a tempting enough bag of fruit the gauntlets come the fuck off to facilitate the peeling of the skin.

It’s the surest sign possible that this madness has sunk right down into his literal bones; Jason’s speaking from experience, and Bruce drives people all sorts of crazy even at the best of times, so he’s probably been screwed since that day on the water tank when Bruce said “Thank you, Jason”.

And now he’s really just going to say to his former-father-figure some version of not only do I seriously want to fuck you, I want to hold you by the neck to make you be good for me, and then I’ll praise you for just how damn good you can be . Lately it’s starting to feel like the highest calling he’s ever gotten, to make Bruce submit and then aggressively reward him for it.

He waits until they’ve worked their way to the bottom of the tray of nachos, after he’s handed a pack of wet wipes over so Bruce can fastidiously clean his gloves off of neon-orange cheese sauce. Not only is he now the kind of man to go around with wet wipes in his pocket, they’re even the fancy biodegradable ones because B had tutted at him the last time he suggested just tossing a regular one on some shitty roof somewhere.

They’ve probably got a maximum of ten minutes or so before Bruce will get up and go perch on a stoop somewhere he can keep an eye on crime and Gothamites having a genuinely good night out, and Jason knows that that isn’t time he can or wants to intrude on, so if he wants to confess, he’s going to need to do it soon.

“B, you know how we’ve been getting along well, lately?” Innocuous, a softball, good start, Jay.

Bruce tenses a little, but he’s not ramrod straight and his lenses are still down as he turns to look at Jason with a piercing look. “What’s this about?”

“You know how months and months ago, I said we needed to talk ‘bout me, and I was right? Well. I’m bringing it up because I think we need to talk about me again.”

Instantly Bruce is on red alert, feet curled under him till he’s wound up like a fight on spring-loaded legs, and he’s looking around with the night-vision lenses up. “What’s wrong, Red Hood?” he asks, ready to leap into the middle of whatever it is that’s got Jason all agitated.

That’s not what he was aiming for, having Bruce get his back up, even if it’s in a show of needless sweet overprotectiveness. Actively winging it at this point, Jason reaches over and holds the approximate nape of Bruce’s neck, even if all his hand meets is vacu-formed reinforced kevlar. It’s what Bruce used to do when he was trying to calm one of them down, and the theory is that the thought of it transmits even if it’s not skin to skin. “Calm down, B, it’s alright. I’m alright. I just want to lay out some things on the table, okay, and I need to know what you think about them.”

Bruce doesn’t smack his hand off, even though he’s clearly disgruntled as he settles down a little, loosening his fists. “When have you ever wanted my opinion on anything?” It comes off harsh, but there’s no point getting angry over a statement of fact, is there?

It’s a fair question, after all. “All the time, B,” Jason says, honest as he can manage. “Sometimes, sure, it’s so that I know exactly what not to do. But c’mon, give me some credit. This whole reconciliation thing is working because I needed you to know what goes on under the Red Hood, and along the way I figured, hey, why not try and understand you under all those layers of trauma and self-loathing and machismo too, you know?”

The sound Bruce makes sounds like a growl, but everything does with a modulator. Jason knows enough to know a snort of amusement when he hears one. “Yes, that is me, an extremely manly man. Spit it out already, Hood. What do you need me to hear?”

“Hey, c’mon, you’re telling me you didn’t used to make us run around in sequined shorts and pixie boots ‘cos you wanted to look scary and macho by comparison?”

The lenses disappear, because Bruce is so dramatic sometimes, and he wanted to properly convey his aghast. “Robin chose the entire outfit by himself. My initial designs were based on my suit, and he refused all of them. He didn’t even want full-length sequined pants. When you came along, I just went with his choices. It’s beyond the scope of my abilities to understand the fashion preferences of youths.” Bruce glares at him. “And you didn’t complain about it once.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and tries not to feel giddy about Bruce relaxing into his touch, how close together they’ve gotten as they talk absolute shit. “One, you should have known by then that his fashion choices literally only make sense to him. Two, I wasn’t gonna turn down free clothes. Three, on God, please tell me that you still have sparkly leggings kicking around in the Cave, because Nightwing’s really due a makeover.”

If they had glossy green beads that clattered loudly with movement, Jason could die happy for the first time.

“Stop getting distracted,” Bruce says mildly. “Nightwing is always welcome to my facilities if he wants to update his costume, and PennyOne dreams of one day being asked for input. Jaybird,” Bruce grabs hold of Jason’s arm, squeezes gently. “Do you need help?”

God, he can’t stop the slightly manic laughter from bursting right through him. “It’s more of a B thing than a Bat thing, okay? And you can tell me yes, and you can tell me no, and they’re both okay. Third Thursday Tacos are gonna keep happening, bimonthly visits home are gonna keep happening, but there’s this thing that, uh.” Fuck, words are hard. He should have just texted instead, but Jason can already see his unbearable desire to drop an eggplant into a DM to make light of a weird, heavy situation, so.

Just shut up and say it already. “There’s something that I want from and for you. You’re probably going to take it badly, which is fine, but I need you to take it seriously. Okay?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just nods, rubbing his thumb against Jason’s arm.

“I love you,” Jason just goes for it, starts with the most fundamental of truths. “I want to smash you to pieces sometimes but I also literally, actually love you, in a whole bunch of really, really confusing ways. The thing is that one of those ways has me wanting to take you to bed, B, make you submit so you can be good for me and I can be good to you. So what I’m asking is, do I have your permission to try and get you to where I want you to be, B?”

The initial reaction will probably go one of two ways; complete stillness as Bruce digests the information and tries to parse his way through it, or a burst of action, probably a dramatic escape into the dark like Dracula’s the maiden who’s feeling a bit shy.

What Jason gets is neither; what he gets is Bruce’s mouth moving before his brain has come fully online, defensive and reactionary. “Jason! You can’t be serious-”

He’s not having any of that. With the hand on the back of Bruce’s neck he shakes the man a little, breaking him off. “I am, B.” He takes a breath, takes a chance, presses their foreheads together, human(?) skin to lead-lined cowl. “You can say yes and you can say no, hell, you can even say fuck off, but you cannot tell me what I do and don’t want. Christ, if you learned anything about me this past year, please let it be that I’m not a child, and you don’t get to dictate shit to me.”

They stay locked in a staring contest for what felt like ages, even as the boisterous sounds of a brass section going absolutely ham for 9 PM on a Thursday floats up on drafts to them. When the break happens, it’s not with Bruce forcibly jerking away and screaming at him, as Jason mostly expected.

Bruce pulls away lightly, like he’s testing the hold Jason has on him, like he’s testing Jason.

Jason lets him go immediately, of fucking course. He doesn’t even register that Bruce might be looking for a reaction; barring crime or injury, he’s not going to keep anyone where they don't want to be. Hell, part of being an Outlaw was the absolute unwillingness to be held down.

Plus, Bruce’s consent was the most important thing here. Jason figures that between the trauma and the jumble of unhealthy coping mechanisms that make up the man who’s thrown himself at the cancer of Gotham for decades, Bruce probably doesn’t get to make decisions just out of easy, selfish desires very often.

That’s why lunches and dinners would continue no matter Bruce’s answer, that’s why Third Thursdays were going to keep being a thing. Jason doesn’t want this to be a noose around Bruce’s neck, an obligation, a duty he needs to step up to for Jason.

He lets go, because he wants Bruce to want him more than he wants Bruce to listen to him.

They’re at a standoff, but not really. Jason keeps his hands up and visible, leans out of Bruce’s space, doesn’t talk or plead or cajole, just sits on his spiky gargoyle and stares at Bruce.

(God, even the concept of giving Bruce the option to say no satisfies that odd little kink inside of him.)

“I’m going to go,” Bruce says at long last, getting to his feet with a bit of a wobble, like he’s drunk, or like he recently got propositioned by a former-son at the end of an ambiguous dinner date. “On patrol. I’m sure you have things to do, Red Hood.”

Ah, back to full-on codenames it is, huh. This has still gone about a thousand times better than Jason’s most feverish and optimistic projections, though, so he doesn’t take it to heart. He doesn’t get up, gives Bruce the high ground as he smiles lazily up at him. “Oh, you know me. Ain’t no party like a Red Hood party. You gonna be okay on patrol?”

Bruce nods, head jerking like a marionette handled by a very bad intern. “Take care of yourself,” he says, then pauses. Grits his teeth, takes a breath. And then, with barely-there hesitation, “I’ll see you next Third Thursday.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but it definitely is. Jason just salutes sloppily instead of needling Bruce further on the meaning behind the hesitation. “‘Course, old man. Whatever you want.” And just to hammer his point further, “Whatever you choose.”

He sees it land like a body blow, and sees Bruce recover from it twice as quick. A brusque nod, and Bruce disappears into the streets below, a slab of black blocking the citizens from view.

Now left without an audience, Jason topples onto his back, and lets out an explosive sigh.

So.

That wasn’t a no, was it?

He screams at the sky, and a flock of roosting pigeons take off in a startled hurry.

God fucking bless Third Thursdays, holy shit.

Their next couple of Third Thursdays are stilted, but Jason’s willing to put in the effort because while it absolutely sucks to keep going like his confession never happened, he knows how Bruce’s jumbled-up brain works. If they haven’t sat down to have a wholly shitty conversation on how they’re father-and-son, Jason’s just confused, it’s some sort of transference of affection, and he should be finding a nice young someone his own age, then it means that Bruce is still processing. Bruce, after all, prefers to have clear lines drawn between himself and others, for maximum ease in warding off distraction and danger.

If Bruce was completely disinterested, the talk would have come in hard and swift, and there probably would’ve been a lot of screaming. Instead Bruce keeps showing up to TT., if in slightly heavier armour than usual, and Jason can see that he’s more aware of Jason, in full-on observation mode even as he talks about his latest case or any breakthroughs in figuring out who in the hell keeps stealing the good coffee beans from the Watchtower.

It’s progress that’s likely only possible because of how hard they’ve both tried to be better to each other over the past year, and Jason’s pretty sure at this point that when the rejection comes, as long as B’s happy to keep accepting stuff from Jason, they’re going to be alright.

It’s a pretty nice dream.

Things feel rough and uncertain but good on the whole, until it all goes to shit when it’s another Third Thursday and Bruce doesn’t show up on the rooftop of the Opera House. Crime never sleeps, even if it tends to take a nap at Jason’s demand, but B’s conscientious enough to usually text if something came up and he couldn’t come. Once while abducted by Harley and Pam for their weird bi-annual bitchfest, hopped up on Ivy pollen that she swore was a fantastic muscle relaxant and giving Harley his fifteenth bi-annual lecture on how she was far, far too good for Joker, he had even sent a selfie of them all sprawled on a banquette in an abandoned building somewhere with a sad emoji in explanation.

Today, there’s nothing to mark his absence except for his actual absence. Jason sits on edge of the roof and ignores the prickle of unease on the back of his neck. B is a whole adult who’s been roaming these streets doing what he can for literal decades; yes, it’s entirely unlike him to leave someone hanging, yes, it’s the first time he’s gone missing without sending word, yes, something about this stinks, but he could just be running a little late.

God, it’s amazing how optimism can get you at the most inopportune times.

Jason finally cracks, gets his helmet back on to ring the Manor to check in just in case , when the emergency alert trill nearly bursts his eardrum. It’s ingrained into every single person who’s ever worked with the Bat; Jason remembers as a kid seeing Commissioner Gordon startle so hard he dropped coffee on himself when somebody’s phone had gone off with a vaguely similar pitch.

It incites a Pavlovian response; Jason’s already up and running to gain altitude for a better sightline before the alert winds down, and he’s pulling himself up by an angel’s wings by the time Alfred’s voice comes on.

“Good evening, all,” Alfred says, polite even as he sounds incredibly strained. “We have a mass casualty situation. Bane appears to have taken advantage of Third Thursdays, and is in the process of blocking off Cathedral Square; we have reason to believe he intends to set all the revelers there on fire, so I would appreciate any support in evacuating people. Batman has gone after Bane himself, and I have lost contact.” He then rattles off the roads that have been blocked and how best to maneuver around them to get people out, but Jason’s already off and running.

Red alerts aren’t a fun time to be a crimefighter, but there’s a sense of solidarity in knowing that he’s not the only one leaping across rooftops to get to it. For all that Bruce tends to irritatingly emphasise how much he prefers working alone, the network he’s inadvertently set up of people who both love him and would go too far for him is a solid one. He can almost imagine the convergence; Dick coming up from the south, Damian probably rushing in from the Manor to the north, Tim legging it from the east because it stylistically fits with Jason bolting towards the square from the west.

That’s not even counting the girls. Christ, nights like these you couldn’t look up without seeing a terrifying phantasm flying across the sky.

Jason comes up to the main thoroughfare leading to the square first; it’s barely a ten-minute parkour sprint from the Opera House, after all, and he’s still falling when he shoots down a handful of Bane’s goons who have set up a barricade blocking people from leaving.

His timing’s gorgeous; they haven’t lit anyone on fire yet, and while a lot of the civilians are screaming at him and the downed men, that core of Gotham steel shines on through as women in neat dresses and men in business slacks slosh through a bit of blood to help him tear down concrete blocks to make enough space for them to wriggle through. Some sort of concert had been planned for Cathedral Square, and there’s enough panicked people that a few dozen climbing out quietly wouldn’t rouse much attention.

Urgh, a massive shiny red full-face helmet is pretty eye-catching for this, but with this many people around Jason can’t exactly take it off and hope to blend into the crowd as he goes hunting. He snags an absolutely loathsome fedora off the top of a loathsome-looking man, and rams it onto his helmet. Jason hopes no one will be around to take a picture of this indignity, but as long as he slouches, he’s not an obvious target from afar, and this is as good as it’s going to get for now.

A wave of whispers emanate from his makeshift exit, everyone letting the person next to them know before they disappear away, and it’s deeply inefficient as a manner of escape but Jason’s got to hold back from large-scale destruction until he can figure out how Bane planned to set all these people on fire. No point saving everyone close to this exit and having everyone else die because he tripped a trigger.

Look at him, he’s so goddamn tactical.

As he stoops and slouches and slinks in the shadows to get to the next inlet that he can crack open enough to let people escape, people seem to understand what he’s there for, and some even seem eager to contribute to his disguise.

He drew the line at a young woman whispering to him that she had some foundation in her bag and it could stick to anything, honest to God, do you want me to make your disguise more flesh-toned, Mister Red Hood?

He did accept her very pretty scarf that is much nicer than a douchey fedora. Some incomprehensible out-of-towner handed him earmuffs, even though the last time it snowed in Gotham was last week and the locals were already starting to move into summerwear, but it’s the thought that counts. He takes out three more goons close to a tiny side-alley that would lead out to a main street, has someone donate a wig right off of their heads, and when he takes out the mini-squadron protecting the back of the Gotham Central Library and its massive double-doors, he gets an oversized wooly cardigan and what looks like a faux-fur stole draped over him without his permission.

Jason can’t look at himself, of course, but he suspects at this point he probably wouldn’t be mistaken for the Red Hood until somebody was literally maybe four inches away from him. Through it all, though, he still doesn’t see where Bane’s secreted the equipment for mass murder. Hell, even the barricades weren’t difficult to disassemble enough to let people sneak out. He can imagine batty figures high up on the roofs of all the august buildings that butt up to the square running life-saving errands, but Alfred’s regular updates make it clear that everyone’s drawing a blank as to where the weapons actually are. Priority is on getting everyone out without causing enough of a stir that the bulk of Bane’s men up by the stage notice something and start opening fire, but everything feels a couple of inches off centre, and Jason can’t help the feeling of wrongness.

“Hey, PennyOne. What’s the update on B?”

Here Alfred’s smooth delivery of information stutters a little. “Still no contact from him, I’m afraid. Does anyone have eyes on Batman?”

Nobody does, and nobody can see Bane either. Given that Bane on his best day is a spine-snapping motherfucker, Jason’s not exactly happy with current events. Holding the wig tightly to his head, Jason abandons the plan of liberating the next passageway along, and heads straight towards the stage. Staging a large-scale attack is the best way to get Batman to come after you quickly, and if you’re dramatic enough, he’ll get there before he waits for back-up, because not even years of suffering have taught Bruce that he’s not solely responsible for every miserable thing that happens in Gotham.

Do it on a Third Thursday, and if you’ve been watching closely you might know that the Bat’ll come for you with less kit than usual. You might not catch him unawares because a soft British voice is always in his head, but you might find him significantly more vulnerable than literally any other night.

Jason tries not to scream, because he’s already dressed like a walking sartorial nightmare who’s a solid 5’11 even hunched over, and he doesn’t need to contribute further to anybody’s trauma. That’s one of the things that B always used to harp on; don’t get into a routine, don’t become predictable, never allow yourself to get comfortable while on duty.

All Jason had wanted was to make things a little easier, a little more pleasant for Bruce, and this is how karma decides to show him up. After all these years, how is he still surprised that fate is a whole-ass bitch? God literal damn.

All wrapped up in 8 different people’s outfits and a strong sense of self-loathing, Jason draws to a halt close to the stagefront, and surveys the henchmen there. A litle over a dozen or so, armed to the teeth because Bane has an aesthetic that he keeps close to, and all wearing that bored-and-disengaged haze in their eyes. It’s not a definite thing, but it sure would imply that Bane’s not asked them to do anything more intense than appear menacing and keep people in the square. That’s another strike against the big-time arson theory, but Jason takes note of how more than half of them are clustered around the backstage tent. Something important is clearly being kept there, and Bane’s got a less clear cut MO than most of the rogues’ gallery. Jason’s first thought is that it must be munitions, because Bane sure does love him some straight-up physical violence, but when Alfred’s voice starts to stutter and fade in and out, things connect together like the final jigsaw piece finally saw the light.

There’s a signal jammer, it’s got to be some sort of powerful signal jammer, and if Alfred can’t trace Bruce’s location or get in touch with him, then Bruce must be close by. Jason surreptitiously looks around for a Bat or a Bird that could double up with him to storm the tents, but maybe they’re too civic-minded to abandon the cause of evacuating civilians, because Jason’s reading the pattern and whirls of people movement and can’t spot anyone sneaking towards the front.

It makes sense to get people out of the way first before lunging into the heart of a battle: less collateral, it’ll just be bad men versus bat men (and women). Jason’s really only here because he believes in the average Gothamite’s ability to worm their way out of trouble given a little helping hand, and something about Bruce’s absence sits so badly with him that it’s unbearable.

The thought, when it finally hits, smashes into him like a bat to the back of the head. No clear signs of weapons to be used on a huge number of people, elite guards that don’t look too interested in guarding, no alarm being raised that dozens of henchmen have been felled at various checkpoints, comms jammer.

Jesus. Bane wants them to wear themselves out spiriting away innocents, be unable to communicate and coordinate, and have all of them herd themselves closer to whatever the hell else he’s got stored in the white tent. Minimum civilian casualty, but it’s a surefire way to take a sizable chunk of the vigilante community out in one night.

In a high panic, it’s not a terrible plan; all of their training always, always puts priority on saving the vulnerable, and with all hands on deck a full-frontal assault would favour the team that has more experience working together in creative and terrifying ways. It’s also enormously flawed, because while Dick might be the type to vault off a cornice and tuck-and-roll into a perfect landing on stage to demand a fair fight, there are also enough sufficiently suspicious bastards in their little pack that someone will inexplicably go off on their own and inadvertently execute a pincer attack.

No, if you want everyone to come together quickly and mindlessly, you’d need more motivation than a dozen gunmen. Hostages are a good idea, but even Red Robin can disarm someone with breathtaking accuracy given one batarang and about a hundred paces, so that’s also not guaranteed.

No, no, if you really want all of them to converge at the speed of instinct, you take a hostage, and the hostage just has to be B-

Oh, man. Oh man, oh man, he’s going to need to put down Bane, he swears he will, after this.

Jason’s first thought is to do away with the subterfuge and just go in all guns a-blazing, tear the tent to pieces to find Bruce and whatever Bane’s plan is all in one go. Jason’s read on the situation isn’t 100% guaranteed to be right, but the pieces all fit, and among the things you pick up during an apprenticeship with the world’s greatest detective is the skill to believe your hindbrain when it makes connections too smart for the rest of you.

He could take out 4 men easily from where he is; he probably wouldn’t be found out until he breaks cover to take out the other two patrolling on stage, and then it’ll be open-season with the rest of the men hovering by the white tent. He could take them, Jason’s pretty sure. He wants to take them, is the thing.

A thought is the only thing that stays his hand; it’s the memory of Bruce’s gentle grip on his arm, the night of his confession. It’s the serious face and the serious voice asking him, “Do you need help?”

Right now, Jason wants to say no, he doesn’t, he’s more than able to tackle this alone. It’s even the Batman-y thing to do, to take everything on by himself, but….

Ah, fuck. It’s the Batman thing to do, but Jason’s going to end up being a hypocritical son of a bitch if he’s angling to get Bruce to open up and accept that he should listen to other people sometimes when he refuses to do it himself. Jason feels a headache coming on; Bruce had taken on a heavy, weird confession about feelings and desires that even Jason hasn’t figured out the extent of.

Jason can at least take his head out of his ass, back down from a one-man Rambo show, and do this right.

It takes an effort of will to pivot on his heel and sneak back further afield until he’s free of the jammer and can communicate what he’s found out and what he’s inferred; Jason spends the entirety of their planning phase feeling a little irritated that Bruce has somehow made Jason actually cooperative and team-spirited without ever saying a word about it.

The bastard better appreciate the lengths Jason is willing to go to just to keep him safe, fuck.

It comes to a head with a flaccid little whump . Under the combined forces of the assembled and very angry Bat family, Bane’s operation is taken out at the knees. Tim and Babs jam the jammer, Cass and Damian handle the armed guards near the front, Steph and Dick demolish the biggest barricades to let the remaining crowd of thousands leg it to safety, and Jason bumrushes the tent because they’d all come to a quick consensus that if Bane’s pulled any sort of back-breaking bullshit, the definition of ‘unnecessary force’ is going to get a bit hazy for everyone involved so long as 1. Bruce never finds out, and 2. Jason tries to stop before actual death. The rest of the group will be along as soon as they’ve done their part, but Jason gets to lead the charge.

He rolls in with most of his costume still intact, because Tim and Dick have already taken a combined 300 pictures of him in his full Gotham Look and he has become unable to feel shame. Instead of a bitter fight to the almost-death, though, he finds Bruce lying on an operating table, and Bane crumpled in a heap on the floor, desiccated and unconscious.

“Uhm.” This isn’t exactly what he’d signed up for.

The sound of his confusion rouses a response from Bruce, a slight clench and unclenching of his fists. Jason’s by his side in seconds, feet slipping and sliding a little in the leaking Venom. He nudges Bane a little further away from the metal table with his foot, and feels proud of himself for not breaking a nose under his heel instead.

Priorities, priorities. He looks down at Bruce’s prone form, and breathes a little easier to see the cowl still intact. Bruce’s eyes are open, but they’re hazy and unfocused. Jason checks his pulse, and ignores the little signs of numerous brutalities that Bruce has endured just from tonight in the Batsuit Lite ™, fuck, it isn’t even the Batsuit Mild ™ that has been the go-to armour the past few Third Thursdays.

“You with us, big guy? The rest of the gang’s going to roll in in a sec,” Jason tells B with forced levity, even as his hands start assessing the damage and addressing the myriad tiny cuts and bruises before he moves on to the more serious hurts.

Bruce blinks like it takes all his energy, and then smiles. “Glad. Came with….. gang,” he forces out through a bruised throat.

“All your harping about togetherness finally got through to me, I guess.” Jason pulls off his scarf and breaks a donated pair of sunglasses to fashion mini-splints for two fingers on Bruce’s left hand. He can’t do anything about the wrist right now except for basic compression, and he is not going to think about how the actual patrol suit could have prevented a lot of this damage. “Mind telling me how you took down Mister Big Bad over here? To be honest, I was looking forward to mounting a hell of a cool rescue.”

“Cool enough.” The noise Bruce makes is half a laugh and half a wheeze from injured ribs. “Bane wanted to lure…. All of you. Kill in front of me.” A deep, shaky breath. “Nicked pipe with batarang….. Mid-gloat.” A derisive snort. “Not even…..titanium-plated.”

It’s beneath Bruce to say dumbass, but the implication is pretty damn clear. Jason just laughs. “Don’t give him any ideas, B.” He’s stabilised Bruce to the best of his abilities, and decides that he’d rather Bruce get some medical attention as quickly as he can manage it. He pulls Bruce to sit up, and gives him time for the motion blur to settle. “I know you’re drugged up, but is it anything to be worried about?”

He’s greeted with the littlest shake of the head. “Just standard HS-342. Excuse me.” With surprising speed for a man so thoroughly out of it, Bruce leans over the other side of the table and throws up. When he sits back up, he seems more present. “It isn’t Bane’s usual style to try poisons, and this suit’s filter isn’t the best, so he took me by surprise when I cornered him here.” Bruce rubs at his mouth with a bloodied hand, and he makes everything look about 200 times worse.

Jason’s offering a wet wipe before his brain even digests the sight; Bruce just accepts it without comment, now looking down at the unconscious Bane. “Lucky he was in the mood for a long and slow torture session; think he was too excited at the prospect of catching all of you and gloating about it to kill me when he had he chance. Had more aerosolised paralytics prepped for all of you, too.” Bruce nods his head at massive gas canisters tucked into the corner of the tent, all with skulls and crossbones on them. They’re pretty hard to see, on account of being hidden behind crates that held enough firepower to down the average sovereign nation, wow.

“Taking you hostage was pretty bright, but it’s kinda amazing how no one’s figured out that it’s always a crapshoot for me, the demon spawn, and Black Bat with all this drug stuff.” Even if they had just barged in, even if Bruce hadn’t worked his way out of this mostly himself, it might not have gone totally tits-up then, which is good to know.

They don’t talk about the concept of how torture counts as good luck, because Bruce isn’t exactly wrong, is he? “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

More from force of will than any actual motor control, Bruce heaves himself onto his feet and stays standing. “The weapons and gas-”

“Clean-up team’s on the way in. PennyOne was very explicit about getting you back to base ASAP, B, and it’s way more than I’m paid to question our highest power.” Jason tucks an arm around Bruce’s waist, and pulls Bruce’s arm over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, sounding a little awed. “Yes, I think you do.”

Jason sees neither hide nor hair of Bruce until the next Third Thursday, but word on the street is that Alfred’s wrath and Dick pulling double-shifts meant that Bruce got some enforced time-off; a whole two weeks of downtime, wonder of wonders. He had texted to say that he had some business going on and would need to take a rain check on dinner, but it’s mostly to stop Bruce from showing up all battered and bruised.

Jason has actually been busy, though. Having an assault mounted on a Third Thursday’s a pretty grievous insult, and goes against the entire point of having it, so Jason’s been doing some housekeeping. A better shift rotation of patrolling criminals that keep a cap on how much evil can manifest on this off day, a shakedown of a couple of crime families that had helped Bane smuggle his weapons and his mercs in, a bit of a rampage in Crime Alley that reminded the people that the Red Hood’s not the sort to be ignored. He intensely injures a large number of people who really deserve it, but he keeps everyone alive because it’s supposed to be recovery time for Batman.

He does still come by the Opera House with his usual order from the taquería, because his circadian cycle is three weeks long and he had subconsciously worked to have the night free the way he’s done consciously for well over a year now. Besides, missing this would have María José worry, and she’s had plenty to worry about after the brush with Bane’s terrorism the last TT. Jason’s sat on the lip of the massive, ostentatious golden dome, enjoying the breeze in his hair when a shadow alights in his periphery.

It’s a strange thing, but all of them have a different texture to the darkness they shroud themselves in. It’s all to do with costume material and gait and build and posture, some indeterminable mixture of all these things, but with enough time of figuring out who’s who just from a patch of not-quite-pitch-black, it becomes as bright and loud a signature as them just shouting their names.

Bruce’s shadows fall around him like a hedge growing over a statue; a mix of organic and not, and the quick terror that manifests when they fall away and all of a sudden it’s just a not-quite-man that’s all sharp edges and shades of darkness.

Jeeze. B gets roughed around a little bit, and Jason’s gone all dramatic in his head. He doesn’t betray his thoughts, just leans back to scowl as dramatically as he can muster. “Could’ve sworn I said not to come, B. Bane’s magic gas did a number on your reading comprehension too?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything in response, just plods over with a paper bag in hand. “Here,” he says, dropping it on Jason’s lap before taking a seat next to him, posture still tense. “I was on my way to pick up Korean fried chicken from a truck close by the library when we caught wind of Bane’s plans, and I ended up missing our prior engagement.”

The bag smells like it’s filled with something divine, and Jason’s diving in and already breaking into a sweat from the expectation of tongue-turning spiciness. He loves fried chicken in all their incarnations, but KFC hits something different, oh. Jason’s downed two wings and half a drumstick before situational awareness comes back in. “On the list of things you’ve done wrong by me, B, not getting me food because you were too busy thwarting a terrorist attack’s pretty low down.”

Bruce just shrugs. “It’s a pretty long list.”

“It’s gotten shorter.”

That gains him a look of curiosity, tinged with doubt. Jason licks his fingers, and realises this is the first time he’s actually eaten something Bruce’s brought for him. There’s probably something there to unpack, but that can wait until after he’s had his fill. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for the inevitable question.

“How?”

Jason just shrugs, and pushes his tacos over. “I got to know you as an actual person, I guess. You make enough mistakes all by yourself, and I figured that I didn’t need to be angry with you about things that I know you didn’t mean.” Like missing a dinner date to save a city, like coming when he’s supposed to stay away, like looking ready for a fight with Jason over an absence of snacks.

Like Bruce letting the Joker live didn’t mean that he didn’t love Jason in his wholehearted, visceral way. The justice system isn’t built to handle people like Joker; Jason’s come to accept that neither is Bruce, and that’s a fact that he can either take in and accept, or not.

When push comes to shove, it’s no harder than accepting a bag of chicken.

They subside into silence; Bruce is the only human being Jason has ever met who could eat a hard-shell taco while making almost zero sound, and it’s easily the most unacceptable thing about him.

The music coming from down below is a little muted; it’ll probably take another couple of weeks before the stress of Bane’s hot nonsense cools down enough for Gothamites to go back to their wild ways, so tonight all they get is the tinny screech of some fiddles that are occasionally drowned out by one determined elderly woman on an accordion.

“Jason,” Bruce says, and that means it’s time to be serious because they’re still in their suits. Jason has a premonition of what this talk’s going to be about, and settles himself into a state of casual resignation.

“Jason,” Bruce says again, emphasising God knows what. “The…. thing, you previously brought up. Regarding your feelings.”

“Yep, I remember, thanks for bringing it up in the most awkward way possible.”

There’s a squeak of leather as Bruce clenches his fist, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the squidge of a sauce-laden bit of lettuce squishing out. “I’m doing my best.” He sounds calm, even if he doesn’t look it. “Taking you to bed is out of the question, right now. But if there’s a, a better dynamic we could have because parent and child isn’t quite right, well.”

Bruce is clearly biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s a new tic, holy shit.

Determination sets in, and he turns to look Jason full in the face because neither the Bat nor the man have ever been cowards. “You have been so good to me, Jason,” he says with aching softness. “I think I want to try to be good for you.”

Jesus Lord Christ. Jason drops a chicken bone onto his lap in his haste to grapple for Bruce, to get a sticky handhold on the back of the cowl, to press their foreheads together. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, he must’ve died again without noticing and this time instead of seeing an al-Ghul on the other side, it’s just hopeless, unbearable Bruce.

He doesn’t let his thought process come out his mouth, doesn’t press in for a kiss that’s unasked for, but he does close his eyes and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

“We’ll figure it out, B.”

Bruce’s lips tip into a lopsided smile. “Thank you, Jason,” he murmurs right back, and.

Jason’s a goddamned goner.

A/N: Tumblr always swallows up italics which I viciously over use but I do NOT have the emotional capacity to trawl through this fic once again bc I’m more dead than I am alive atm. GOD I think I’ve found my one true calling: domsub stuff but with 4x more faffing about and 0% sex is my writing sweetspot quarantine rlly be out here making you Real Eyes

#brujay #bruce wayne #jason todd #batman #red hood #i've been up since 4 trying to meet a deadline #and this was after staying up till 2 to post this monstrosity #i'm so on e #whale writing

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kitkatwinchester · 4 years

Text

Aesthetic Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @jelly-pies and @letscatchyoulater! I know you guys tagged me a while ago, but it took me a bit to come up with my own aesthetics lol. It was super fun though!!

Rules: Bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

I’m tagging @baloobird, @jen27ny, @crowleyellestair, @howdoistopthetrain, @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover, @ironfamjam, @jolinarjackson, @irondad-not-ironsad, @joyful-soul-collector, @justme--emily, and @annieshurley.

#tag game #aesthetics #enjoy! <3

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lexiconoffear · 4 years

Quote

Well, what do you know? A tragic glimpse to my right presents a view of a little stranger with a charm for whispering nonsense to the air. Fucking Harper Lee over there is writing shit all on her frosted green MacBook with the creativity of a blunt hacksaw. That she casually smiles with a hint of disdain towards those that give her the stern eye when she infrequently cowers behind Jane Austen books is nothing less than revolting. Why do I sound surprised to see these people at Verve? All of them with the usual brand of “I want to make it in Hollywood too”. Here’s a newsflash for you. Stop pretending that you like to read Lady Susan and Sanditon. Oh and Miss Fucking Perfect, we know you haven’t read any classics in your sunny shell of an existence. I would also like to add that drinking five cups of mint mocha and mumbling your shitty screenwriting lines is a non-starter with any professional worth a damn. It’s insulting that people like you think otherwise. But you like giving out shitty blowjobs to every one of your followers on Insta if it gets you some undivided attention. The nerve. For once, I would like to rip open her fucking head and look inside. But we all can’t take unnecessary risks. Can we Joe? Cut to our little hideaway in that golden Americana cul-de-sac. Repose feels great in the evening. Some might beg to differ. Now, it’s time for some pressing news. Shock. Horror. A domestic violence case in our own quaint suburbia. To say that I'm intrigued to see how you handle this crisis is a bit of an understatement. Typical. Color me fucking surprised. You try to console yourself with many crafted truths. A bad case of false reporting. Lack of circumstantial evidence. You even blame it on something out of your control. But I'm glad to hear that you’re slowly dying on the inside. The world can finally find comfort in knowing what a stand-up guy you are, Joe Goldberg. You want a do-over? Some respite from public heat? No bueno. Why will it be any different this time Joe? Do you honestly think that low of me? Every word you espoused was a lie. Like crimson etches that forever stains our vision of what’s real. Comeuppance is nothing but a decorum now. The viewers of the media and our community love to crucify every fucker that slowly chips away at the perfect household image. The perfect family. Our fucking so called perfect lives as couples that be. But that’s the least of your concerns. What you should worry about most is a woman who owns her narrative. Her story. Her triumphs. She doesn’t pretend to be some victim of circumstance. She is a fucking survivor. Fucking America loves this piece to death. People love it. They all can't get enough of that shit. As soon as it's served up, everyone eats it up like magic rice. You were too oblivious to see what is at stake here. Don’t give me that dirty look as if you're entitled to it. Really, it’s a fitting retribution. Any scorned lover would see this punishment as fit for the crime committed. Did you think for once that the cost to all the insanity you inflicted was justified? Has nothing sacred ever matter to the likes of you? You weren’t like this before we grew and settled. Those restless struggles. Endless disputes. Our relationship certainly wasn’t the easy paradise that we pictured in our minds. That much I can tell you. But it was worth fighting for. Nothing else meant more than the first word we chose to define our union. Don’t tell me it meant nothing the moment you pulled closer at a wedding and reassured me with vows that came to be. Don’t you dare lie to me and say that our love was an illusion that ended while we fucked each other in my third trimester. When you saw me for the first time at Anavrin, you witnessed that wonder. A one-of-a-kind love. That incited all this madness and ecstasy. I was the cool girl you envisioned in your hopeless dreams. That cool girl who did everything right. Who like every asshole envisions as the definitive girl they like to fuck and bring to their family home for Christmas. Manic pixie version. She is that fucking cool girl. The same girl with a mouth that is sure to win some prizes in any department. What a fucking joke. To think that I shaped myself to be the ultimate lover. Unmatched in both scale and vision. Did you think that my fucking name was a joke to you? Yes, that’s a rhetorical question by the way. One fucking word. Love. How the fuck did you fuck that up? My charming hardened New Yorker guy with a wounded soul. I remember when you were different. Smitten by a dumb joke about fucking fruit of all things. I saw that darkness in your eyes. A wit that followed with a charming presence. Can’t also deny you weren’t easy on the eyes either. This had to be it. The thing we both searched for our entire lives. Love. In Hollywood of all places. You were all in and nothing else mattered. I loved you unconditionally. Yeah, that’s a fucking cliché if I hear it again. We fucked each other, blew one another and rose in the morning like fucking squirrels on mescaline. Perhaps, that’s a little too intimate for the ears. Forgive me for not censoring shit that needs to be heard. So, how the hell did we end up here? Call me a little jaded now, if I don't look back at our history with rose-tinted glasses. I should have seen the signs. Yes, love can make us do terrible things and be blind to each other's faults. That's a fucking given. But I never thought I would lose trust in you. The one who finally brought a sense of ease to my heart. The same guy who later cheated on me and fucked a woman from behind. Our neighbor no less. On a day that very well should have marked the death of me. Just one glance and I saw the vision of our nuclear family undone. All you ever pursue is another work of project in sight. That’s how your fucking story always is. Just like Delilah. Just like Beck. Add that cutthroat bitch with a revenge agenda to the fucking equation too. You killed assholes. Left. Right. Center. Yet, you stand there and face me with a familiar look. A smugness that reeks of self-righteousness. That appearance of hypocrisy. The very look my mother gave me when I didn’t do my part in taking good care of Forty. The same look is all I see now. Disappointment. Disgust. Revulsion. Like a damaged commodity that you pass on when you’re done. You didn’t even have the balls to tell me what you really felt. It’s all a delusion that you hold to encourage that shitty desire of buying new merchandise with an exclusive item on the side that some cunt upsells you at Walmart. Forgiving the unforgivable is not in my fucking rule book. You think you can get away. Unscathed. Unfazed. Unhurt. No, you don’t. No fucking way Joe. Now, I know the truth. I wasn’t destiny. I wasn’t love. The worst part is that you made me believe in hope. Made me hold onto faith. Then, you reduced me to a foil in your self-absorbed romance story. But make no mistake, you will pay the price. Mark my fucking words. Don't think I won't make plans well ahead in advance to fuck you over. You will see what I'll bring to the table. I must thank you though. You brought something else out of me. Something I tried to hide for a very long time. All it took was a little nudge in the right direction. The follow up act was less painful. But you wouldn’t care, would you Joe? You never thought about family. The lengths that many would go to protect their kind. To spare them of any anguish. A quick head dash into a collective antique vase from Montalcino should do the trick. Maybe, a little cut on the arm with a help of a few broken shards. That will save myself from the shame. From the silent screams. The undying pain. Nothing compares to the deep cuts of the heart. All I see now is a vivid painting of torture. Filled with cinnabar streaks all over the Vermillion carpet that my late brother cherished. What a perfect expression of grief. The dull ache. The fading memories. The wild stench of blood. When your other half dies, nothing eclipses the misery of loss. That’s what I told myself. Family is everything. It always came first. Above all else. But when I fell in love again, my entire perspective changed. Until reality hit me in the face. Sheared off in patches and defiled like every other celebration past the fourth of July. Do you really think I wouldn’t see to it that justice will be sought for the unseen wounds, the unheard abuse, and the million masks people like you wear to fool their loved ones? Don’t kid yourself Joe. It’s time we put an end to this fantasy. One way or another.

Love Quinn (YOU)

#gone girl #you on netflix #you netflix #netflix you #love quinn #cool girl #monologue #joe goldberg #joe x love #relationship #quote #season 3

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Inside Out

Summary: After one too many instances of Duncan being the token stuck-up rich guy, you’re ready to show him how the rest of America lives by taking him through a day in your life.

Word Count: 6746

A/N: Oofta, this is long. Sorry about that. Hope you guys enjoy; feedback is always appreciated, my inbox is always open, and I’d love it if you would reblog this. Thanks!

The first time that it happened while you were out with Duncan, you were willing to excuse it. He had been grappling with a stock market dip that threatened to send the Shepherd Foundation into a financial crisis, so him not bothering to look up from his phone to place an order, as well as not tipping the barista, was something that you had quickly forgiven. A smile towards the overworked employee and a folded ten dropped into the tip jar is sure to make their day better, something that you know from experience. Besides, there’s no way that Duncan would be the type of person to not tip; the man has more money than he knows what to do with. Even with that reassurement in your mind, your smile still falters when he takes the coffee from the barista without even bothering to thank him.

The second time that it happened, you were talking yourself through a list of errands that needed to be ran on your day off, trying to figure out the most logical plan of action for what you needed to accomplish. When you had shook your head before angrily muttering that you “can’t fucking afford taking the car to get the oil changed” and deciding to change your own oil, Duncan had scoffed.

“That’s a joke, right?” He had laughed, looking up at you over the thin frame of the glasses he wore for working at his computer.

“Uh, no? I’ve been putting off getting my oil changed for months now, and since I still don’t have the extra money to go and get it changed I just need to change it myself before my engine stops working.” You were sure that the look of confusion on your face was almost comical, but you had never met anyone who was baffled at the idea of a car’s oil being changed.

“Don’t people do that for you?”

“Yeah, but that costs a lot more money than just going to the auto store and buying the oil so I can change it myself. I’ve done it before; it’s not difficult, just tedious.”

Duncan mulled the words you spoke, the idea of goods being exchanged for services such as auto mechanics obviously not having crossed his mind before. He didn’t bring it up again, but you could see the disdain in his expression at the thought of you having to do something as low-brow as changing your own oil. The next day, you “found” a hundred dollar bill tucked in the pocket of your jacket, as if Duncan thought you were stupid enough to believe that you had just missed the money in your pocket before (you didn’t give it back though; although you had already changed the oil yourself the night before, the money was still more than enough to buy you groceries for two weeks and still have some left over).

The more time that you spent with Duncan, the more that you saw the less undesirable aspects of his personality that you had purposely turned a blind eye too when you first got into a relationship with the man. That’s not to say that you’re this perfect human who never makes a mistake; quite the opposite, in fact. You’re clumsy, opinionated, and prone to engaging in heated debates about topics that you’re passionate about with random strangers.

The one thing that you’re not? Entitled.

Duncan Shepherd, you’ve realized after three months of dating, is one of the most entitled people that you’ve ever met. It shouldn’t be too shocking that the heir of a multi-million dollar political foundation and one of the most influential lobbyists in Washington expects everything to be handed to him on a silver platter, but you had been wooed by his intelligence and wit far quicker than you could see how he treated those who he thought to be “beneath” him. The little one-off insults, which he probably thought nothing more of once the words left his mouth, were a daily occurence now, although you’re sure that’s because you’re looking for them now.

After a bicyclist blocked the lane because a police car was in the bike lane: “Maybe if they could afford to get a ride somewhere, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed on their commute.”

When the waiter at a fancy restaurant apologized for the delay in seating: “Do you people even know who I am? Who my family is?”

Upon seeing a food drive donation center in the lobby of his building: “Again? Didn’t they just do one a month ago?”

After you gave money and food to the nice homeless lady who sits outside of your building: “You know that she’s probably conning you? That’s their game, most of them go to their house after this and laugh at people like you, with your heart on your sleeve and always willing to blindly give.”

The negativity got tiring, if you were being honest. It’s entirely possible that he is right when he tells you that you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, but is it such a bad thing to see the positives in people? To understand their struggles and want to brighten up their day or help them in any way that you can? You really don’t think that it is.

The breaking point comes when Duncan comes over to your apartment after work. You’ve just barely finished putting the perishable foods that you bought at the grocery store away, yelling for Duncan to let himself in so you don’t have to set everything down. You don’t even have to look at him to know that his nose is crinkling as he takes in your small apartment. Small in Duncan’s world, at least. For you, it’s the perfect size and you love how cozy it is. Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes, you turn and kiss him on the cheek when he wraps his arms around you.

“How was your day off?” He mutters into your ear. Finals are finally over, which means that you’ve been able to enjoy a rare day off before your work schedule kicks in.

“Busy. I still have to fold the laundry that I finished this morning, I cleaned the place for almost an hour, and I just got back from grocery shopping.”

“Do you need help putting the rest of your groceries away?” You’re mildly shocked that he’s willing to do any sort of chore, but nod nonetheless.

It’s silent for a minute while you both go to work at removing items from the bags and placing them on the counter. When you finish with your bags, you turn to see Duncan holding a package in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Uh, coffee?”

“No, it’s not.” You furrow your brows, snatching the bag from him and turning it to make sure that you did, in fact, buy your favorite brand of coffee.

“Yes it is. Same brand I’ve been buying for a year now.”

“But...it’s already ground?” He looks just as confused as you feel right now.

“What other form would it come in?”

“Everybody I know grinds their coffee beans at home.”

“I don’t really have time for that, and plus this is way cheaper than buying actual coffee beans.”

“I’ll have to buy you a coffee grinder.” Duncan muses, pivoting towards the corner where your coffee maker sits. “And maybe a new coffee machine, too? Seriously, (Y/N), did you get this at the Salvation Army? What if--”

Your vision goes red as he starts to nitpick at your personal assets, rage blocking your ears from hearing what else he’s saying. It’s infuriating, to have this man that you deeply care for, and who knows that you’re from two very different upbringings, go through your items and decide what is up to his standard.

“--are you even listening?” Duncan asks, suddenly looking at you now. Breathing deeply, you place a hand on the counter before looking up at him.

“You know, you’re extremely entitled.” His eyes widen, and he looks almost offended by your statement. Good, you think bitterly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not entitled, (Y/N).”

“You, Duncan Shepherd, are arguably the most entitled motherfucker I’ve ever met.” You raise a hand in warning when he starts to open his mouth, letting him know that you’re not finished. “You think you can come in here, look through all of my things, and tell me what I should do better? I’m so sorry that not all of us have the money or means to buy a fucking state-of-the-art coffee grinder.”

“Is this about money?” Duncan says after a long moment. “Because I’ve told you before, I will gladly pay for anything you desire.”

“No, it’s not about the money! Jesus, Duncan, I’m not a charity case.” You throw your hands up. “You think that everyone who isn’t in your tax bracket is below you, and it’s disgusting to watch.”

“Name one example.” He scoffs, leaning against the fridge and glancing at his watch like this is a waste of his time.

“Literally whenever we go out. When have you ever tipped someone?”

“I expect a high degree of service. They shouldn’t automatically expect a tip, they should have to work for it--”

“And when have you ever done a fucking honest day’s work in your life?” You cut him off.

“What are you even talking about?” Duncan asks in disbelief. “I work every single day for countless hours.”

“Yeah, at your family’s foundation.” You bite back, pushing yourself off of the counter and facing mere inches away from him. “The only job you’ve ever had is one in a comfy office that’s had your name inscribed on the door since the day you were born.”

“That’s not the only--”

“Oh, right, I’m forgetting your illustrious college internship with the Senate Majority Leader. Silly me! I forget, Dunc, did your mom stop seeing him four or five years ago?” Duncan grips your wrist in his large hand, yanking you against his chest.

“I suggest you take a few deep breaths before you say something that you’ll really regret.” He warns lowly, visibly seething when you laugh.

“‘Regret?’ I don’t regret anything about this! Do you know when I first got a job? It was right after I turned sixteen. My parents made it clear to me that I needed to work for what I wanted in life, and that it was time for me to start making my own money. I worked two jobs until I was nineteen, and the only reason I cut back to one is so that I could do a work-study and take some of the money off of my student loans.

“And please don’t mistake this as bitterness, because it’s not. I fully believe that money, if taken for granted, poisons people from the inside out. Rich people like you don’t understand anything about living a normal life. I can’t just hire somebody to go get groceries for me, or do my laundry, or drive me around, or buy my fucking stupid-ass goat shoes when there’s a limited-edition release and I can’t be bothered to stand among everyone else.” You shake your head in disdain, tears pricking at your eyes. “Your wealth has poisoned you, Duncan. You can complain about struggling all you want, but your only struggle is that you would be absolutely lost if you weren’t able to throw your money at all of your problems to make them go away.”

The air in the apartment is heavy, feeling much the same way as it does after a summer storm has swept through the area and washed away the heat of a Washington July day, only leaving behind the humidity and steam from the evaporating rain. Your chest heaves, a weight off of your shoulders now that the words that have been building up inside you are finally out in the open. Duncan stares at you, lips parted as he tries to form some sort of comeback to what you just said. You laugh lowly, wiping your eyes on your sleeve and gazing out the window to avoid looking at him.

“You should go,” you say quietly, “it’s almost time for dinner, and I wouldn’t want to soil your refined palate with the three-day old spaghetti I’ll be eating.”

You’re expecting him to leave, to storm out the door and not speak to you until you physically can’t handle the silent treatment any longer. That’s why, the more time that passes without any sign of movement, the more rage that starts to course through your body.

“Why are you still here?” You finally confront, spinning around to face Duncan. His eyes meet yours, the blue shade darkened by the tears he’s been holding back.

“I don’t care how mad you are, (Y/N), but I’m not just leaving after an unresolved fight.” Duncan’s calm demeanor only infuriates you more, and you huff loudly as you roll your eyes.

“Fine, whatever, go ahead and stay! But don’t expect me to say anything to you.” He wants to say something else, but instead he sighs and nods.

“Duly noted.”

It’s easy to ignore Duncan at first. He sits patiently at your counter, almost as if he expects you to apologize to him (for what, you’re not sure). If he’s going to annoy you with his presence, you decide, you’re going to annoy him as much as possible. The music on your bluetooth speaker is turned up as far as it can possibly go without you getting noise complaints from your neighbors, and you’re sure to play the rock music that Duncan absolutely hates. It’s kind of fun to purposefully ignore him, and the giant glass of wine you have with your leftover spaghetti makes you snicker everytime you furiously avoid eye contact with him. The only time you do make eye contact with him is when you go to bed, staring at the man sitting on your couch while you shut the door to your bedroom.

Unfortunately, Duncan’s a master of deciphering when, where, and how to pick his battles. An hour into tossing and turning in your bed, right when you’re starting to get lonely enough to consider opening up the door and begrudgingly asking him to move off of the couch, Duncan sneaks into your room and slides into bed next to you. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, but your body relaxes against his anyways.

“You were right.” Duncan breaks the silence with a sentence that you’ve never heard come out of his mouth.

“Seriously?” You’re shocked and tired, which doesn’t make your sentences the most coherent.

“I don’t understand what it’s like, and I do tend to use my wealth to my advantage and to belittle others. I just didn’t realize I was doing it to you, too.”

“Why is it any different when you do that stuff to me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“See, that’s another thing you don’t get, Dunc. Basic human decency towards everyone, even strangers, goes a long way. You should strive to treat everybody nicely, as opposed to just those you care about. Money can only get you so much, in terms of connections and friendships.” You mutter, breathing steadily so that you don’t launch into another tirade against him.

Duncan stays quiet, mulling over his next words carefully. He’s thinking for so long, in fact, that the steady feeling of his chest rising and falling almost lulls you to sleep. When he speaks, you don’t fully comprehend what he’s saying. Duncan has to shake you slightly to get your attention, making you whine before you turn over to pitifully glare at him.

“I was almost asleep.” You grumble, a yawn slipping out of your mouth.

“You can sleep after this,” he promises quickly. “(Y/N), I want to understand what you go through. Your life is incredibly different from mine, and at the risk of sounding conceited, I want to experience what it’s like to live ‘normally’ for a day.”

“You know that means you can’t use your black card? Or call your driver, or utilize any of your assistants, or--”

“Yes, I understand. I’m completely ready to do things for myself.” You cock an eyebrow at him, but nod nonetheless.

“Okay then.” Wanting to tease him more is quickly nullified by the fluttering of your eyelids as they forcefully drag shut, desperate for you to sleep.

Something’s off when you wake up, but you’re not sure what it is at first. Rolling your head to the side, the first thing that you notice is that your bed is empty of the man who laid there mere hours ago. The second thing you notice, and the thing that has you immediately awake and jumping out of bed, is loud cursing and the smell of something burning. Your mind is racing with all of the possible worst-case scenarios that could have led to the current predicament--faulty wiring, a charger exploding, somebody breaking into your apartment and lighting the curtains on fire (that last one is definitely a little far-fetched, but your anxiety doesn’t really care)--while you round the corner and slide into the living room.

Your fears are extinguished, but your confusion is only increased. Duncan curses between his teeth while he throws a smoking pan into your sink, flipping the water on to help quell the burning. Your nose crinkles at the scent of charred food, and you open the windows to help clear out the smell.

“What the hell did you do?” Duncan’s eyes are wide when he turns to face you, expression mirroring that of a child who just got caught with his hands full of forbidden treats.

“I thought I would try to cook breakfast, but that didn’t really go to plan.”

“Ya think?” You tease, examining the stove to see where he went wrong. “For starters, the burner’s up way too high; that barely gives you enough time to cook your food before it’s starting to char. What were you trying to make?”

“Bacon?” Duncan says sheepishly, cheeks a bright pink as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “And then it started popping and sizzling, and the grease--”

You can’t help the sympathetic smile that pops onto your face as he holds a hand in your eyesight. Sure enough, he’s got his own battle wounds from the hot grease landing on his skin. It’s minor, but grease blisters are still a pain in the ass to deal with.

“Aw, Dunc.” You coo, kissing his hand where the blister sits. Duncan hisses slightly through his teeth at the sudden coolness of your lips against his irritated skin, but he doesn’t move his hand until after you pull away with a wink. “Have you never made breakfast before?”

“No. We always had kitchen staff when I was growing up, and I don’t even eat breakfast until I get to the office now and I can make one of the interns grab me something.” He admits, averting his gaze when he mentions growing up with a kitchen staff.

“At least you wooed me with your pasta-making abilities before you attempted to make breakfast.” You reassure him, kissing him quickly. It’s easy to see that he’s genuinely trying to stick to the challenge that he imposed upon himself last night, and you don’t want to dampen his spirits before the day’s even begun. “I think I have some cereal in the cabinet, if you’re hungry? That’s one food that you can’t burn.”

You notice with delight that Duncan already started the coffee, and you eagerly fill your favorite mug up with some. Stirring some creamer in, you readily take a sip in the hopes that it will wake you up. Although it does wake you up, it’s not from the caffeine being consumed. Instead, the bitter, burnt taste has you coughing in disgust, dumping the coffee out and filling your mug up with water to wash the taste out of your mouth. Glancing over at the table, Duncan smiles awkwardly at you, a mouth full of cereal.

“Sorry.”

Breakfast was rougher than you had thought it would be, so you decide the next ‘task’ for Duncan will be something much easier: laundry. Duncan had blanched when you told him to cancel his laundry service for this week, but he wasn’t going to back down when it came to showing you that he was more than capable of doing things for himself.

“You have this nice laundry room that you don’t even use?” Glancing around the spacious laundry room, that’s arguably the size of your bedroom, you’re shocked.

“No, it’s just easier to get it sent out.”

“It may be more convenient, but it’s also a lot more expensive than doing your own laundry.”

You sit on top of the dryer, waiting for Duncan to return with his laundry basket. You’re still mildly befuddled that you didn’t know this laundry room was a part of Duncan’s penthouse apartment, but it’s a very large place, and it’s very easy to get distracted when your sexy boyfriend makes it his mission to fuck you on every available surface of the capacious apartment. You were even nice enough to bring your own laundry detergent and dryer sheets; it wasn’t necessary to ask if he had the supplies to do his own laundry when you already knew the answer.

Finally he returns, pushing the sleeves of his black cashmere sweater up to his elbows after he sets the basket down. You’re momentarily distracted at the ripple of his muscles before looking away in the hopes that he didn’t notice, but the smirk that paints his face makes it obvious that he’s noticed. He always does. Holding out a large hand towards you, he effortlessly helps you off of the dryer.

“So where do we start?”

“Where do you start?” You correct, snickering at the panicked expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Laundry really isn’t that difficult, Duncan. Surely you did your laundry in college?” The guilty look on his face makes you groan loudly. “Really, Dunc?”

“Look, everybody I knew in college had their laundry sent out--”

“All senators’ sons and the heirs of influential families?” You barely pause, knowing what he’s going to say. “Look, I’ll help you with the first load, but after that you’re on your own.”

“Thank you.” He says brightly, kissing your forehead before dumping all of his clothes into the washer.

“Uh, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you gonna separate those?” He turns around, face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

“Like, one load for shirts and one load for pants?” You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, shaking your head slightly.

“Not...exactly. More like one load for all your lights and one load for all your darks.”

“Why?”

“So that way, the colors don’t bleed and turn your clothes different colors. Here,” grabbing the first item you see that isn’t black, you turn and hold up his light blue dress sock, “what pile would this go in?”

“The...da--lights?” He guesses, grinning when you nod.

“Yeah, exactly! It’s not as difficult as you think it will be; the lighter colors and whites go in one load, and then your darks go in another. Considering the majority of your wardrobe is black, I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“I think I’ve got it?” Duncan says hesitantly.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. I want to do this myself, I want to prove to you than I can do this.” He’s so eager that it makes your heart twist painfully, but you nod and caress his cheek.

“Alright. Just yell for me if you need me, okay?” He nods, playfully slapping your ass as you turn to leave.

The experience of Duncan doing his laundry seems to go much easier than making breakfast, and eventually the sound of the machines doing their job and Duncan humming has you dozing on his couch. You’re barely propped up on your hand, only keeping yourself awake by your head dropping and startling you back awake momentarily. You’re half-tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and take a nap, since it really does seem like Duncan’s got the hang of this laundry thing. Of course, the second you actually do let your head drop back against the cushions, Duncan’s loud “shit!” has you jolting up off of the couch.

“What happened, did you set the laundry room on fire?” You’re having visions of Duncan managing to set anything and everything on fire; maybe his family had an actual reason for never teaching him how to do things for himself, maybe it’s because he’s a walking matchstick.

“No, worse.” He says sadly. You hustle into the laundry room, stopping in the doorway when you see the dejected look on his face.

“Oh no.” You try to look as sympathetic as possible, but it’s hard when Duncan’s sadly holding up a baby pink button down shirt.

“I could have sworn I separated all of the whites, but I guess this was stuck to something?”

“Dunc, what do you even own that’s red?”

“My red Gucci blazer that I got a month ago.” He groans.

“Baby, it’s okay.” You soothe, taking the shirt from him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“This has happened to you before?” He asks brightly, pleased that you’ve also experienced the same thing.

“Well, no…but I have friends who have had this happen to them!” Duncan sighs, clenching his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “Hey, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t even manage to do the laundry right.” Slipping past him, you glance inside the washer to look at the other clothes.

“Look, that shirt’s the only casualty! I’d say that you did pretty good.”

“Really?” He doesn’t believe you, but you’re determined to get rid of that heartbroken look on his face.

“Yes. Drying’s the easy part, we just hang up all your shirts and dress slacks to dry, and then we can use the dryer for everything else.”

You start sorting through the washed clothes, throwing the ones that need to be hung up on top of the dryer. Duncan goes to work at hanging those up on hangers, while you set the dryer to the needed settings. Looking at the man in front of you after you’ve finished, you’re struck by this moment of sudden domesticity. You’ve never really seen Duncan do chores before, and the quiet, comforting silence of working together to finish laundry is odd. Nice, but definitely odd.

“So? Ready to call it a day?” You ask once Duncan’s finished.

“No. I told you I was going to make it through a whole day, and I’m not backing out now.” It’s only noon, and at the rate things are going you’re a little worried that living life in the ‘middle class’ is going to absolutely wreck him by the end of the day.

“You sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. What’s next in a normal day for you?”

“Hmm, what sounds scarier to you: going to the grocery store or washing a car?”

“Neither of those are scary, (Y/N).” You roll your eyes.

“Yes, I know that, but which one strikes the fear of God into your soul at the mere thought?” Duncan’s entirely unamused, but plays along anyways.

“I guess washing a car?”

“Alright then, we’ll wash the car before we go to get groceries.” Duncan just barely bites back a whine, resolving to stay strong like he’s intended.

“Why is washing the car a big deal? We’re just going through the automatic one, right?” Duncan asks once you’re both safely in your beloved car and driving towards your destination.

“We could go through the automatic one,” you chuckle, “but considering I don’t get paid until next week and we’re making this as realistic as possible, I’m going to pay the four dollars for the manual wash and we can wash it ourselves.”

“You’ve washed your own car before?” Duncan’s legitimately aghast at this admission, the mere idea of such an act of labor incomprehensible.

“Why is this more surprising to you than when you learned I could change my own oil?”

“Huh...I don’t know, actually. Maybe the knowledge that I have to help out with this particular task?”

You pull into the empty car wash stall, pulling four dollars from your center console and handing it to Duncan.

“Here, go put that in the machine for me, please?” You smile widely, pecking his lips when he takes the money from you and opens the door.

Hopping out of the car, you grab the rubber floor mats and prop them up against the wall before meandering over to Duncan, who’s carefully reading the instructions on the machine.

“Ready? Once you put the cash in, the timer starts.” You grab the spray wand from its docking station.

Duncan feeds the bills into the machine, which beeps at him to let him know that the time has started. He tentatively takes the spray wand from you, and you press the ‘wash’ button on the machine.

“Just make sure to not stand too close to the car, or else the water pressure could damage the paint.” You remind him. Experimentally pressing the trigger, Duncan jumps at the sudden spray of water that douses your car.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He looks to you to make sure he hasn’t screwed this up.

“No, you’re fine! Keep going.” You encourage him.

It takes him a little bit to get the hang of it, but soon he’s spraying the car like he’s done this a million times before.

“What next?” He asks, watching while you press the ‘soap’ button.

“Now it’s the soap. Just do the same thing that you just did.” Duncan’s face lights up at the stream of bubbles appearing on the end of the wand, quickly maneuvering it so that it gets on the car. “That’s good,” you call once the timer beeps for the final two minutes, “now grab the brush.”

“And scrub the car?”

“Exactly!” Duncan’s hesitant at first, and you can tell that he’s worried about scraping your car.

While Duncan works on scrubbing your car, you turn the wand back to the rinse setting and clean off your floor mats. Your quiet hums abruptly turn to a loud squeal when something cold and wet touches your hair, jumping as it drips down your back. Whipping around, you playfully gasp at the sight of Duncan with soapy hands.

“That wasn’t in your job description.”

“Neither is this.” Your grin morphs to a look of shock when Duncan swipes his hand across your nose, leaving a trail of bubbles on your face. Duncan laughs loudly when the foreign object makes you sneeze, wiping his hands on the rag he grabbed.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You ask, lunging over to grab a handful of the bubbles.

Duncan grabs at your hand in an attempt to stop you, but you’re just quick enough to lightly slap his face and paint his cheek with the suds. He growls playfully, and you laugh while you try to pull away from his grip. He wraps his strong arms around your torso, easily lifting you up in the air while you shriek. The furious kicking of your legs does nothing to stop him, and he blows one last scoop of bubbles in your face.

The battle comes to an end when Duncan lowers you back to your feet, hands still resting on your ass. He smiles down at you, wiping the remaining bubbles off of your face with a gentle touch. Once he’s certain that your face is clean, he kisses you deeply. You have to stand on your tiptoes to even comfortably reach him, his firm grip on your ass helping slightly to keep you level with him. The shrill beeping of the timer sends you both jumping apart, glancing at the angry red LED screen as it reads 00:00.

“I think I have another dollar in my car.” You mumble, fingers intertwining with his.

“No need, I have one.” Sure enough, Duncan produces a dollar from his back pocket, feeding it to the machine without taking his eyes off of you.

The car is washed without any more incidents, and you and Duncan are on your way to the grocery store.

“Wait, why aren’t we stopping at Whole Foods?” Duncan’s euphoria at finally accomplishing a task today is quickly replaced with confusion as you pass by the chic building with its iconic green lettering.

“I already told you that I don’t get paid until next week, and even if I did get paid today, Whole Foods is the sort of place I only shop at when I get my tax refund.”

“So, where are we going?” You wish you had your phone camera out so that you could capture the look of absolute horror on Duncan’s face when you tell him.

“Walmart.”

There’s a reason you’ve been saving grocery shopping for the final activity of the day. Although these other tasks have been challenging for Duncan, you feel like this one will be the most eye opening. He’s never had to budget for food like you have to every week, deciding which staples are more important depending on what’s the lowest price. He doesn’t get the struggle of only having thirty bucks to buy enough groceries to last you two weeks, and he’s certainly never had to buy the generic brand of anything. This isn’t so that he can pity you; instead, it’s so that he can truly see what the people he treats like garbage have to go through. The baristas who depend on tips to buy their food, the homeless woman who can get fresh fruits for her kids with the money that you give her, even the canned goods that you buy from here so that you can donate to the food drive in his building.

Duncan holds onto you tightly as you enter the supermarket, eyes darting around as he takes in this uncharted territory. For you, this place is all-too-familiar, but Duncan’s experiencing a Walmart for the first time.

“Why are there so many screaming kids here?” He whispers in your ear.

“Just a hallmark of any Walmart, I guess.” You pull your grocery list up on your phone, mentally plotting out what aisles you’ll hit first. “Okay, I need eggs, juice, rice, pasta, breakfast foods, almond milk, bread, and peanut butter. Maybe some fruit and vegetables, too?”

“‘Maybe?’ Are the ones you like not in season?” You turn red, picking at your fingernail to avoid looking at him.

“No, sometimes they’re too expensive and I can’t afford to buy them.” You mutter quickly. For some reason, you didn’t think that the issue of money would be brought up while you were buying groceries; willful ignorance, on your part.

“Oh.” Duncan says, as though he hadn’t quite realized that sometimes people have to forego certain things in order to make ends meet. Maybe he didn’t realize that until now, you muse; it’s not as if his childhood nannies did the Shepherd family grocery shopping here.

“Let’s just go.” You try to change the subject, swinging the cart around to go down the aisles.

“Does that happen a lot?” Duncan asks as you begin to walk down the first aisle.

“Does what happen a lot?”

“You not being able to buy groceries?”

“Oh, it’s not that I can’t buy any groceries, but I like to have some leftover money in case of emergencies and so that I have some to give to Marta.”

“Marta?” Duncan asks.

“The ‘homeless’ woman that sits outside my building, the one you’re convinced is conning me? She sits there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while she works odd jobs the other days of the week until she gets a call back for a job interview. Her kids are in school during the day, and they don’t know that they’re on the verge of homelessness. I try to give Marta at least ten bucks a week, that way she can make it to the Dollar Store and get some food for her and the kids.”

“Really?” His voice comes out quietly, and you have to lean closer to hear.

“Of course. There’s good, honest people like Marta who have just fallen on some hard times, and I want to be able to help those people in any way I can. Being charitable isn’t a negative trait.” Duncan’s silent, mulling over what you’ve just told him.

“But you still have to limit yourself to do that?” He finally questions.

“No, it’s just that I have to sometimes skip a couple of items so that I can buy the essentials.”

“What are the essentials?”

“Stuff that I can make multiple meals out of. Bread is a big one,” you grab a loaf of bread from the shelf and toss it into the cart, “I can make sandwiches, french toast, garlic bread, and I can make breadcrumbs to top almost anything.”

“And rice and pasta?”

“Again, I can make almost anything using that as a staple. Chicken fried rice, casseroles, any type of crockpot meal. With the variety of noodles that there are, I could make a different meal every day of the week using just one box. You start with your staple foods, the foods that you know are the most important, and then you go from there.”

Duncan listens intently as you explain the intricacies of grocery shopping on a budget, hand resting on top of yours as he pushes the cart along with you. He watches while you look at the shelves, barely checking to look at the prices before throwing the generic brand of pasta into your cart.

“Why’d you pick that one?”

“Because it’s cheaper.” You explain simply, as if this is the easiest thing in the world to understand.

“But why is it cheaper compared to the other ones?”

“The other ones have name brands on them. Stores will often increase their profits by producing their own generic lines of products that they sell cheaper than everything else.”

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” He says suddenly, turning on his heel and walking out of the aisle. You’re a little confused, but brush it off as a phone call from one of his employees that he has to take before continuing on your way.

Duncan doesn’t come back for another ten minutes, and by then you’re nearly done with your shopping. You shouldn’t be getting worried over him, considering he’s a grown man, but the sheer size and dizzying labyrinth of shelves that make up a Walmart would disorient even the most skilled store-prowler. Right when you’re starting to mentally debate about whether or not you need to call him, his deep voice gets your attention. You snap your eyes up to see him carrying a blue shopping basket, loaded to the brim with food items.

“Think this will be enough for Marta and her kids?” You stare at him, lips parted as you try to think of something, anything, to say.

“You--you got all this for them?” Duncan nods, his full bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes seek yours.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be a nice thing to do.” You laugh in disbelief, nodding slightly.

“It’s definitely a nice thing to do. But...why?”

“If there’s one thing that today’s taught me, it’s that I really am an ‘entitled motherfucker.’” He references the words that you had thrown at him in anger yesterday. “I don’t want to be like that anymore, not when there’s people like you going without certain things just so that they can make someone else’s day a little better.”

You can’t think of any proper response to that, so you just lean up and kiss him.

“You, Duncan Shepherd, can be extremely sweet when you want to be.”

“You make me want to be ‘sweet.’” He mutters against your lips. “Oh! Look what I got for you!”

“Duncan!” Your face lights up when he pulls out a couple of cartons of fruit, making him grin widely. “You have most certainly redeemed yourself.”

“Enough for you to make some of that chicken fried rice you were talking about earlier?” He asks hopefully.

“I think that’s a fair trade.”

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#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd imagines #house of cards #house of cards imagine #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine

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crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

Witness

Did someone say “more Branded AU?” No? Well, you get it anyways! Because Jay just dumped a whole bunch of art and I got suddenly motivated! I haven’t written Chase in this AU yet, let’s see what his backstory is. Again, Branded was made by Jay, @blade-of-memeora! Go check out more on their profile!

The morning dawned cool and gray. Chase woke up to weak sunlight landing on his face. He rolled over to see Stacy had already woken up and left. She’d been kind enough to make her side of the bed, but apparently she also opened the curtains on their bedroom window. Probably as a way to remind Chase to get up. He smiled sleepily, then flung away the blankets and stood up.

He walked into the kitchen moments later still in his pajamas. Stacy was already dressed for work, her short dark hair neatly combed, framing her glasses. She was currently sitting at the kitchen table, yanking a brush through Caroline’s hair. Caroline’s brother, Liam, was sitting at the counter, trying to lace up his shoes. He looked up when Chase entered the room and started to giggle. “Daddy’s in his jammies.”

Chase ruffled his son’s hair. “Well, Daddy doesn’t have to go to work like Mommy does. You buds have breakfast yet?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, we can’t have that! Do we have time for pancakes?”

That caught Caroline’s attention. “Yes! Yes we do!”

“Carol, I can’t do your braid if you keep wriggling,” Stacy said, playfully exasperated. Caroline settled down. Stacy grabbed one of the nearby hair ties, checking her watch in the same motion. “Are you sure you can do that in time, Chase? School starts in forty minutes.”

Chase frowned. “Mmmaybe. Probably. Possibly.”

Stacy bit her lip. “It should take maybe fifteen minutes. And it takes another ten minutes to drive to the school. If I walk to work today, everything will figure out.”

“Aw, you don’t need to walk. I’m sure I can make something else.”

“Pancakes!” The kids said in unison.

“No, I don’t think you can,” Stacy laughed.

“Hmm, I see your point.” Chase smiled. He walked over to the cupboards, pulling out the pancake mix, milk, and other ingredients. “Anything big going on today? For any of you?”

“I think we’re gonna have a quiz,” Caroline said, stroking her newly-braided hair.

“I dunno,” Liam shrugged.

“I have a meeting with the other department heads,” Stacy said. “Should be home a little bit late. What about you? Any plans for having the house to yourself?”

“Oh!” Chase brightened up. “Well, I checked the delivery site, and it says my new camera should be arriving today! So I can take that out around town, been a while since I did one of those.”

“Nice,” Stacy said. “Hey, while you’re over there, get the cereal bars out for me?”

Chase opened one of the higher cupboards, pulling out a box of granola bars and sliding them across the counter towards Stacy. “Y’know, you should really have something more substantial.”

“I can pick something else up from the cafe.” Stacy stood up and grabbed two of the bars from the box. Then she turned right back around, grabbing her work bag. “Guess I’m heading out now. See you kiddos later.” She stopped briefly to give Caroline and Liam small kisses on their foreheads. “Chase, you might need to fill up the gas on the car, it was getting close to empty last I checked.”

“Wait! Before you go!” Chase abandoned the pancake batter and dashed across the kitchen, stopping next to Stacy just as she was about to leave. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day at work.”

“Aw, thanks, sweetheart.” Stacy smiled, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “I’ll see you around 6, if everything goes smoothly.” And with that, she left.

Chase stared after her for a moment, a dopey smile on his face, before he was interrupted. “Daaad, is the grill supposed to be making that noise?”

“Oh!” He spun around and rushed back. “Yes, Caroline, that’s normal. Now do either of you want anything in your pancakes or do you want them plain?”

Much later in the day, Chase was sitting in the living room, playing with his new camera. It had arrived soon after he’d picked up the kids from school. And now that it was fully charged, he was getting used to the buttons and settings. The quality was amazing, so much better than his old one. He’d say it warranted a bit of a test run.

He glanced over at the wall clock. It was getting close to six. Stacy said she should be home soon. Maybe he could surprise her by meeting her halfway.

After a brief check in on the kids, who were playing video games on their DSs together, and making sure they would be safe to leave alone for a few minutes, he swung open the front door and stepped outside into the cool fall night. The street lamps had come on in the neighborhood, though the light hadn’t completely left yet. The sky was a gray-blue color, with the horizon tinted orange with the last remains of sunset. Chase turned on the camera. Still a pretty good picture, even outside. He walked a couple blocks before pressing record.

“Hey, what’s up my dudes? I’m Chase, welcome back to Bro Average. I got a new camera today, and thought I might test it out for you guys. Look at this.” He panned around the street. “It’s dusk and we don’t have too much night blindness going on. And check this out!” He pressed a button on the side of the camera. “This thing even has night vision! That’s so cool! Totally not one of the reasons I wanted to buy this.” He chuckled, turning off the night vision again. “Cost a lot, too. Been saving up for months to get this model.”

He walked another two blocks, aimlessly chattering to his imaginary audience about anything. Life, the surroundings, current events. Maybe he’d edit that out, he wasn’t too sure. “Okay, but I know what you’ve all been wondering this whole time,” he finally said. “Why are we out here, in the suburbs, just past sunset? Is it really just to show off the new camera? Well, sort of, but you guys are in for a treat. I’m introducing someone to the channel who you’ve never seen before, but probably heard me talk about. Like, a lot. That is, if she’ll let me keep the footage…in…”

Chase stopped in his tracks. He’d just rounded a corner, coming out from behind one of the houses. Now, staring down the street, he could see Stacy, walking briskly in his direction. She wasn’t too far, close enough that he could recognize her silhouette but still small in the distance. He grinned. He could really surprise her by waiting just out of sight. He backed away so he was mostly covered by the corner of the house’s tall fence, with just his head and the camera sticking out. “Oh my god, that’s her! Okay, you got your look, not it’s time to hide and let her just happen across—wait. What was that?”

Some sort of flash had appeared in the corner of his vision. His eyes snapped to the other side of the street. There were three people there, he could make them out in the fading remains of green light from the flash. They hadn’t been there before, had they? The green light disappeared, but he could still see their outlines and…were they looking at Stacy? Chase squinted. They were. Not only that, they were speeding up to match her pace.

What was this? Who were they? He couldn’t quite make them out...and then he remembered the camera in his hand. He turned on the night vision, and looked through the viewfinder to see the three people clearly. Two of them were wearing capes, but the all had…masks.

Chase could feel his heart stop. No. No, that was…that wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening to them. Sure, he’d read about the masked people and the trouble they were causing on news websites, but they’d always seemed far away, even though some of the incidents occurred in their very city. There was no reason for them to come after Stacy.

Stacy was speeding up. She must have seen them out of the corner of her eyes. Chase opened his mouth to warn her, to tell her he was there, to say anything, but no words came out. And the masked were speeding up too.

Suddenly, there was another flash of green light, and the trio disappeared. Chase leaned back from the camera, blinking away the darkness caused by the flash in the night vision. When he could see clearly again, the three masked were standing in front of Stacy. What the hell? Nobody could run that fast! Stacy yelped. She was close enough that Chase could hear that sound carry down the street toward him. “Back off!” She quickly composed herself, digging into her work bag. “I’m giving you one warning!”

“And we’ll give you one in turn.” Suddenly, three different lights flared to life before lowering down into a steady glow. It was coming from the masked’s hair. Each one a different color: Bright green, deep blue, rose red. The voice from before continued. “This will be easier if you don’t resist. You’ll find life better after, we can promise you that.”

“Ha! Sure.” And before the masked could respond to that, Stacy took her hand out of her work bag and whipped out the pepper spray she always carried, spraying the trio with a hiss. The green-haired one and the red-haired one reeled back, leaving Stacy just enough room to squeeze past them and start running.

Unfortunately, the blue-haired one had been unaffected. That one threw out their hand, and a flurry of dark blue energy spattered outward, circling around Stacy and covering the sidewalk beneath her feet in an icy sheen. She slipped, falling forward and landing hard. The masked immediately circled around her.

“Good job, ice bird,” said the voice from before. “Pick her up.”

The blue-haired one did so, pulling Stacy up and holding her in front of the red-haired one. “Let me go, you—you pricks!” Stacy stomped hard on the blue-haired one’s foot, but they didn’t show any reaction.

“We will. Eventually.” The red-haired one leaned forward, with the green-haired one hovering slightly behind him. “But first…” They snapped their fingers, causing a sudden gasp of red light to appear in their hand. They tossed the light back and forth between their hands, and it shifted and morphed each time it passed, like the masked was throwing mist itself. Stacy’s head followed the light, turning left and right, mimicking its path. Until the light slowed, hovering in midair between the masked’s hands. It twisted, contorting in repeated shapes, swimming mesmerizingly. The longer Stacy watched it, the less she struggled, movements slowing until they stopped entirely.

“Good,” said the voice, evidently the red-haired masked. They stretched their hand to the side, clearly expecting something. The green-haired one responded, a splash of green light coming from their—no, his, unlike the other two this one was clearly a man—hand. And suddenly he was holding something, which he passed into the red-haired one’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” they said. They adjusted the position of the item, then reached out and plucked Stacy’s glasses off her face, letting them fall to the ground. In their place, they put the item on her face.

Chase realized it was a mask a split second before Stacy’s hair suddenly changed color, flaring a soft light orange.

“Perfect,” the red-haired one said. “You can let go of her now.” The blue-haired one released their grip and took a step back. Stacy didn’t run. She just stood there, lifelessly. Like a robot waiting for instructions. “Would you look at that. Not only did we get a new one, but kitten’s first mission was a success!” The red-haired one turned to look at the green-haired one. “Take us back now, kitten.” The green-haired one nodded silently, and in another flash of light all four of them were gone.

Chase felt rooted to the spot. The same way he’d felt during the whole, short encounter. Stacy was…she was gone. Been taken. And he hadn’t even attempted to help. Sure, he’d been outnumbered, and they had—had magic, but that was no excuse. She was his wife, for god’s sake. And he just watched.

He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, wiping away the few tears that had escaped. What was he supposed to do now? Could he go to the police with this? They knew about the masked one’s attacks, but he doubted they knew about the whole…magic thing. He had footage, so maybe…but…Chase swallowed. He just…didn’t know. Didn’t know what to do. How was he going to make up for losing her income? What would he tell the kids? Why hadn’t he done anything?

He leaned against the fence, closing his eyes. His hands were shaking as he turned the camera off. He needed solutions, yes. But more importantly, at least right now, he just—just needed to talk to someone. And there was one person who came to mind. He pulled his jacket close and set off back toward home. He’d get the car, check on the kids, and then head off toward the shop district.

Jameson entered the front of the shop. He’d made a brief detour back into the workshop to pick up a recently-repaired clock to replace one that had been sold that day. The first thing he saw when he came into the front was Chase, standing in front of the counter, clutching a video camera. He smiled at him, but that quickly faded when he saw the wide-eyed, trembling expression on Chase’s face. JJ put the clock on the counter and signed, What’s wrong?

“It’s Stacy,” Chase blurted. “She—I went out to find her, she was walking home and it was late—I don’t even know what—how do I—there were these people—you know what kind of people, right? They—I don’t—I didn’t—” His eyes were watery.

Slow down, JJ signed. Breathe. Remember how to breathe? In...Out...In...Out... He waited until Chase had calmed down a bit before continuing. Now, what’s wrong?

Chase didn’t say anything, just thrust the camera at JJ.

After a confused moment, JJ took it. He fiddled with the buttons for a moment before figuring out how to access the previously recorded footage. As it began playing, he pulled over a chair and sat down. Chase hopped over the counter and ended up looking over his shoulder. At first, it just seemed like one of Chase’s goofier vlogs as he tested out the new camera. Until Chase finally caught up to Stacy and the three masked appeared. Jameson froze the moment they came on screen. One of them had hair glowing red…no, no it was a different shade. And seemed to be a different type of magic. It wasn’t too long before Stacy was masked as well, and all of them disappeared. Jameson looked up at Chase.

“I didn’t—I didn’t even do anything, Jamie,” Chase choked. “I just stood there and watched, like a-a-a coward. I should’ve at least tried.”

Chase, stop it, Jameson signed firmly, putting the camera down on the counter. It’s not your fault. People do strange things in high-pressure situations. You never know how you’ll react until you’re there. You were paralyzed, it was a perfectly natural response. And besides, at least you were able to catch what happened instead of being left to wonder.

Chase folded his arms. “I just—it’s Stacy. I should have tried.”

I have no doubt you did, Jameson assured him. But the panic dulled the response. It’s okay, Chase. It’s not your fault. He stood up.

“I...I guess,” Chase muttered.

No, you don’t ‘guess,’ you know. Say it.

“It’s...it’s not my fault.”

There we are. JJ smiled encouragingly. That’s a step in the right direction. But for now...I think I need to show you something.

Chase blinked. “Show me what?”

Just a few minutes later, the two of them were in the apartment above the shop. Chase had been here before, of course, but now JJ was showing him the one room he’d never been inside. It had always been kept locked, and honestly it was pretty well-disguised as a part of the wall as well. The only reason Chase even knew it was there was because he’d been here enough times to notice it. JJ unlocked the door, pushing it open and flicking on the lights.

“...dude,” Chase breathed.

The room could’ve been lifted out of a crime TV show. Around the edges were filing cabinets, and there were two tables with maps spread on them. The far wall was taken up by a board with photos, sticky notes, newspaper articles, and grids pinned on it. Chase walked forward in a daze, stopping right in front of the board. He turned around to look back at JJ. “What is all this?”

This is where I keep the information I’ve acquired about the masked, Jameson explained. I’ve been looking into them for years.

“How many years?” Chase asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oh. Shortly before we met, Jameson signed with a wry smile. But I wasn’t able to really start gathering information until my later teen years.

“Damn,” Chase muttered, turning back to the board. Every photo, every note, was connected to each other with red string. Except for one in the center: a polaroid picture of two people lovingly embracing. It was labeled “Mrs. + Mr. Jackson” with a date. “That’s them, huh?” he asked, turning back toward JJ. “They knew?”

Jameson sighed, sadness suddenly marring his features. Yes. They knew before me. Do you remember the fire? It...wasn’t actually a fire. It was one of the masked.

“Holy shit, dude.” Chase remembered hearing about the fire. Jameson hadn’t talked about it once in all these years, at least not besides the bare bones. “They—they can do that?”

Some of them. I’ve gathered that they have different types of magic. The ones who can—can do damage like that are rare. Jameson took a deep breath. But they exist. And whoever is behind all this sent one after them. They were getting too close, so he destroyed everything—Jameson suddenly stopped, closing his eyes and making a conscious effort to control his breathing. His hand was shaking, so he steadied it with his artificial one.

“Hey, Jamie.” Chase walked back over to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Jameson’s eyes opened. “I’m…I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. But…I mean, you’re not alone. You’ve still got me. And I’m sure your parents would be proud of what you’ve done here.”

Jameson gave a small smile, placing his hand on top of Chase’s for just a moment before signing Thank you.

“And now…” Chase removed his hand. “Well, now you’re gonna have help.”

JJ tilted his head. Are you offering?

“Of course I am!” Chase smiled. “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this, find whoever’s behind it, and get them to let everyone they’ve taken go, including Stacy. What do I need to know to do that?”

Jameson laughed, the sound near-silent. Well, then. It seems you have a lot to learn. Let’s get started.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #brigid writes fanfiction #branded au

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charanteleclerc · 5 years

Note

Hello! Can I please request a one shot of Lando comforting George in Baku after his car got wrecked during practice? Absolutely love your work!

‘Enjoy! ❤️

make a wish on the setting sun

All he wanted to do was sleep, he’d barely been in the car today but just having to deal with the fallout from this morning was enough to drain him. Just bad luck, can they come back from this? He’d had so much faux sympathy thrown at him, so many questions about the fate of his weekend. He wanted to scream and cry, he knew it was pure dumb luck that the drain cover had hit him rather than anyone else, but he didn’t know what was going to happen. He felt so guilty about the entire thing, he wished he didn’t have to look his mechanics in the eye without a proper explanation or apology. He wished he couldn’t feel the tension in the air, the feeling of desperation. Having the media hurl questions at him, questions he couldn’t answer, it felt like they were crashing down his foundations with a sledgehammer, trying to deliberately tear down what was left of his confidence in himself, in the car, in the team.

He said goodbye to the team left at the track, still trying to fix his mangled car. He was useless in this situation, just getting in the way. He tried to ignore the way that everyone was staring at him, whispering and pointing. The words struck him like a blade. Unlucky. Unlucky. Unlucky. It felt like that word was being branded into his skin, following him, taunting him. He couldn’t escape it.

“Hey George.” Lando appeared next to him, looking concerned. “How are you doing?”

“Fantastic, great, epic.” George sighed, glad that he’d put his sunglasses on, tears already threatening to spill. “Please don’t say I was unlucky, if I have to hear that word one more time -”

“I get it.” Lando interrupted, giving him a small smile. “Have you got any plans this evening?”

“I have ‘curl up in bed and pretend today never happened’ scheduled at eight, but I think I can move it around. Just for you.”

“Aww, I’m special.” Lando laughed, nudging George with his shoulder. “Knew you loved me really. New plan for your evening, go and get changed, and meet you back here?”

“Where are we going?” George asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He knew he really shouldn’t question Lando, who did things as they popped into his head, and never replied with a direct answer.

“That is for me to know, and you to find out, young padawan.” Lando waggled his eyebrows for full effect, grinning. “See you back here in an hour?”

“Only if I don’t get any better offers.” George teased. Lando gasped, clutching at his chest.

“I’m the best you’ll ever have, Russell!” He cried. “The best!”

“Oh god, help me.” George was grinning now, despite his mood. Lando just seemed to have that effect on people. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

~*~

“George!” Lando greeted him, waving like an idiot. “Ready for your magical mystery tour?”

“Do you actually know Baku well enough to give a tour?” George asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this one of your usual tours of getting lost for a while?”

“Definitely the second, it’s patent pending.” Lando said, looking around. “I think we should go this way.”

“Do you have an actual destination in mind?” George asked, following. “I have no idea what is actually in this city, so you could tell me literally anything and I’d believe you.”

“Well, first we have this building to your left, sir.” Lando said, gesturing like a real tour guide. “This building is stylized in the Azerbaijan style, which is very common in this area of the world. The architect for this building became so famous, he was commissioned to do the whole city, that’s why it all looks similar. Very confusing, if you ask me. And along here -”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” George laughed, giving Lando a friendly shove. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“Ah, but a loveable one.” Lando batted his eyelids. “I’m the prettiest dick around.”

“I’m not even gonna answer that. There’s no way I’m gonna feed your ego.”

“No, feed it George, feed it!” Lando cried, ignoring the looks people were giving him. “It lives off compliments, otherwise it shrivels away!”

“Such a weirdo.” George said fondly. “How does Carlos put up with you all the time?”

“Same way you and Alex are still my friends. I was much more annoying as a kid, Carlos has the easy deal.” Lando shrugged. “I’m just adorable, no-one can resist.”

“I’m never going to be rid of you. You’ll be following me around even when we’re eighty.” George teased. “Racing around in wheelchairs.”

“And I’ll be winning, obviously.” Lando countered. “I’ll get one of those turbo wheelchairs, I’ll run rings around you.”

“That is just blatant cheating.”

“I call it loopholes in the rules.” Lando grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, are you ready to talk yet?”

“About what?” George tried to evade, but he knew Lando wasn’t buying it.

“Today.” Lando shrugged, purposely not watching George. They spent so much time under media scrutiny, there was no reason to add himself to the list. “I’m not going to say that you’re unlucky, but it also obviously wasn’t your fault either.”

“I dunno. It just feels like a curse, or something. The car is awful, it’s so fucking slow. With this as well, the team can’t afford this. You can just feel the desperation, it’s everywhere. This is the latest in a long line of ‘unlucky’ events. The media are waiting for a story, and I just feel… hopeless? Guilty? I can’t even take the blame for this, no-one can, but I want them to blame me. I wish they could.”

“You’re not at fault.” Lando said sharply, and there’s a hand on the inside of his wrist, warm and safe. “George, no-one should be making you feel guilty for this.”

“I’m making myself feel guilty.” George gave a shaky sigh. “If I can’t prove myself, then what? Do I want to be the guy whose career was done in by a drain?”

“That is not going to happen. You’re fast, and you’re talented, and you’ve worked too damn hard to give up now. Don’t you even dare.”

“But -”

“No but’s. I’d rather give you my own seat than let you give up.” Lando said fiercely, and George didn’t doubt that he meant it. “You’re going to get back in that car, and you’re going to show the world that you are George goddamn Russell, and you aren’t going anywhere. Got that?”

“Okay.”

“Repeat after me. I am George goddamn Russell, and I am not going anywhere.”

“I thought your name was Lando.” George teased. Lando gave him a look. “Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath. “I’m George goddamn Russell, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Now shout it!”

“No way, there are people around!”

Lando looked unimpressed, but he slid his hand down to George’s, squeezing. “Shout it.”

“Fine.” George huffed, taking a deep breath. “I’M GEORGE GODDAMN RUSSELL AND I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

“Ağzını yum!” Someone shouted from behind them, and they both broke down into giggles.

“I’m never doing that again.” George said, catching his breath.

“Yeah, but it was fun when you did it.”

“Someone shouted something at me Lando. I don’t even know what he said!”

“Pretend it was a compliment.”

“It probably wasn’t.”

“Shut up, pretend. Maybe he said you have a sexy butt, you don’t know.”

“You think I have a sexy butt? Aww, Lando, I never knew you cared.”

“Your butt is very sexy, that’s why that guy shouted it, obviously.” Lando laughed. “Ooh look, we’re at the sea!”

Lando ran down to the barrier, looking over to the horizon, watching the setting sun. When George caught up, Lando nudged him.

“Remember when we used to climb onto the top of our caravans and watch the sunset?” He asked softly. “It was the one little piece of quiet we used to get, and we just sat there.”

“Yeah.” George replied, a sad smile on his face. “Feels like forever since we did that.”

“Can you imagine doing it with our motorhomes now? They’d be screaming, ‘Lando, get down’ or ‘That’s dangerous!’”

“Pretty sure that’s what your mum used to say anyway.” George replied. “You were always getting us into trouble.”

“Like anyone believed you did those stupid things.” Lando snorted. “I do miss those days.”

“Everyone misses their childhood.” George shrugged. “Rose tinted glasses, and all that.”

Lando nodded, watching the sky turn to orange and bronze. “We should see more sunsets.”

“We really should.” George smiled. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Being idiotic enough to cheer me up. I’m pretty sure no-one else wants to go near me right now.”

“Since when was I most people?” Lando gave a cheeky grin. “Okay, make a wish.”

“On what?”

“On the sunset.” Lando said, like it was obvious. He turned to look at the fading sun, exhaling deeply. “Ready?”

“Uh, sure.” George turned to look across the sea, shutting his eyes. He exhaled, his mind forming his wish. Let him see me, really see me.

“Come one, we’ll do one more thing before we go back.” Lando clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d better give you back on time, don’t want your team to hate me.”

“Yeah, my mechanics giving you the death glare would obviously be the worst thing in your life.” George rolled his eyes. “Where else are we going?”

“To the scene of the crime!” Lando cried, heading off towards the track. George groaned, trailing after him. What crime?

~*~

He wasn’t going to lie, going back to that drain cover and kicking it, jumping up and down on it? Totally worth it. He’d never felt so energised, so carefree. His feet probably had a different opinion though.

~*~

“See, back in time. Didn’t want you to turn into a pumpkin or anything.”

“I’m not cinderella, I’m the carriage?” George replied indignantly. “Cheers mate.”

“‘There’s no way I’m going to feed your ego.’” Lando mimicked. “I’m obviously cinderella.”

“Aah, I see it now. Helpless damsel, curly hair…” George teased, laughing as Lando swatted him. “You said it!”

“Never helping you again.” Lando grumbled, but he was smiling. “I’d better go before the team kill me. See you tomorrow?”

“Course.” George said, pulling Lando into a tight hug. “Thanks. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.” Lando murmured, tilting his head up. “Remember what to shout out if you need to.”

“Never shouting that out again.” George reminded him, letting him go. Lando grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly.

“You really should.” He smiled, before letting go. He started to walk away, before turning back quickly. “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.” George said, shaking his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lando nodded, turning once again and heading off down the street. George watched him go, a soft smile on his face. He’d hold onto that wish, maybe it would come true. If not, he always had that sunset. He’d have to be content with that.

~*~

‘Ağzını yum’ means ‘Shut your mouth’ in Azerbaijani. Not ‘you have a sexy butt’, as Lando thinks.

As usual, crossposted to my AO3 (Charante_Leclerc) and prompts are always open. Enjoy! ❤️

#lando norris #Anonymous #george russell #f1 fanfic

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sarahgirl1998 · 5 years

Text

Lumpy’s Birthday

The sun slowly rose from the mountains, changing the sky from dark blue to a much lighter shade of blue. As it did so, the stars gradually disappeared from the sky. Before long, you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping wherever you went.

It was a beautiful morning in the Happy Tree Friends forest, the start of a brand new day. In one of the houses in the forest, Lumpy was laying in his bed, still sleeping since the night before. After a few minutes had gone by, however, he slowly opened his eyes, then sat up in his bed. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, and then yawned quietly into one of them. As he put his hand down afterwards, his eyes widened with happiness and he smiled. Today was his birthday.

Hopefully, this would be a much better birthday than the year before. On his last birthday, he had caught a particularly bad cold and felt absolutely miserable. He almost always needed to sneeze, and a lot of his sneezes were extremely loud and messy. He also couldn't get over that one massive sneeze, which mortified him as it happened during his birthday party. Everyone saw him and heard him release that sneeze, and probably could have kicked him out right then and there. Fortunately, his friends weren't mad at him for the sneeze; they understood that he wasn't feeling well and still let him stay for the party.

This year, however, Lumpy was perfectly healthy. His nose didn't feel runny or stuffy, his throat wasn't feeling sore... he felt great, and he felt happy, too. He figured that since he didn't have a cold this time around, that would help make his birthday a lot better than the embarrassing nightmare it was the year before. As he compared the reality of last year to the expectations of this year, Lumpy remembered something that made his mood even better: his friends were throwing him another party at Cuddles' house.

Lumpy sat on the edge of his bed, and then stepped out. He went over to his window, pulled the curtains open, and then pushed the window open. He smiled as he looked outside. The sky was a perfect light blue tint, without a single cloud in the sky. It was a little warm outside, but the gentle breeze felt cool on Lumpy's fur. Also, it smelled kind of sweet...

"Aaah-choo!"

Lumpy suddenly doubled over with a single, mild sneeze. He then reached up and placed his forefinger under his nose, smiling sheepishly to himself. His nose had just been tickled by the faint scent of pollen in the air, leading to his unexpected sneeze. He didn't mind it this time, however. He was already aware of how often he sneezed from his allergies, no matter what day of the year it was, so it wasn't surprising.

Lumpy removed his forefinger from his nose and closed the window, but still kept the curtains open. He walked out of his bedroom, then went into the bathroom to wash up and get ready for the day. He took a shower, brushed his teeth and put on some odorless deodorant.

After about 30 minutes, Lumpy walked out of his bathroom. He went downstairs to the kitchen (he had sold his trailer for a two-story house) and began making himself some coffee. He filled the coffee maker with fresh coffee powder, followed by some hot water, then switched it on and waited for it to “do its magic.” While Lumpy was waiting for his coffee to finish, he went outside to get the newspaper, then returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table to read the paper. He got about halfway through one of the articles before the coffee maker finally shut off, having finished a fresh serving of coffee.

Lumpy put down his newspaper, cleaned out his favorite mug and poured some coffee into it. It was still steaming hot, just the way Lumpy liked it. Lumpy took a deep inhale through his nose to smell the sweet aroma in the otherwise bitter coffee. Not long afterward, however, his nostrils flared up. Lumpy needed to sneeze again.

“Ah, aaaaah... AAH-CHOOOOOOOO!!” Sniffling, Lumpy rubbed his nose with his forefinger. “Huh, that was weird... I don’t think coffee has ever made me sneeze before.”

“Ah, well...” Lumpy shrugged to himself. “My nose is probably just a little more ticklish than usual today.”

After a couple of minutes, he had finished his coffee and finished the article he was reading. He put his newspaper on the table, washed out the mug with water again and put it back in the cupboard.

Just then, he heard a knock at his door, and an excited smile immediately appeared on his face. At least one of his friends might have arrived to bring him to his birthday party, like the year before. Lumpy ran excitedly to the door, stopped once he had reached it, and then pulled the door open.

“Hey, guys!” he greeted the visitors before getting to see who they were.

Cuddles and Toothy stood at the door, just like they had last year on the day of Lumpy’s birthday.

“Hey, Lumpy!” Cuddles and Toothy replied.

“I think I know what you’re gonna say,” Lumpy said. “But if you say it in a certain way, you’re gonna make me sneeze...”

“Oh, really?” Cuddles asked, playfully.

“Yeah.” Lumpy nodded. “I’m not sick this time, but my nose is pretty sensitive this year.”

“Well, alright,” said Cuddles. “You about ready to come on over to my house for that party?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” said Lumpy.

Lumpy stepped out the front door and shut it behind him. He, along with Cuddles and Toothy, went on their way to Cuddles’ house. A short time after they had started walking, however, Lumpy’s nose twitched again. The pollen was tickling his nose again. Not wanting to fight it, Lumpy simply tilted his upper body back and inhaled before letting out a double.

“Aaaah... Ah-choo! Aaaah-chiooo!” Lumpy sniffled as he rubbed his nose with his forefinger, smiling sheepishly at Cuddles and Toothy.

“Bless you,” Toothy said, having heard the sneezes.

“Thank you,” Lumpy responded as he continued to rub his nose. “I’m probably gonna be sneezy all day...”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“Yeah. As long as it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother us,” Cuddles added.

Lumpy smiled at them again and they continued on their way. Lumpy sneezed a few more times on the way to Cuddles’ house, but he kept rubbing his nose afterward. Even though he was right about sneezing a lot today, he was glad that he wasn’t feeling sick as well.

After a few minutes, Lumpy, Cuddles and Toothy finally arrived at Cuddles’ house. All of Lumpy’s friends - Giggles, Petunia, Flaky, Lammy, Nutty, Flippy, Splendid, and even Lifty and Shifty - had already arrived. Sniffles, Lumpy’s best friend of all, was also there, and when he saw Lumpy, he squealed with joy.

“Lumpy!!” Sniffles immediately ran up to Lumpy and gave him a big hug. “I am so glad you could make it!”

Lumpy was a little surprised at first, but he calmed down, blushed and hugged him in return. After a few seconds, Sniffles let go of him.

“This party’s gonna be even better than last year!” said Sniffles. “Then again, you did have that super bad cold back then...”

“Yeah. But at least I’m not sick this year around,” Lumpy replied, “even though I am kinda sneezy today. Better just sneezy than sick and sneezy, I guess...”

Sniffles smiled at him, and then reached up to rub Lumpy’s nose gently with his forefinger. Lumpy didn’t have to sneeze, but he giggled a little as the fur on Sniffles’ finger tickled the underside of his nose.

“Hee, hehe!” Lumpy twitched his nose slightly.

“Aww, what?” Sniffles asked, playfully.

“It, it tickles! Hehehe!” Lumpy responded.

Sniffles removed his finger from Lumpy’s nose, and then tickled around his nostrils with the tip of his forefinger. Lumpy kept giggling, but his nostrils started to flare up.

“Hahahaha! S-Sniffles, you’re gonna make me sneeze! Hahaha!” Lumpy tried to warn him.

“I know.” Sniffles giggled in adoration and continued to tickle Lumpy’s nose. After a few seconds, however, he pulled his forefinger away and watched. As soon as he did that, Lumpy held his hands over his quivering nose.

“Ah... Aaah, haaaah...” Lumpy tilted his neck back three times, and then sneezed into his hands. “Hah-choo!” Afterwards, he pulled his hands away from his mouth and rubbed his nose slowly with his forefinger.

“Awww!” Sniffles said in response to the sneeze. “That was so cute! Bless you, Lumpy!”

“Thank you,” Lumpy replied as he continued to rub his nose.

“Indeed. Gesundheit, darling,” a familiar voice remarked.

Lumpy turned around to see that Splendid had arrived at the party as well. Not only that, he had heard Lumpy’s sneeze.

“Thanks,” Lumpy said as he rubbed his nose a little more. “And excuse me.”

“It’s alright, dear. Are you enjoying your birthday so far?”

“Yeah.” Lumpy poured himself a glass of punch and drank it. It tasted like fruit snacks if they were made into a drink. Lumpy didn't know if that was a good way to describe it, but that was what it tasted like to him. “But for some weird reason, my nose is more ticklish than usual.”

Splendid looked at him in concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Lumpy. “I’m feeling great. I just have a little case of the sneezes.”

Sniffles nodded in confirmation as Lumpy said that. Splendid’s expression of concern then returned to normal.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your party,” Splendid replied. “And when you’re ready to open your presents or have cake, let us know.”

Lumpy nodded in understanding. He then walked over to another part of the party, where he saw Petunia holding a bouquet of pretty flowers. When she turned her head to look at him, she smiled.

“Hey, Lumpy!” She showed him her flowers. “I got you flowers for your birthday!”

“Oh, thank you!” Lumpy smiled widely as well.

Lumpy was already aware that he was allergic to flowers and pollen, but he was too grateful to turn down Petunia’s gift. He took the bouquet of flowers and gave them a deep sniff.

“Aaaaaah...” Lumpy’s breath suddenly hitched, and he pulled the flowers away from his nose. The end of his snout was quivering, and his nostrils were flaring up again. He gave the flowers back to Petunia, then turned away from her. “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh...” He tilted his upper body back as he fanned his hand in front of his opening mouth. This was going to be a big one. “HaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--”

“CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

A massive sneeze erupted from Lumpy’s body as he shot his neck forwards, with a good amount of spray coming out of his mouth and nose. Most of his friends turned to look at him, a lot of them concerned, but Sniffles and Splendid were amused. Lumpy opened his eyes to see everyone staring at him. He could only smile sheepishly as he rubbed his nose with his forefinger.

“Um... excuse me?” he said, innocently.

His friends laughed at his reaction, making him feel a bit more comfortable. After a few seconds, they went back to what they were doing. Petunia, however, still looked at him in concern.

“Oh, my. Bless you, Lumpy,” she said. “Sorry, I thought these flowers would be a nice present for you...”

“That’s okay,” Lumpy said as he continued to rub his nose. “It’s not like I didn’t like them.”

“If you’re interested, I did bring another present for you.”

“Thanks, but I’d like to wait a little bit,” Lumpy responded, politely.

“Well, alright, then.”

Lumpy then looked over at the other side of the room. He saw Lifty and Shifty on the couch, playing something on their Nintendo Switch. The game looked oddly familiar to Lumpy, like something he had played before. Aside from that, Lumpy was happy that they made it to the part, and he couldn’t resist going over to them. Once he had made it to the couch, he greeted them.

“Hey, guys!”

Lifty and Shifty immediately paused their game and turned to look at Lumpy. They responded almost instantly, as if they knew what they wanted to say.

“Hey, Lumpy!” Shifty said.

“What’s up, birthday dude?” Lifty added.

“I just wanted to hang out with you guys for a minute,” said Lumpy.

“Sure!” the raccoons replied in unison. They moved over a little so Lumpy could sit down on the couch. They unpaused their game and continued playing while Lumpy watched.

“I didn’t know you guys had a Nintendo Switch,” Lumpy stated. “What are you playing?”

“Mario Kart 8 Deluxe,” Lifty responded. “I’m Luigi, and Shifty is Waluigi.”

“That’s cool. I actually played that game once, a few months ago. Or at least, the one on Wii U,” Lumpy replied. He then sighed to himself in slight disappointment as he spoke again. “I kept getting hit by Blue Shells, lightning, the Pow Blocks...”

“Oh, come on!” Waluigi’s voice from the game was heard, followed by Luigi’s voice not long after.

“Oh, what happened?”

“9th place. God dang it!” Lifty said.

“Ugh, why does this game have to be so hard?” Shifty muttered, also disappointed as he had finished in 8th place.

Despite that Lifty and Shifty were huge Mario Kart fans, they felt like they just couldn't get a break whenever they played it, let alone 8 Deluxe. Then again, neither did anyone else, or at least the ones that volunteered to play the game with them. Lumpy, as he said before, didn't have a lot of luck with this game, either, so he sympathized with the unfortunate raccoons.

“Well, sorry, guys. I guess that game is more focused on getting the others to win than you to win.” Lumpy shrugged. “But hey, at least this didn’t end like that time when you were in a race...”

“Yeah. Let’s start a new race and see if we’ll get lucky.”

Shifty exited out onto the main menu. He and Lifty chose the same characters and car add-ons as they did before the race, but Lifty turned to Lumpy just as Shifty arrived on the stage selection screen.

“So Lumpy, you having a good time?” Lifty asked.

“Yeah,” Lumpy replied. “However, I should point out, today I’m a little...”

Before Lumpy could say anything more, Shifty tapped on Lifty’s shoulder to get his attention. Lifty turned to look at him, only to find that Shifty had chosen his favorite stage: Rainbow Road as it appeared on the first edition of Mario Kart 8.

“Yes!!” Lifty squealed as he wagged his tail around, not realizing he was wiggling it right under Lumpy’s nose. Lumpy’s nostrils began to flare up as he needed to sneeze again.

“Haaah... Aaaaaaah...” Lumpy tilted his neck back. What he didn’t realize was that Lifty and Shifty were both holding the Accelerate buttons on their controllers, and right before the race started, Lumpy exploded. “HAAAAAAAAH-- TCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“Whoa!!”

Just as Lumpy sneezed, Luigi and Waluigi on the game spun out, blowing Lifty and Shifty’s chances of getting a turbo start. The raccoons looked shocked, and then dismayed. They looked over at Lumpy, who was rubbing his nose with his forefinger.

“Well, thanks a lot, Lumpy,” said Shifty, sarcastically.

“S-Sorry...” Lumpy apologized as he continued to rub his nose.

Not wanting the raccoons to be mad at him, Lumpy walked away, still rubbing his nose. He went back over to Sniffles, who was holding a bottle of pink and blue sneezing powder in his hands. Sniffles looked up at Lumpy and smiled at him.

“Hey, Lumpy! I almost forgot to remind you, but I made a special sneezing powder for you for your birthday!” said Sniffles. “And it’s right here!”

“Really?!” Lumpy sounded excited. “What’s it got?”

Sniffles showed Lumpy the bottle. “I made this with pollen, dust, pepper and flour. This powder is guaranteed to make you sneeze - not to mention, it can really tickle your nose while it does so.”

Sniffles gave Lumpy the bottle of sneezing powder. Lumpy happily removed the lid on the bottle, inserted his forefinger inside and rubbed some of the sneezing powder into his nose.

Immediately, Lumpy’s snout began to twitch, and his nostrils reddened slightly as they flared up. They really, really tickled. Lumpy sniffled, sending the sneezing powder a little further into his nasal passages and tickling them even more. Lumpy’s breath began to hitch. He was going to sneeze again.

“Aaaaah... Haaaaaaaah...” Lumpy began, and then put down the bottle of sneezing powder. He rubbed his nose with his hand, trying to fight the urge to sneeze. “Huuuuuh... Ehhhh...”

“I-I-it’s coming...!” Lumpy managed to point out, as if no one got it. He tilted his upper body farther and farther back with every inhale he took. “Heeeeeeh... HaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH...”

Lumpy tilted his neck as far back as possible, took a final dramatic inhale and finally exploded.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHH-TCHIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

Everyone could feel the floors beneath them shaking as Lumpy released his sneeze, with a good amount of spray coming out of his mouth. His nose was still tickling, however, so he quickly sneezed again. He thought it was going to take at least five sneezes before his nose would feel satisfied, but it only took two more.

“AaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! HaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!”

The second sneeze sounded surprisingly adorable. Lumpy sniffled as he rubbed his red nose with his forefinger, blushing at every one of his friends.

“Oh, my! Gesundheit, Lumpy!” Sniffles responded.

“Gesundheit, indeed,” Splendid said in agreement.

“Gesundheit!” Lifty and Shifty said, in unison.

“Thanks...” Lumpy continued to rub his nose.

“So, do you like my sneezing powder?” Sniffles wanted to know.

“Yeah,” Lumpy said with a nod. “It really tickled my nose, but those sneezes felt really good.”

Sniffles smiled at him, his hard work having paid off. “I’m glad you like it.”

Soon Lumpy decided he wanted some cake. Everyone sat around the table and Cuddles gestured Lumpy to make a wish and blow out the candles. Before he did, however, the smoke from the candles wafted into Lumpy’s nose, making him need to sneeze.

“AaaaaAAAAAAH-- CHEEEEEEWWWWW!!” Lumpy sneezed right onto the candles, blowing them out. He then sniffled and rubbed his nose with his forefinger.

Everyone looked at him in shock at first, but then laughed. They didn’t believe what they had seen, but they couldn’t be mad at Lumpy. After all, besides the fact that the sneeze had sounded cute, this hadn’t been the first time a small amount of fire or smoke had made Lumpy sneeze.

“Gesundheit!” Sniffles said. Lumpy blushed as he rubbed his nose for a few more seconds.

Not long afterwards, the cake was cut, and everyone had some. When Lumpy took his first bite of his slice of cake, however, he felt an enormous need to sneeze. His nose twitched and nostrils flared up as he sensed the flour in the cake.

“Huuuuh...” He inhaled quietly, then swallowed the morsel of cake, put his plate down on the table, and then let out a few rapidfire sneezes into his hand. “HaaAAAH-CHOOCHOOCHOO!! AAAH-CHEWCHIOOO!!”

“Ugh...” Lumpy removed his hand and rubbed his nose with his forefinger, sniffling slightly. “Every time I eat cake. Every single time.”

“Lumpy? Are you feeling alright?” Toothy asked in concern.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s fine,” said Sniffles. As he explained why Lumpy was sneezing like this, he blushed a bit. “I once discovered that eating cake on his birthday causes Lumpy to sneeze like that.”

“Yeah...” Lumpy took another bite, swallowed and then sneezed rapidly again. “HEEEEH-CHIOOCHEWCHOOCHOO!!” He sniffled and rubbed his nose again. “It’s too bad this tastes so good...” He took another bite, and then pressed his forefinger under his nose. “Ah, ehh...” He held the sneeze back long enough for him to swallow, but then he sneezed anyway. “Haaaaaah-- CHOOOOOO!! AH-SHEEEEEWWWWW!! Heeeh... HEEEEEH-CHIOOOOOOOOOO!!”

He was still sneezing, but at least this didn’t feel as painful as his rapidfire sneezes. He rubbed his nose gingerly with his forefinger as Sniffles giggled.

“Lumpy, if you’d like, I could make a potion that will help you stop sneezing like that,” Sniffles offered.

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Lumpy replied.

Sniffles then turned to Lifty and Shifty, who were the only guests at the party who hadn't gotten themselves some cake yet.

“Would you guys like some cake?” Sniffles asked. “There's enough for you.”

“You do know we're allergic to cake, right?” Lifty asked, not looking amused.

As he said that, an unfortunate memory appeared in Sniffles' mind, and his pupils shrunk.

“Oh...”

“We're not that hungry anyway,” Shifty said as he looked away for a moment.

“Well, if you say so,” Sniffles replied.

Lumpy continued to eat his cake, despite that he kept rapidly sneezing between each bite. He kept rubbing his nose after every brief sneezing fit, however. Once he had finally finished (it took him longer than the others, who had already finished), he put his plate down on the table and rubbed his nose with his forefinger.

Lumpy then got up and went over to the large stack of presents that everyone had brought for his birthday. He chose one at random and pulled out a small gift box. On the tag, it said “To Lumpy, from Sniffles.” Lumpy looked over at Sniffles and smiled appreciatively at him. Sniffles smiled as well as he blushed and giggled.

“I think you’re going to like my gift, Lumpy,” he told him quietly.

Lumpy removed the ribbon from the box, then put it aside as he removed the lid. He looked down at what was inside.

There was a bottle of light blue powder.

“What is this? Sneezing powder?” Lumpy asked.

Sniffles nodded in confirmation. “But it’s not just any sneezing powder. Would you like to find out what happens when you sneeze from it?”

“Sure.”

Lumpy removed the bottle from the box, and then put the box down. He removed the lid from the bottle, held the opening to his nose and gave a deep sniff.

Suddenly, his eyes widened and his pupils shrunk. His nostrils froze for a moment, and then began to flare up as his snout twitched. The powder smelled like flowers, but it felt like a good number of feathers were tickling the outsides and insides of his nose. Lumpy pulled the bottle away from his nose and began to inhale, tilting his neck back.

“Aaaaaaaaah... HeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEHHHHHHH...” Lumpy’s inhales were growing louder and more dramatic by the second. Most of the other Happy Tree Friends plugged their ears while Sniffles looked on in excitement. Lumpy’s nostrils flared up to several times their normal size and his snout was rumbling like crazy, like a volcano about to erupt. “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--”

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!”

Lumpy shot his upper body forwards as he released the sneeze, with a good amount of spray coming out of his mouth. Despite that the sneeze was certainly loud and forceful, it was also very high-pitched and sounded adorable. It was like it had been released by one of your favorite female characters, or at least Giggles, Petunia, Flaky or Lammy. Once he recovered from the sneeze, Lumpy groaned, sniffled and rubbed his nose with his forefinger, holding the sneezing powder in his free hand.

“Ughh!!” said Lumpy.

Not long after he had started rubbing his nose, he saw that all of the Happy Tree Friends in the scene were looking at him. Everyone had sparkles and hearts in their eyes, as if they had just discovered yet another exceptionally cute piece of media.

“Oh. My. God!” Lifty said. “That was adorable!”

“Yeah!” Shifty replied.

“Did... Did you just sneeze like that?!” Cuddles asked, even though he didn’t believe it. “It sounded just like when Giggles sneezes!”

“It did?” Giggles blushed, but kept her expression. “No wonder it sounded so adorable!”

“Awww~!” said Flaky.

“That was really cute!!” Flippy mentioned.

“It sure was!” Toothy responded.

“Oh, Lumpy, that was just too cute!” Petunia said, ignoring the fact that Lumpy’s sneeze had visible saliva. He didn’t spray anyone, anyway.

“Y-Yeah! Hehehehe!” Nutty jittered.

“How can someone like you sneeze like that?” Lammy asked, jokingly. “That was too cute, even for you!”

“Lumpy, that was one of the cutest sneezes I have ever heard,” Splendid said, meaning every word.

“EEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Sniffles squealed loudly and giggled for quite some time. “Oh, Lumpy! That was amazingly adorable!! Gesundheit~~!”

“Yeah, what he said!” Lifty said.

Lumpy blushed at everybody’s comments, especially Sniffles’.

“Um, thank you...” Lumpy said as he rubbed his nose a little more. “Sniffles, what did you put in this sneezing powder?”

“This sneezing powder was made with pepper, lots of pollen, and a rather special substance,” said Sniffles. “The substance not only tickles your nose, but has the power to make even the biggest sneezes you release sound absolutely adorable.”

“What’s it called?” Lumpy asked with a sniffle.

“Actually, I’m not sure, but I did bring some with me.” Sniffles held up a shaker of pink, sparkling powder.

“You know, that kinda looks like one of your pink sneezing powders,” Lumpy commented.

“It basically is.” Sniffles put away his powder. “Except I didn't create it myself, I just found some and decided to use it in some of my sneezing powders.”

“Thanks, Sniffles,” Lumpy said as he put his bottle of sneezing powder back in the box he took it out from. “I wonder which present I should open next...”

“You can open ours,” Shifty offered.

Lumpy slowly turned to look at Lifty and Shifty.

“You... you brought presents?” Lumpy asked as he raised an eyebrow.

The raccoons nodded in confirmation, and each handed him a wrapped present. They had been carrying theirs with them for almost the whole party. Lumpy took them and unwrapped Lifty’s. Once all of the paper had been removed, he looked at the gift in what seemed to be disbelief.

“Sonic... Forces?” Lumpy asked.

“It has that awesome song called Fist Bump,” said Lifty. “You know, the one that I kept listening to online?”

“Oh.” Lumpy smiled. “You know, that has been my favorite song from that game ever since I heard it on TV. Thanks!”

Lumpy then unwrapped the present that Shifty had given to him. His reaction was also disbelief at first, but then it turned to delight.

“Super Mario Odyssey?!”

“Yep,” Shifty responded.

“Oh, my God!! Thank you, THANK YOU!!” Lumpy said as he hugged Shifty. He blushed while Lifty looked on, almost looking like he was about to laugh. “I LOVE this game!!”

“Yeah, to be honest, it was more fun than Sonic Forces,” Shifty admitted. “But we didn’t know which one you’d like more...”

Lumpy let go of him and picked out another present. It was from Giggles, and it was in a pink gift box with a yellow ribbon. He undid the ribbon and removed the lid. His eyes sparkled and he gasped when he looked inside.

“Oh, my...!”

Lumpy removed the object from the box and looked at it. It was a plush toy of Unikitty from the cartoon of the same name. His favorite character from one of the cutest shows he had ever seen, right behind Tootie. It was covered with a soft, velvety outer material, from the pink on its body to the light blue on its tail, with the eyes made out of high quality glass, and the horn made out of vinyl. Unlike its cartoon counterpart, however, the plush toy had two front paws and two back paws, as opposed to one front paw and one back paw. He picked the plush toy up and showed it to everybody.

“Giggles, it’s adorable!” Lumpy said. “How’d you know I like Unikitty so much?”

“Well, you did show me the intro once,” Giggles replied.

“Oh, I love it! Thank you so much!” Lumpy hugged the Unikitty plush toy and pet its back, as though it were alive. However, he then took a sniff through his nose, and some of the hairs on the Unikitty toy’s tail reached over and tickled one of his nostrils. It tickled a lot, about as much as a feather tickling his nose.

“Huh?! Aaaaah...” Lumpy sniffled, trying to counter the almost immediate tickle in his nose, but it didn’t work. “Huuuuuuuh...” Lumpy tilted his neck back, expecting the sneeze to explode from his body soon, but it didn’t. The urge to sneeze faded away. “Ugh.”

Lumpy sniffled and rubbed his nose with the side of his hand. He looked disappointed that his urge to sneeze had gone away. But then Cuddles tapped on his shoulder, causing Lumpy to look at him.

“What’s wrong? Did you lose your sneeze?” Cuddles asked. He seemed to know what was going on.

“Yeah...” Lumpy responded.

“I believe that that gift...” Cuddles pointed to his gift for Lumpy, which was a yellow gift box with a pink ribbon. “...will take care of that.”

Lumpy put down the Unikitty plush toy, then picked up Cuddles’ present. He pulled off the ribbon and removed the lid. When he looked in the box, however, all he saw was what appeared to be a white quill pen. He looked at Cuddles questioningly at first, but then he realized something and his eyes widened. This was what Cuddles was talking about when Lumpy said he had lost his sneeze. Without thinking, Lumpy picked up the feather and rubbed it underneath his nostrils, causing them to flare up. He didn't notice that the others were looking on in amusement, as he was quickly distracted by the urge to sneeze.

“Heeeeh... Aaaaaaaah...” Lumpy inhaled, and then dropped the quill, which landed perfectly back in the box. He tilted his neck back and lowered the box from his face.

“HAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-- HCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Lumpy's sneeze wasn't nearly as strong or loud as those sneezes from the two sneezing powders he had inhaled earlier today, but it was still loud. That being said, he could clearly hear everyone giggling in amusement over his sneeze.

“Phew!” Lumpy sighed with relief as he rubbed his nose with his forefinger. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“Actually, Sniffles suggested that I give you one of those in case you need to let out a stuck sneeze,” Cuddles said.

"Okay, thanks," Lumpy replied with a sniffle.

"Oh, and by the way... Gesundheit," Cuddles then said.

"Yeah, what he said," Shifty responded.

"Indeed." Sniffles giggled cutely.

“Thanks.” Lumpy put the lid back on the box and put it aside. He rubbed his nose a few more times until it was satisfied, and then he pulled his forefinger away from his nose.

He then pulled out Splendid’s gift for him, and then removed the wrapping paper from it. His eyes widened and pupils shrunk in delighted disbelief.

“Tootie, season 1?!” Lumpy said. He looked over at Splendid and hugged him tightly. “Oh, thank you, Splendid!”

Splendid blushed slightly and returned the favor. “You’re welcome, darling. I knew you would enjoy that DVD.”

“Gee, I sure hope I get a copy of Tootie, season 1 someday,” Lifty said to Shifty, in private.

“Me too,” Shifty responded.

Lumpy then pulled out Toothy’s present for him, which was a purple gift box with a dark blue ribbon. He pulled off the ribbon and removed the lid, then looked inside the box.

It was a plush toy of Cat Mario, as he appeared in Super Mario 3D World.

“Awwwwww!!” Lumpy said as he pulled the plush toy out of the box. “Toothy, it’s adorable!! Where’d you get this cutie?!”

“I was at the game store looking for games you might want,” Toothy explained. “Then I saw that Cat Mario plushie on sale and I couldn’t resist buying it for you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Lumpy hugged his plush toy. “Oh, it’s so soft!”

“I think I've seen that cat before..." said Lifty.

"Bro, that's Mario in a Cat Suit, but it's a toy," Shifty replied.

"I want one of those, too!" Lifty immediately said.

After a few seconds, Lumpy put down the plush toy and picked out Petunia’s gift, which was dark blue with a pink ribbon. He pulled the ribbon off and removed the lid, then looked into the box.

Inside was a bottle of perfume with a push-down sprayer.

“Perfume, huh? Thanks,” Lumpy said as he pulled out the perfume.

“I made it myself,” Petunia said. “I tried to use some less allergenic flowers so you wouldn’t sneeze as much.”

Lumpy sprayed some of the perfume onto his hand, and then gave it a sniff. He then exhaled as he smiled. The perfume smelled great, but it tickled his nose a little, and his nostrils flared up. Before he could notice, he sneezed mildly.

“Aaaah-- Chyew!” This sneeze was both spray-free and adorable. He could hear his friends giggling as he rubbed his nose cutely with his forefinger.

“Bless you, Lumpy,” Petunia said.

“Thanks.” Lumpy continued to rub his nose. “This stuff does smell pretty good, even though it still makes me sneeze. But at least it’ll work if I have a stuck sneeze.” He put the perfume back in the box that he pulled it out of.

Lumpy then took his time opening the rest of his presents, and saying his appreciative thanks to them after each one was opened. He got a stuffed cat toy from Flaky, a bag of his favorite chocolate candy from Nutty, a DVD compilation of Tootie episodes from Lammy, and a Tootie storybook (which contained sneezes from the Jet and Tootie) from Flippy. Lumpy already had season 1 of Tootie since he got it from Splendid, but it was alright. Lumpy dreamed of having every Tootie DVD he could get his hands on.

After a couple of hours passed by, when the sun started going down, everybody started to leave. Everyone thanked Cuddles for the party, admitting it was a lot of fun. Lumpy thanked everybody for the presents and thanked them once again when they wished him happy birthday, one at a time.

As everyone cleared out, so did Lumpy with his presents. As he started heading home, Sniffles decided to follow him.

“Um, Lumpy? Do you mind if I walk you home?” Sniffles asked.

“No, you can come along,” Lumpy said, kindly.

As Lumpy and Sniffles walked to Lumpy’s house, Lumpy continued to mention how much he enjoyed his party.

“That had to have been one of the best parties I’ve ever been to,” he said. “And DEFINITELY better than last year when I had that cold!”

“I can tell.” Sniffles giggled to himself. “Though you did say that was pretty good, too, even though you weren’t feeling good throughout the party.”

“Yeah.” Lumpy nodded.

After a few minutes, they arrived at Lumpy’s house. Lumpy wanted to open the door, but Sniffles put his hand on the doorknob, turned it and pushed the door open for him. Lumpy thanked him as he did so, then went over to his couch in the living room and put his presents down on it.

“I can’t wait to play Super Mario Odyssey, and Sonic Forces,” Lumpy said. “But you can always come over and play those with me if you want.”

“Gee, thanks, Lumpy,” said Sniffles. “Oh, and one more thing...”

“Yeah?”

Sniffles reached into one of the gift boxes and pulled out the quill pen that Cuddles had given to Lumpy.

“May I tickle your nose and make you sneeze one last time?” Sniffles offered. “Just to close your birthday?”

“Sure!” Lumpy smiled and nodded.

Sniffles smiled happily at him, then went over to Lumpy and inserted the tip of the quill gently into one of his nostrils. Lumpy smiled from how much it tickled as his nose twitched and nostrils flared up.

“It tickles...!” Lumpy managed to say, before his breath began to hitch. “Haaaaaaaaaaah... Heeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhh...”

Sniffles giggled audibly to himself as he continued to tickle Lumpy’s nostril. He sent the quill pen further into Lumpy’s nasal passage, hoping it would make him need to sneeze even more.

“Huuuuh, aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...” Lumpy tilted his neck back. “EeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...”

Sensing that the buildup was getting stronger, Sniffles slowly pulled the quill out of Lumpy’s nostril, but not without giving his nose some final tickles. By the time the tip finally made it away from his nose, Lumpy was just about to explode.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-- CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!”

Lumpy shot his neck forwards as he released the massive sneeze, with a good amount of spray emerging from his mouth and a small amount of mucus coming out of his nostrils. Despite this, however, he managed to make the sneeze sound cute, just to add to Sniffles’ pleasure.

As Lumpy recovered from his sneeze, he sniffled and rubbed his nose adorably with his forefinger.

“Awwww!! Gesundheit, Lumpy~!” Sniffles blessed him.

“Thank you!” Lumpy replied, continuing to rub his nose.

Sniffles gave him a tissue, which Lumpy used to wipe the mucus off his nose. Lumpy didn’t need to blow; his nose would stop running in just a few minutes. “That sneeze was adorable!”

Lumpy blushed and kept wiping his nose. He loved when someone called his sneezes cute.

“I like when they’re cute, too,” he admitted, as Sniffles placed Lumpy's new quill back in the box he got it from. “Well, I think it’s about time I started getting ready for bed.”

“Okay, but I can’t wait to see you again tomorrow,” said Sniffles. “I bet it’ll be just as much fun as today has been!”

Lumpy threw away his tissue and nodded in agreement. Sniffles then gave him a big hug, which Lumpy took a minute to enjoy. After what felt like a couple of minutes, Sniffles turned his head to look up at him and said one final thing to him.

“Happy Birthday, Lumpy,” Sniffles whispered.

He let go of Lumpy and proceeded out of his house. Lumpy watched as his anteater friend pulled the door open, then left and shut it behind him. Lumpy then took his plush toys of Cat Mario and Unikitty, and then gave them a hug. He carried them off upstairs into his room, wanting to sleep with them by his side when he went to bed that night.

This had been the best birthday Lumpy had ever had.

#cute #funny #humor #comedy #sneeze #sneezing #sneezes #sneezed #htf #happytreefriends #lumpy #birthday #fanfic #fanfiction

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goth-albino-angel · 7 years

Text

I wanted to talk about this in an Angel’s Musings segment first, but this can be the skeleton from which I build that script, so here we go.

I know everyone was excited about the Malvie, but I haven’t seen anyone talking about what happened when Uma appeared on the boat. I mean, seriously. Why is no one pointing out that every prominent character in the movie turned on their king because of a jackass move he made? That is the single best thing I have ever seen in any Disney movie. People who once doubted Mal’s capability to be even a remotely good person were ready to pitchfork and torch Ben.

Let’s draw particular attention to Carlos’ line: “Kinda angry I risked my life to save that guy.”

And he’s right. The entirety of Descendants 2 easily illustrates how bad of a person Ben is under the surface. Yes, you can yell “He’s just a flawed character!” but if you took a step back and looked at things, what do you actually see?

He created a bill before he was even king to bring over some students in an attempt to reform them. Pays no mind to all except one of said students mainly because he’s got a massive crush on her. He’s nowhere to be seen whenever Evie, Carlos, or Jay is around unless Mal is also there (or it’s the tourney field). He makes no effort to stop the bullying that happens either. He should have known that a lot of Auradon kids weren’t happy with the VKs, but the sheer darkness of his rose-tinted glasses for his fellow Auradonians is danger levels. Mal was confirmed to be part dragon in the first movie, meaning she could have easily transformed and eaten someone who was bullying her. But Ben ignored that in favor of paying special attention to her despite the fact that he was already dating someone.

He didn’t even have the decency to tell Audrey he no longer wanted to date her to her face with some level of seriousness. He just had the crowd spell Mal’s name and burst into a goofy and uninteresting song. The humiliation it must have caused Audrey would undoubtedly send her trying to hook up with the first guy she saw just so she didn’t seem as devastated as she no doubt was at the time.

Then we come back around to the bill. Descendants 2 establishes that Ben has made zero effort whatsoever to bring over other Isle children despite the fact that it’s been six months. Since Auradon is very clearly based on the United States of America (it’s the United States of Auradon, that doesn’t take a genius to make that connection), then it’s safe to say that, even if the first Isle kids had somehow managed to arrive at the beginning of the school year, Ben has wasted over half a school year NOT doing exactly what he promised he’d do: give the Isle children a second chance. He even lampshades the fact when he’s speaking to Uma, calling his own excuse lame.

Then there’s how he treats Mal. First off, if you’ve been together six months and she has neither said “I love you” nor kissed you, that is her decision and you damn well better respect it. Some people don’t just up and say “I love you” because they don’t feel comfortable expressing their emotions, as we’ve been shown Mal has. And kissing on the mouth is fucking gross, so stop whining about it.

However, actively trying to get a fairy to give up their birthright is fucking dangerous. Yes, it certainly infuriated me that Evie engaged in the behavior. It infuriated me a lot. But it’s just as egregious with Ben (well, slightly less so, but not the point) because he is actively upset that she isn’t having magical outbursts and cursing everything in sight. Auradon’s policy on magic seems to be “If you have it, don’t use it or we’ll brand you as a Villain and send you to the shitty place where villains go”. Proven by the fact that Fairy Godmother is only allowed her wand on special occasions. For Ben to attempt actively trying to get his girlfriend to give up on something that she clearly likes, that comes naturally to her given her species is freaking abusive. Mildly so, but still abusive. It’s the equivalent of telling a beginning writer who is slowly getting better to stop and become a stage performer instead.

And once they get to the Isle, he just gives up and accepts Mal’s choice. Nothing about trying to make it work, except that he’ll become a bad person for it. Yes, expressing that you will cut important things out and ‘skip’ as he put it is equating spending time with her to ‘being bad’. Cut out the things that can be done the following day, don’t just skip out on them, but he doesn’t say this. And he just leaves once she rejected him, not even taking his own safety into account despite the fact that it is unexplored terrain. His entire disregard for the warnings Carlos and the others had given him was what caused the fucking conflict in the first place.

While we’re on the topic, the Isle of the Lost. I find it hard to believe none of the Isle kids have spoken to Ben about the conditions and he still, in those six months as king, made no effort to better the conditions? It really is the United States. The Isle of the Lost is the highest one could possibly get in terms of crime and poverty. It’s disgusted, disease-ridden and filled to the brim with people who are starving and scraping to get by, forced to steal from each other because those who are more privileged than themselves are only tossing them the bare scraps. Why hasn’t King Ben done even the slightest thing about it? All of the wood on the Isle is shown to be rotting and everything else is cloth and metal, so burning things is no doubt difficult for heat and there’s no sunlight because there’s an ever-present cloud surrounding the entire island. Ben can’t do anything about that? Maybe ask Fairy Godmother for some input into how to… actually, considering how stacked against the kids the Goodness classes were, I doubt that’s a good idea. Fairy Godmother can bring the changes about with her wand, but Ben needs to consult his friends, the people who actually lived there and ask them how to better it. If his dad could find time in his schedule to watch his son get a suit tailored or come to Family Day, then Ben should be able to do the same to start making things better for his lowest class citizens, since Auradon is SUCH a wonderful place. (I’ll get to that in a different Angel’s Musings, don’t worry.)

tl;dbr: Ben is a bad person at the current point in the movies, and everyone recognized this, only if briefly, when Uma appeared at the Cotillion.

#descendants #disney's descendants #descendants 2 #king ben #mal #evie #carlos #jay #fairy godmother #angel has spoken #and ben has proven himself a douche so far #Angel's Musings

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uyuro · 7 years

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💖 UYU REVIEW: any cushion all day perfect / super slim proof liners / fix + fix primer / honey cera skincare trial kit from ETUDE HOUSE keep reading for the review!

I’m sure you guys know about Etude House if you’re into Korean beauty! They were one of the first brands I heard about once I got into K-beauty and they’re very well-known for having cute packaging and affordable products! They have a ‘princess’ aesthetic which shines through in their packaging especially - the product that got me hooked on Etude House was their Etoinette lipstick (that packaging!) from a few years back.

Today's post is more of a first impressions of these products! Last month I posted my review on the March Pink Bird box quite late and I didn't want to do it again since a lot of people have asked me about these new products since there's no reviews on them yet! Hopefully without my other review fluff like ingredients, etc. you'll still be able to learn a lot about these products. 💕

Disclaimer: These products were sent to me by Etude House for review and consideration. I am not being compensated for this review and opinions are always 100% honest.

The first product I want to talk about is the Fix and Fix Tone Up Primer. Colour correcting has been a big trend lately and Etude House released their colour correcting cushions not too long ago (I reviewed it back in January!)

The Fix and Fix primer is a more traditional colour correcting primer that comes in a tube. There are 3 'tone-up' primers in mint, lavendar and rose as well as a pore primer. I have the mint colour which is supposed to help with redness! These primers also have SPF33 and PA++ protection, which is nice when you don't want to wear proper sunscreen and still want some coverage. Here is a summary of the features:

Toning primer that colour corrects and helps make-up last longer

SPF33, PA++ sun protection + whitening + hides wrinkles

Smoothes skin and gives a perfect skin base

Rose corrects skin dullness

Mint corrects redness

Lavendar corrects yellowness

Another bonus is that this primer won the consumer’s choice award on Glowpick in February! Glowpick is one of Korea’s most popular beauty review sites so this is a big award~

The primer comes in a simple squeeze tube with a super shiny cap. The amount of product can be controlled easily~

I tried putting some on my hand and blending it out. Of course I don't have any redness on my hand but you can see that the primer doesn't appear visibly green once rubbed in properly.

I tried putting some red lipstick on my hand to see if the green would cover it. I think most of it is covered but you can still see a slight hint of red.

Since I don't really suffer from overall redness, I circled the red spots I have so you can keep an eye on them in the second pic 👀

In general, my redness was covered nicely (the little that I had, anyway) and the acne on my chin is quite well hidden in the after pic. The only thing is that my skin tone isn't very even, but that's not something that the primer claims to do so I won't knock it for that.

I've found that I like wearing this for light coverage on it's own and this is definitely something you could do if you have visible redness.

FIX + FIX TONE UP PRIMER (MINT) RATING: 4 / 5

💖 Pros: Covers medium redness, medium coverage, has UV protection 💔 Cons: Unsure if it actually helps with product adherence

This is a tentative rating because I can't really judge how good it is at actually covering redness which is the primary function. I'm also not sure if it really extends the length of the foundation I put on top... it didn't really have much of an effect in that area. I am pretty keen to try the 'pore' version of this primer though, since I do have more problems with my pores than I do with redness.

You can find the Fix + Fix Primer on:

Etude House Global: $14.40 (free shipping over $50)

Beauty Box Korea: $10.24 (shipping by weight)

Beauty Net Korea: $9.17 (free worldwide shipping)

Korea Depart: $8.11 (shipping by weight)

Rose Rose Shop: ₩9,000 / $8.00 (shipping by weight)

Tester Korea: ₩10,800 / $10.00 (shipping by weight)

W2Beauty: $9.50 (free shipping over $60)

The Any Cushion All Day Perfect is a new addition to the Any Cushion line. This is their long-lasting cushion, similar to Innisfree's Longwear cushion. Here are the features:

High coverage cushion to cover imperfections

Smooth and lightweight application

Formula with the perfect blend of cover, adherence and tenacity.

Available in 6 shades (more details below)

SPF 50+ and PA+++ for UV protection

Here's a graphic that I translated from Etude House's site, which shows the comparisons between this cushion and Etude House's other cushions (bigger version here, which is easier to read!)

Like I mentioned above, this cushion has 6 different shades to choose from.

The newest shade 'No. 17 Pure' is the lightest available and has a neutral undertone.

‘No. 19 Vanilla’ is the next lightest and has a pink undertone.

‘No. 21 Petal’ is the next lightest and also has a pink undertone.

‘No. 21 Beige’ is the same shade as Petal but with a yellow undertone.

‘No. 22 Sand’ is a little darker and has a neutral undertone.

‘No. 23 Tan’ is the darkest shade and also has a neutral undertone.

As with most Korean cushions, the neutral undertone tends to pull more gray. I myself prefer yellow undertones as I'm quite warm, but there's only one shade with a yellow undertone which is annoying.

I wish that as well as adding a lighter shade, Etude House would add shades beyond No. 23 because a ton of people can't try cushions due to their limited shade range.

This cushion design features alternating light and dark pink stripes.

I was thinking about the Etude House Dear My Glass Tinting Lips Talk that I reviewed recently, and I thought it'd be super cool to have a similar cushions system! Innisfree already has something similar with their cushions, but I think Etude House's cushion designs have the potential to be much cuter 😊

The thing I don't like about Etude House cushions is that they don't have a button to open it... maybe I'm petty but I feel like every other brand has them these days and I don't really like having to pry open the case.

It blended out nicely and the formula did feel a bit drier than most other cushions I have, on first impressions.

Another unique thing about this cushion is that the cushion puff that comes with it is different. It's thicker than Etude House's other cushions, and the top has a kind of leatherette feeling. I think it's supposed to apply product more densely for fuller covered, but I really didn't like using this puff at all. It was hard to use to blend out the product and it just made my face feel a bit cakey.

On first impressions: this cushion covered my acne quite well, it's still a little noticeable around my chin though. The acne on my forehead is mostly covered and my skintone is a bit more even too. I didn't notice much difference with my eyebags. The colour is a bit light for my skin right now, I would've preferred a darker shade! The undertone is also a little off since Vanilla is a pink undertone shade while I have yellow undertones and you can tell that my face is pinker than my neck.

Since this is a more 'long-lasting' formula, it's also quite matte. In the close-ups you can see that it really clings to acne scars and looks quite obvious up close. I did use a setting spray to go over the dry patches and try to make them a bit less obvious.

Over time, I found that the cushion was quite long-lasting. I wore it for about 8 hours and didn't notice any change in the wear, except where the dry patches originally were when I applied the cushion had started to look dry / patchy again.

ANY CUSHION ALL DAY PERFECT RATING: 4 / 5

💖 Pros: High coverage, good lasting power 💔 Cons: Limited shade range, quite drying

Overall, I liked the cushion but it does take a bit more effort for me to use since it clings to my dry patches. I would use it for a long day's outing or an evening event where I need more coverage, but it doesn't really feel lightweight and I don't like to wear heavy make-up on a daily basis.

You can find the Any Cushion All Day Perfect on:

Etude House Global: $24.00 (free shipping over $50) currently available with the Fix + Fix Primer (Pore) as a free gift

Beautynetkorea: $13.64 (free worldwide shipping)

Cosmetic-Love: $18.94 (free worldwide shipping)

iBuyBeauti: $14.30 (free shipping over $50)

Jolse: $15.98 (free worldwide shipping)

Korea Depart: $13.50 (shipping by weight)

Rose Rose Shop: ₩15,000 / $13.35 (shipping by weight)

W2Beauty: $15.50 (free shipping over $60)

I've noticed this that super slim eyeliners have been really trendy in Korean products lately. As well as Etude House, I've seen quite a few other brands release similar slim eyeliners.

Etude House has two kinds of their Super Slim liner, the Proof Brush Liner and the Proof Pencil Liner. They're both available in both black and brown.

They both feel like slim pens / markers and the name is in shiny letters.

Here are the tips of the liners. The brush liner is definitely a lot slimmer than the pencil liner.

Here's a comparison that I did with a standard liner to show you how 'slim' these liners are! I'm comparing the Super Slim Proof Brush Liner with the Stila Stay All Day Liquid Eyeliner.

As you can see, the Stila liner is a bit thicker in the pen body, and the tip is a lot thicker than Etude House's.

I was able to create really thin lines with the brush liner, although it was hard to keep them steady. In the swatch, the brush liner also bled a little but I didn't notice this on the eyes. It's also not quite as dark as Stila's, although the Stila liner is well-known for being one of the darker liquid eyeliners.

It's much harder to get a super thin line with the pencil liner, which makes sense since the liner itself isn't as thin.

In general, I just found the pencil liner hard to use. The first time I used it, it dragged on my eye a lot, and I had to use so much pressure just to glide it along. I thought maybe the skin around my eye was just dry (since I've had that problem before, plus it's getting colder here so I'm using heating more)... but even after applying my usual eye creams it still took so much effort to use. This makes me a bit hesitant to use it since I don't want to drag the area around my eyes so much, it's super delicate. Since the liner isn't that thin, it's also hard to get a nice sharp wing if that's the kind of eye look you go for.

It's very easy to get a sharp wing with the brush liner though! I found it easy to get a precise line and sharp flick, although since the liner tip is quite thin, I kinda had to draw the outline and then fill it in slowly. Like a colouring book, but on my eyes.

If you like wearing super thick eyeliner, this brush liner probably wouldn't be the most ideal for you since you'll have to spend more time to fill in the line compared to a thicker tip. But if you just like to outline your eyes a little, or puppy liner, I think this liner would be really handy for you!

SUPER SLIM PROOF PENCIL LINER RATING: 3.5 / 5

💖 Pros: Very long-lasting (you'll definitely need oil cleanser to clean this off fully) 💔 Cons: Not smooth - drags on the eyes, hard to create wings

I do like to use this liner for soft, natural lines sometimes but I just don't like to use it because I literally have to drag it across my lid to deposit the colour. The only thing I really like about it is that it doesn't budge at all, even if I have to wipe my eyes with a tissue.

You can find the Super Slim Proof Pencil Liner on:

Etude House Global: $7.80 (free shipping over $50)

Beauty Net Korea: $7.49 (free worldwide shipping)

Cosmetic-Love: $7.99 (free worldwide shipping)

iBuyBeauti: $5.44 (free shipping over $50)

Rose Rose Shop: ₩5,625 / $5.00 (shipping by weight)

Tester Korea: ₩6,750 / $6.25 (shipping by weight)

W2Beauty: $6.50 (free shipping over $60)

SUPER SLIM PROOF BRUSH LINER RATING: 4.5 / 5

💖 Pros: Easy to create thin lines, easy to create winged liner, generally pigmented 💔 Cons: Not as black as some other liners, harder to create thick lines

I really preferred the brush liner over the pencil liner since it was a lot less harsh on my eyes in general. It's a bit easier to remove, but it doesn't smudge throughout the day typically. If you're looking for an easy to use liquid eyeliner (and you don't wear your eyeliner too thick), I'd recommend this brush liner!

You can find the Super Slim Proof Brush Liner on:

Etude House Global: $11.70 (free shipping over $50)

Beauty Net Korea: $7.99 (free worldwide shipping)

Cosmetic-Love: $9.23 (free worldwide shipping)

iBuyBeauti: $6.37 (free shipping over $50)

Jolse: $7.58 (free worldwide shipping)

Rose Rose Shop: ₩6,750 / $5.99 (shipping by weight)

Tester Korea: ₩8,100 / $7.50 (shipping by weight)

W2Beauty: $8.00 (free shipping over $60)

This month I've got some more skincare to review, like the Soon Jung line that I reviewed last month! The Honey Cera line isn't actually that new to Etude House but I'm happy to give some thoughts on it anyway 😍

This trial kit includes mini versions of the toner, emulsion, cream and eye serum from the Honey Cera line.

The Honey Cera Toner has a watery consistency like most toners, but it's milky in colour. I don't really like reviewing toners because personally... I don't really notice that much in difference with them. Usually for me, it's either moisturising or it's not. This one did feel moisturising for me... but nothing really beyond that.

The Honey Cera Emulsion is actually a really nice consistency. It's hard to describe in text but it wasn't too heavy and the scent wasn't too overpowering like the Skinfood Peach Sake Emulsion I've tried before. It sinks in quite easily and makes my skin feel super smooth and soft.

I'm not sure if I'm going to add a emulsion into my routine but if I did, I would want something similar to this. I haven't really used it long enough to give a definitive rating but I'll give it a 4 / 5 because it's been working well for me so far.

The Cream is quite thick and feels quite occlusive on the skin. I like using these kinds of heavy creams as a sleeping pack to help lock in the other products from the night routine. I've also been using this on my dry patches like around my nose to help keep those parts moisturised. Overall, I'd give it 3.5 / 5 since it does work as a cream, it's a good moisturiser but I didn't notice anything too amazing.

I reallyyyy love the texture of the Priming Eye Serum. It's very light but makes everything I spread it on so nice and silky. It's an eye serum but I end up putting it around my nose and chin too. I actually don't need any kinds of eye creams right now, I just use a normal cream, and I'm a little hesitant to buy this because the full size is quite pricey. However, it works well, so I’ll give it 5 / 5 💓

You can find these products here on Etude House Global:

Honey Cera Toner

Honey Cera Emulsion

Honey Cera Cream

Honey Cera Priming Eye Serum

Thank you for reading my review today! I hope that this has been helpful for you and I hope that you have a lovely day too��

#review #etude house

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