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xiaowhore · 9 months

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scribbled hearts.

premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that isn't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.

Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!

But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.

“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.

“They have the maturity of one, at least.”

Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...

And then there's you.

Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.

Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.

If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.

People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.

“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.

...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...

So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.

He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.

Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.

(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>

It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)

You scribble all over your notes.

It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.

If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.

“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”

“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.

You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.

“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.

Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.

“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”

“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”

At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”

“I need to buy cereal.”

(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)

“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”

Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”

“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”

“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”

You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”

For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.

“You're still keeping that up?”

Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”

Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.

“We do talk. Normally.”

“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”

Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.

But for some reason, he can't find it himself to say that he outright dislikes it.

And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.

There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.

A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.

And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.

“Don't you think you're being unfair?”

You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”

He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”

“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”

“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”

“What else would you write, then?”

Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”

You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.

“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”

You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.

“Oh.”

Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.

The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.

If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?

At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.

Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.

Another notification lights his phone.

This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.

Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?

He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #i wrote this between months so forgive me if the pacing is a little off :'D #but this has been sitting in my drafts for half a year so i had to finish it somehow

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dancingbirdie · 7 months

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Your writing is so good! How about a hurt/comfort where a little bit of time after Cazador's defeat, Tav/reader wakes up screaming Astarion's name bc they had a nightmare that Cazador had managed to take Astarion back. They wake up in terror and practically clings to Astarion

Thanks so much for this writing prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy.

PLEASE take note of the warning tags for this one. The nightmare is pretty violent stuff.

Love in the Time of Nightmares

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Tav

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse and mental abuse, torture, blood/bruises/lacerations, fluff and angst.

Consciousness clawed its way through Tav’s body, scraping against their fractured ribs, digging into the bruises that bloomed across their arms and legs like some twisted watercolor masterpiece. Tav groaned as they came to, eyes straining to make sense of their surroundings.

Wherever they were, it was in near-total darkness. And it reeked of putrefaction. The air was saturated with fetid moisture. It felt like a rotting cloth had been placed over their mouth and nose. Where in the sweet hells were they?

As other senses slowly came online, Tav realized they were lying on their side, curled into a fetal position. A manacle ensnared one ankle, the cold metal biting into their skin. The floor on which they were lying was made of coarse stone. The grit of it snagged against their skin and clothes.

A whimper from somewhere nearby refocused their attention.

In front of them, Tav could barely make out the ghostly pale form of Astarion, half-naked, hunched over his knees on the damp floor. His hands were shackled to a bolt fastened into the stone. His wrists were cut and bleeding from an obvious attempt to slip through the cuffs. He was bruised and battered across his abdomen. And his back.

Oh, his back.

Tav released an anguished cry as their eyes beheld Astarion’s back. The infernal script had been cut into anew. The lacerations wept openly, forming rivulets down his spine.

“Astarion–” Tav croaked, attempting to draw his attention.

A voice from further ahead interrupted them.

“Did you honestly believe you could ever escape me, boy?” Cazador’s snakelike hiss reverberated throughout the cavernous dungeon.

At that voice, that hideous voice, Tav watched, helpless, as shivers wracked Astarion’s body. He began openly weeping, his head bowing over his shackled hands.

The bobbing light of a torch appeared through the gloom moments later, revealing the vile form of his former master. Cazador sauntered forward, closing in on Astarion. His gait was as casual as any nobleman enjoying a springtime promenade. Bile wrenched itself up through Tav’s throat, searing their esophagus along the way.

They watched as Cazador knelt before Astarion. He began petting his silver curls, tutting softly. It was a profane mimicry of comfort. Sobs only wracked Astarion’s body more violently.

The sight enraged Tav. Righteous anger surged through them. They smacked the floor, hard, with the edge of their fist, drawing Cazador’s attention.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM,” Tav screamed, vocal cords straining. They lurched forward to grab at the horrible creature but were halted abruptly by the chain pulled taut against their ankle.

Cazador gave a mirthless laugh, rising to full height and acknowledging Tav for the first time.

“You foolish child,” he spat. “You dare presume to command me? Astarion is mine. Mine to punish. To destroy. To do with as I wish.”

“NO. We destroyed you. You don’t own him anymore!” Tav cried, wrenching at the manacle once more.

Cazador threw his head back with a barking laugh. In the corner of their eye, Tav noted how the sound caused Astarion to shrink further into himself. The sight eviscerated their heart. To see their lover beaten down so low.

“I will always own him,” Cazador insisted. “My newest spellwork will see to that.”

With a snap of his fingers, the chains shackling Astarion’s wrists released from the bolt on the floor and flew into Cazador’s waiting hand. He jerked them violently, causing Astarion to lurch forward with a cry, barely catching himself from landing face first on the stones. Another tug, and Astarion was half-crawling, half-dragging behind Cazador as the slavemaster made his way back through the darkness of the dungeon.

“NO! DON’T TAKE HIM! PLEASE!” Tav screamed, eyes tracking Astarion’s form as he disappeared into the gloom. They kicked against the shackle, ripping their skin to shreds.

“ASTARION! ASTARION–”

The next thing they knew, strong arms were banding around their waist. Firm. Solid.

Tav’s eyes fluttered open, taking in their surroundings with a feral sort of awareness. Their heart hammered in their chest. Their lungs heaved with the effort to take in more air.

“Shhh, darling. It’s all right. It’s all right,” Astarion’s low, melodic voice soothed in their ear. His chest was pressed against their back, spooning them. Tav felt his legs intertwine with theirs, drawing them even closer.

Tav clutched at his hands as their attention darted around the room. They were in their bedroom, in the bed they shared with Astarion. In their home in the Underdark.

There was the glow worm terrarium on their night stand. They had fashioned it as a sort of night light, even if it was always “night” here. It limned the room with a gentle bluish hue. And farther away, there was the dresser they both shared, hewn from driftwood Tav had collected above ground. Their collection of paintings - sunrises, mostly - hung scattered about the four walls. The woody smell of incense drifted to their nose, bringing a sense of comfort and familiarity.

They were home. Astarion was safe. He was here. They were safe. Astarion was safe.

But the mantra couldn’t stop the tears from spilling. The nightmare had felt so very real. It had attacked every one of their senses. They still felt like they could smell the rotten mugginess of the dungeon if they concentrated hard enough.

“I’m sorry,” Tav sobbed, turning their face into their pillow to muffle their crying. “I didn’t mean to– to–”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” Astarion whispered, clutching them tighter around the waist. “You were dreaming. It was just a dream,” he murmured, over and over again, kissing their shoulders and neck in between the words.

“I thought you’d been taken again – that… that he had taken you,” they keened, eyes clenched shut.

“Never, darling. He’s dead. Long gone. And I’m right here. Right here with you,” Astarion affirmed. But Tav continued to cry. Heartbreaking sounds emanated from their muffled form.

“Here, turn over and face me,” he urged softly, unable to bear their anguish a moment longer.

Slowly, he moved Tav so that they were lying face to face in the bed, their noses nearly touching. Astarion lifted a hand to cradle their cheek. The other hand slipped over the dip of their waist. He began rubbing soothing circles against their back.

“See, darling? I’m right here,” he smiled gently, meeting their teary gaze.

Tav nodded mutely, eyes never leaving his. Slowly, they raised a hand to trace their fingers across his brow. Down the line of his nose. Over his cheekbones. Around his lips. Across his jaw. They watched as Astarion closed his eyes, soaking in their touch. He allowed them to continue their ministrations, doing what they needed to in order to feel assured.

“It was a dream,” Tav finally whispered after a few moments of tracing Astarion’s features. Their words sounded more like a question than a declaration.

“It was only a dream,” he swore seriously, moving his hand to cradle the back of their head. He planted a chaste kiss against their forehead.

Tav bowed their head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent of bergamot and clove.

“I love you,” they whispered faintly against his neck, feeling utterly spent from the emotional response the nightmare had created.

“I love you,” Astarion returned. He continued to rub their back, tracing idle circles against their nightshirt.

“Can you tell me a story?” Tav asked, breaking the comforting silence of the room.

“About what, darling?” Astarion replied.

“Anything. Tell me about the last book you read. Or the plans we’re developing for that commune, to rehome all the spawn.”

“Very well,” he agreed, kissing their forehead again. He began describing, in elaborate detail, every room of the commune they were working to build for all of Cazador’s formerly imprisoned spawn. He provided Tav a verbal tour of all of his plans, his ideas for each of the common spaces, his intended partnership with the Myconid colony to cultivate a community garden. On and on he went, pouring out every iota of his ideas – even the ones that were still half-formed imaginations.

His eloquent cadence slowly led Tav back into drowsiness. He listened as their breathing became slower, more even. Finally, sure that they were well and truly asleep once more, he quieted. He took in the peacefulness of their bedroom. Observed his partner sleeping in his arms once more.

It had been three years since Baldur’s Gate. The nightmares still came frequently for both of them. Most of the time, it was he who woke in the middle of the night, needing comfort and assurances from Tav. Other times, like tonight, it was Tav. Astarion wasn’t sure either of their mental scars would ever truly disappear, no matter how long time marched on.

But the life they had carved out for themselves was a beautiful one. Full of life. Full of love. And full of belonging. Try as they might, that was something the nightmares would never, ever, take from them.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #dancingbirdiewrites #astarion x gn reader #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur’s gate astarion #bg3 astarion fic #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x f!reader #astarion baldurs gate

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bagopucks · 4 months

Text

N. Hischier - Wishing For Angels

✄————————————

Nico Hischier x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warning(s): little bit steamy, but also really not. Just pure fluff with Nico!

—————————————

“Hey Oatie.” I bent over to pet the orange and white long haired cat. My joints ached, and my body was tired, but at least I was home. I hated night shifts. Nothing was longer than an evening at work waiting for the hours to pass by so one could close and drive home. Praying that I won’t hit an animal. Or god forbid another car. It had been pouring outside, the thunder cracking in the sky above. The moisture was exactly what New Jersey needed, after collecting so much smoke from the wildfires up north.

My mind wandered to Nico. The cat came to see me. I had to assume my boyfriend was asleep. I felt Oatie weave between my legs, chuckling softly at his purring. The whole reason Nico wanted him was because he sounded like a tiny motorbike engine when he purred. So loud.

“Oats?” I jumped at the sound of my lover’s voice, looking up from the cat to spot Nico peeking through the kitchen doorway. He certainly looked like he’d been asleep.

“Evening.” I spoke just above a whisper. Nico flashed me a smile. We crossed the floor to see each other, arms sliding around one another’s bodies, lips colliding. Oatie followed, snaking between our legs and crying for attention.

“Get lost.” Nico mumbled between passionate kisses, stepping away from the cat. I laughed quietly when Nico pulled me with him, though my voice was silenced when he pressed me into the wall. It wasn’t rough or needy. It was passionate and gentle. Delicate in a way that only Nico could be.

“Poor Oatie.” I broke from the kiss as I spoke, watching Nico’s lips purse.

“He’s fine. We cuddled all night.”

“You boys are always jealous of each other.”

“And?”

“Maybe he wants some time with me.” I tried to slip past Nico ducking beneath his arm, but the moment I got around him, he spun around and wrapped his arms around my back.

“You’ve been gone all day.” His body fell back into the wall, tugging me along as I leaned into his chest.

“That’s what Oatie says too.” I reasoned playfully, earning an unamused squeeze from Nico.

“The cat is fine.” Nico argued, dipping his head into my neck to press a few quick kisses there. I leaned my head against his shoulder opposite of the one of my own his neck rested on.

“You may have a compelling argument, Hisch.”

“Finally.” Nico groaned, leaning forward and steadying my body. He reached for my hand and turned for the bedroom.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna lock him out of the bedroom.” I moaned in agony for our poor cat. Nico looked back at me with wide eyes. He simply couldn’t win.

“Please.” He insisted, tugging me along, and I followed to spare his mind some ease.

Nico was known to be cuddly and needy when we had time alone. Part of that youngest child in him craved the attention and love. One would think he didn’t get enough of it in his youth, but stereotypes did not apply to the Hischier siblings. They had all been loved equally. Though Nico did like to tease the two others that he was the favorite. And if the saying, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ was true, then Nico being in America certainly made his mother the most joyous when he visited home.

I was led into the darkness of our bedroom, lit by a tall lamp in the corner. Nico had already laid out a pair of pajamas for me.

We had been known to sleep practically naked together. Something about the skin contact always felt most comfortable to us, but there were cold nights, like these, when we both wanted to hunker down in our matching plaid pants and cuddle up beneath a mountain of blankets.

And since we didn’t get many of these cold summer nights often, I knew Nico was itching for one. Judging both by the fact that he already had his set of matching pj’s on, and the fact that I could hear the familiar script to one of my favorite Christmas In July Hallmark movies playing on the tv.

Nico released my hand only to disappear from my side. I heard the door shut, and a very displeased meow from the outside of our room.

“Nico,” I scolded, beginning to turn to look at him, only to be stopped in my tracks by his swooping figure. He wrapped a red blanket around my shoulders, pulling me back into his body. My own ached for rest. I craved it even more so knowing that it would be coming soon, as opposed to the hours before when I had been at my desk, able to distract myself with work.

Oatie meowed once again.

“Nico, he’s gonna cry all night.” I opened my previously closed eyes, a sigh heaving from my chest. Nico did not release the grip he had on my hips.

“Just ignore him,” his smooth voice suggested in a pathetic but nonetheless sultry whine.

“How?” I closed my eyes again.

“We’ll just turn the movie up.” With that simple sentence, we went waddling across the floor. Myself too tired to leave his grasp, and himself too satisfied to release me. When we got to his nightstand, Nico unwrapped an arm from my waist to grab the tv remote, making quick work of increasing the volume. Not too disturbing, but loud enough to hopefully get the message across to our poor feline friend.

I hummed happily at the background soundtrack that played from the movie. I watched Nico’s dark eyes trail across my face before I closed my own once again.

“I don’t even know who you are.” The words fell in a whisper from my lips, the mediocre mid-Atlantic accent causing a smirk to form on my face.

“You prayed for an Angel.” Nico repeated the male love interest’s line’s far more perfectly than anybody ever could on the silver screen. He liked to complain about Hallmark movies, but I knew deep down he enjoyed them.

“An Angel?” I opened my eyes, wide smiles painting our faces in anticipation of the next line. “Why you’re short enough to be an elf. Are you sure you’re not an elf?” Soft giggles soon followed. Nico wrapped his arms around my shoulders, still behind me, slowly turning so his back faced the bed.

“I am not.” He feigned the offense of the actor as he sat down, and I rested in his lap.

“Are too..” I kissed his hands that rested just above my chest. Nico laid back, and I laid down on top of him, my head resting just on his collar. I tilted it upwards to get as good of a look at his face as I could, while he craned his neck downwards to look at me. “How did you hear my prayer anyway? I thought my balcony was to be private.”

“I patrol that street every night, ma’am.” Nico unwrapped an arm from me to play with my hair. “And every night I stop to listen to you, because you and I wish for the same things.”

“Angels?” I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with a feeling I didn’t know. We were merely reciting lines of a movie that held no meaning to us. About a soldier and a general’s daughter, falling madly in love. It had nothing to do with us, and yet it felt like maybe it did.

“To take us far away from here.” The actor -and Nico- finished the woman’s thought. “Let me be your Angel.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“We’ll go somewhere beautiful.” Nico whispered in my ear now.

“Not before Christmas. My family would be devastated.” The woman always listed her reasons as to why she couldn’t go. I always wished she would simply say yes from the get-go. Yet I loved to hear the man in the film list his ideas endlessly as if she didn’t continually refuse. Only now Nico went off script.

With beaches as far as the eye can see.

“With forests, and all the wild flowers you could pick.”

Where nobody knows our names.

“My mom misses us both.”

I’ll pick up a simple job.

“You deserve a vacation.”

We can be happy. Together.

“All I need is you.”

With you by my side.

“I want you to go with me.” I had closed my eyes again, wrapped in a warm blanket and in Nico’s embrace.

“To Switzerland?” I asked, yawning soon after.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ve never been more ready.”

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier imagines #ella’s inbox #ella’s updates #ella’s asks

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bunnypansy · 10 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Pantalone!

Rated R for EXPLICIT CONTENT!

A short script about the ABCs of The Regrator's sex life!

Featuring: Pantalone, and you!

Beware! This film contains: sexual content (duh), objectification, humiliation, financial domination, pet play, submission, handcuffs, spit kink, orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, mild degradation

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Perfect. Really! While the richest harbinger, Pantalone does not strike me as the lazy type. He’s not going to pawn off the aftercare on any staff, he’d rather do it himself. Pantalone goes through the same steps every time; he quickly cleans himself up, then gently wipes up the majority of your… fluids. He’ll run you both a nice bath- and you KNOW the Regrator has a giant, beautiful bathtub. Of course, Pantalone will clean you up with the highest quality soap, and when you’re done, he’ll moisturize you from head to toe! No need to stay awake, Pantalone doesn’t mind if you doze off. While he’s mostly hands on, he’ll have staff swap out the messy sheets before he lays you down to rest. Most likely, he’ll hold you close while you fall asleep and he reads.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your skin overall, which yeah, I know sounds weird, but walk with me. He loves your soft, smooth skin that’s perfect for bruising, kissing, biting; so pretty and delicate. Even in nonsexual moments, Pantalone likes to run his fingers over your skin and trace patterns, just for funsies. Like most of his things, he’ll do his best to make you take care of your beautiful skin. Also lips, beautiful, soft, pink lips just get him hard immediately; wear lip gloss and he’ll fall apart.

It’s not hard to see that Pantalone takes incredible care of his hair. He spends an immeasurable amount of time fussing over it, with a detailed washing schedule and care instructions. He spends much of his morning routine brushing, and styling his hair; if you feel like playing with it or styling it, feel free- but NEVER pull on his hair. EVER.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Pantalone takes impeccable care of himself, he’s well hydrated and keeps a good diet, so his cum is a clear, almost pearly color. It’s textured a lot like syrup and has almost no taste except for a faint saltiness- you’re not really sure how he makes his cum that flavorless. Pantalone doesn’t cum very much, it’s a bit disappointing but I’ll let you in on a little secret; if you squeeze his balls a lil bit you can make him squirt, and if you feel like putting in the effort, keep milking his cock after he starts cumming and he’ll cum even more. Please draw out his orgasm!!! Pantalone prefers cumming in your mouth, on your face or on your tummy- he’s not fond of trying to scoop his cum out of you later, too messy. Besides, don’t you just look beautiful with his cum on your face? Of course you do.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to try butt stuff. Huh? No no, not on you. (:

Okay fine I'll elaborate. I don't think he's experimented with anal on his own, he simply has a curiosity that he wants to sate. After sometime, Pantalone might bring up the subject, as casually as one might talk about the weather over morning tea. He actually wants to start rather vanilla with this, a bit of fingering, some gentler sex. After getting a small taste for subbing, he might let you do a few other things to him (cough cough sounding)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Fairly? I don’t think he’s all that experienced when it comes to sustained relationships, he's very busy and not opposed to hiring sex workers! Everyone has needs, and he is happy to pay for services he deems necessary, as long as he’s satisfied with the result. In short; intimate experience? No. Casual experience? Yes.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Pantalone is usually fucking on the go (read: in his office), so he usually goes for the classic bending over desk. If he’s in the office, he’ll press your chest down the desktop and take you from behind, usually with his fingers in your mouth to pull you back and hold your jaw open. For a long while, he'll probably do this in the bedroom for a while too, bending you over the edge of the bed instead; but once he gets more accustomed to intimacy, I think he'll switch to missionary. Call it vanilla, but he likes being able to see your face, your expressions really heighten the experience for him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I wouldn't call it humorous, so much as mocking. He's not laughing with you, he's laughing at you. Pantalone likes humiliating you in little ways, squishing your tear-stained cheeks together and calling you a crybaby, then laughing at you. If you try to tease him back however, he'll brush it off and somehow turn it back onto you. He's mean? Awww, but you like it don't you? Mean perv.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Pantalone strikes me as the sort of man who just. Full body waxes. Not hair to be found on this man. Which is a damn shame cus he's got some of the most beautiful hair I've ever seen, so silky and soft… no he won't stop waxing even if you beg. Sorry sports fans, your hairy man is in another castle.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

When Pantalone was younger, (shallow) people weren’t exactly interested in him, now he’s just too busy with work to bother forming a relationship with others, so he's used to transactional sex. He's probably going to remain rather distant for a while; you will have to have a conversation about it for sure. Pantalone will take your criticism into consideration very easily, he wants you both to enjoy your time after all, then change his behavior for you. It's going to be an awkward change at first, and he'll engage in a lot of pillow talk to go over what was good and what needs improvement, but Pantalone will be nothing but agreeable.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Why would he attempt to satisfy himself with his hands when he could just pay for an escort? Truly, Pantalone doesn't see the need and doesn't get horny enough to crank the ol' hog. But I am nothing if not a kind God! So I'll write this for you anyway.

Unlike with sex, Pantalone will not want to mastrubate in his office, it's too vulnerable and he finds it a bit embarrassing. He is definitely the type of guy to take it slowly, slow strokes over his shaft and rubbing his thumb over his tip, then a good squeeze around the base. Pantalone stays quiet most of the time, just barely panting as he touches himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Humiliation: Pantalone loves to feel superior, full stop. As long as you give consent, Pantalone likes to keep you naked in his office, sitting on his desk or the floor like an ornament. His favorite thing to do is keep you bound in a corner, stuffed full of toys for anyone to see, but only him to touch.

Financial domination: He likes being the one with all the money in the relationship. A little part of himself thinks you'll only like him as long as he's rich, so flaunting his wealth to you is a turn on. It's also relieving to him that you're dependent, so that way, you can never leave. Pantalone loves most to dress you up in fineries, then tear it all off in the heat of the moment, just to prove how little those things mean to him.

Mild pet play: dragging you around on a leash is one of Pantalone's greatest pleasures. He likes feeling as if he owns you, calling you pet, giving you orders. Pantalone is definitely the type to buy you a very fancy collar with real jewels on it, then use it as a handle while you fuck. If he's going to have any pet, it'll be a puppy, he's interested in the absolute obedience dogs have.

Submission: Pantalone does not put up with brats, hands down. He desires complete and utter obedience from you in the bedroom, you can either comply or miss out on your dick appointment. Brat taming? In this economy?

Handcuffs: While I don't feel Pantalone likes full body bondage (he likes to feel you struggle against him), he appreciates handcuffs or general hand bondage. It's a good way to yank you around and make sure you don't pull his hair out. His personal favorite is to bind your hands, then make you sit on his lap with your arms around his neck.

Spit: I can't say I have strong reasoning for this, it's just a gut feeling. It's something about spitting in your mouth and making you swallow it that makes the possessive part of him flare up.

Objectification: I mean really, is anyone surprised? This man fully believes he can buy anything, including you. He owns you, and he's not going to act otherwise. Sometimes, if he's had a stressful night, he'll just lube you up and fuck you like a fleshlight, and he's not afraid call you such things either. "Pet", "toy", and "doll" are some of his favorite things to call you.

Orgasm denial/Edging (they go hand in hand for this man): This follows closely with his objectification kink- oh you wanna cum? No, no, no, pet. Fleshlights don't need to cum do they? Ah- they don't talk, either. Watching you squirm and cry for him strokes his ego greatly, and he's not afraid to make you beg.

Dacryphilia: You look. So pretty. When you cry. Your lips trembling, your eyes glittering with tears, eyes and nose reddened, cheeks wet- and at his hand? Even better. Of course, Pantalone cares too much about you to enjoy when you're simply miserable, but when he edges you to tears? Nothing better.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Pantalone is a rather private man, he'll want to stick to his two safe spaces; your bedroom and his office. Of course, the bedroom is your house, but he claims that no one can argue with what he does in the privacy of his own office, especially if someone forgets to knock- not like he'd stop either way. Public bathrooms or secluded alleys are beneath him, while fucking on couches or in showers is just too much of a hassle.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

What Pantalone REALLY wants out of this, is to feel like he owns you. He wants to know that you belong to him, that you are dependent upon him, and that he controls you; it's almost a comfort to him. If Pantalone holds all the control between the two of you, then it is utterly up to him whether you stay or go.

However, Pantalone will spend every waking moment reminding you why you should stay, and this applies to the bedroom as well. He wants to hear you cry out, feel you squirm, watch you cry; a reminder that he is the best man you will ever have.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Piss. I wouldn't call this particularly controversial, only a bit disappointing for the little pee-pee boys in the crowd (it's me I'm pee-pee boys). He doesn't like much of any kink that creates smell and a mess, it's just too much of a hassle to clean up and isn't worth it to him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

For such a greedy man, Pantalone is a giver!!!! He doesn't care for receiving oral- it's fine -but why would he waste his time on fucking your mouth when he can be inside you? He much prefers the reactions he gets from eating you out or sucking you off. Considering this a bonus to the favorite position category, but when giving oral Pantalone has two favorite positions; letting you lay back and grabbing your hips to lift you to his mouth, or placing you on his lap upside down so your knees rest on his shoulders.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Pantalone keeps his pace moderate, focusing on making his thrusts deep and hard instead. He'll grab your waist and roll his hips against yours, aiming for all your sensitive spots with long, deep strokes. Of course, Pantalone's pace becomes a bit erratic when he's closer to cumming, speeding up then slowing to crawl- you know he's really at the edge when he starts pounding you as hard and fast as you can.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No. Sorry guys. Pantalone wants to take his time with you and isn't going to settle for an ultimately dissatisfying quickie, he won't apologize either. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If you wanna try something new, Pantalone is happy to agree, most times he won't say no; though he might show hesitation if you ask him to harm you. You'll have to tell him in advance so he can properly research the kink and how to enact the fantasy safely, and even before you have sex he'll probably warn you that he's going to try something new.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

My guy is a one and done kind of man, squirt then skirt if you will. So yeah, unfortunately you're only getting a single round out of Pantalone, but that round can last about as long as you like- and perhaps longer. A session with Pantalone can last from one hour up to three, and he won't let himself cum once until you cum at least twice, so there are no worries of being left unsatisfied.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes! Absolutely! Nipple clamps, a couple bullet vibrators, a wand vibrator, vary sizes of plugs, beads and dildos, an O-ring gag, spreader bars- though he only uses those last two if you're being shy with him. For afab partners he also owns a rosebud vibrator, and for the amabs he owns sounding rods and cock rings. Mostly the toys are for you, but with a bit of encouragement you might be able to coax him into using a few on himself. After a fair bit of experimentation, Pantalone finds himself in favor of wearing a cock ring and nipple clamps while fucking you… you might get him to warm up to a bit of sounding.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If Pantalone isn't a tease, then I don't know who is. He takes great pleasure in riling you up, then denying you sex entirely, not even allowing you to touch yourself; a test of your obedience. God forbid you break his rules and get caught using any toys on yourself- and you will get caught -Pantalone will spend hours punishing you for disobedience. You'll find yourself handcuffed and stuck in spreader bars, the largest dildo of Pantalone's collection stuffed into your hole. Your lover shows no kindness, grabbing the base of the toy and ramming it in and out as fast and hard as he can, but stopping right before you cum and waiting however long it takes for you to calm down. This will go on for hours until you're sobbing, begging for forgiveness and wailing your apologies. So yeah. Pantalone is far from fair.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

A few whimpers, mostly panting, maybe grunt here or there; While Pantalone may not be much of a moaner, he certainly is a chatterbox! He'll go on and on with you, muttering praise and degradation, fully expecting a response from you (how unrealistic, sir). He gets even worse when he gets closer to his orgasm; Pantalone's words break up with moans and become less coherent, but he still forces them out as fast as he possibly can, until he's stuttering forward a slew of curses at a near shout. Cutie <3

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The male boob lovers in the crowd are going to like this one- I believe with my entire heart that my double D malewife has sensitive nipples, his left one pierced. They're naturally puffy and pink, and they turn all red and swollen when you play with them. Unfortunately, Pantalone isn't going to give you much of a chance to toy with his chest, so when do you get boob time? One of the few times he subs, that's when. He's not going to argue if you pinch and pull on his nipples in the middle of easing your way inside of him, Pantalone is going to whimper. Enjoy this power, and use it wisely.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

This man is vice president of the pretty penis club (I'll elaborate on the prez in a later post). He sits around 5.7-ish flaccid and an easy 6 when he's hard, a skinny penis haver but it's okay because I love him. He only really has one prominent vein that trails from the underside of his shaft then wraps around to the front side, just beneath his tip. Speaking of his tip!! It's a beautiful shade of pink that reddens when he gets hard, and drips soooo much pre. He's got a slight upward curve and when he's very hard, his dick nearly touches his abdomen.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pantalone has a relatively low sex drive, really only feeling the need for sex every two to three weeks, however! He has no problem going at it more often if you so desire, if anything he likes how dependent upon him you are, please, ask for more.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sleep?? After sex??? Pantalone could never. If anything, a good session clears his head and calms him down. He's more than likely to grab a lapdesk and do some paperwork while you're dozing off, but if it's really late or you went for a particularly long round he might just read at your side or even talk you to sleep.

That's the end of our showing for today, and as always, thank you for attending!

You can really REALLY smell the favoritism on this one, I'm very very in love with Pantalone and I wanna kith him.

#pansy writes #genshin impact #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin x you #genshin pantalone #genshin smut #hoyoverse #pantalone x male reader #pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #nsft alphabet #nsft tumblr #mlm nsft #male reader

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 3 months

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Under Her Skin

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 341

Summary: this is based on an actual experience I had but I had to deal with it all by my lonesome because I’m sadly lacking in the lovely Dieter department

Warnings: reader having a panic attack, things that may trigger trypophobia, Dieter being an absolute sweetheart so a happy ending

Check out masterlist here

Dieter was in the bedroom while you were in the living room. He was using the excuse to read through his script while you watched something you wanted to. Suddenly he heard you laugh, but you weren’t watching a comedy. It didn’t sound like your usual laugh. Something was wrong.

He walked into the living room where he saw you perched on the couch, almost in a defensive stance.

“Are you okay, honey cakes?”

“Holes. There were holes. There was something on their skin, is it dry in here?” you were rambling. “It’s so dry in here, my skin is so itchy.”

He saw how madly you were scratching at your skin; he saw it getting redder and redder. You took in a stuttered breath and letting out an almost hysterical laugh because you didn’t know what else to do.

Dieter turned off the TV and put his hands on either side of you face, “Hey, look at me.”

You finally stopped scratching and looked at Dieter. He could see the scattered panic in your eyes slowly settled once you looked him in his calm brown eyes.

“Dieter?”

“It’s me. Why don’t we go to bed?”

You nodded, you were feeling tired and followed him to the bedroom.

You were already in your pyjamas, so Dieter left you on the bed got out your thickest moisturiser from the bathroom. He came back and sat on the bed beside you where you had started scratching at your skin again.

“It’s still itchy?” he asked, and you nodded. He took a big handful of moisturiser and gently rubbed it over your arms, your legs, wherever you were scratching. He noticed your breathing calmed and went as soft as your skin was now feeling. He pulled the sheets over you, locking in the moisture that had returned to your skin.

His arms felt warm and comforting, protecting you from the horrors before. He held you close, knowing he can’t protect you from your head, but he can help the rest of you feel safe.

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl @cupcakehp @gswizzsstuff @wannab-urs

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror universe #love of horror #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #the bubble netflix #the bubble

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inkofamethyst · 7 days

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April 18, 2024

Daylist: suspense rock star tuesday night (campfire, western, old west, spaghetti western)

I've come to find out that I shy away from guys I find attractive and see as potential romantic prospects (aka I see them regularly and know/think they aren't attached to someone else)! Like I refuse to meet their gaze more than I have to, minimize any mindless chatter with them, and am genuinely just very intimidated by the idea of seeming dumb in front of a person I might be developing a crush on (uhm, very much looking forward to this semester ending so I don't have to see this one dude so often bc he is so attractive but he's also like so COOL like so much cooler than me but ugh UGHH (he's also the reason for this paragraph because I realized that I highkey avoid his gaze bc he makes me so nervous which is just dreadfully annoying [edit: also i found his ig and he's a whole sophomore which is WILD but whew he's just so good looking and his voice])).

Anyway that won't do, so this summer a goal is to flirt, just once.

I spent seven very frustrating hours straight on an R script today. I should? be through the weeds now. I hopefully have a straightforward path toward some results. Hopefully. Should only take a few more hours, then I'll do my writeup tomorrow (though I realized that the raw data I solicited is not actually what I need to answer the question I'm asking, but that's okay, I'll just figure out a different question.). [edit, a bit later: it took like ten minutes to get to my intended finishing point lol. BUT I toiled for eight hours today only to find ONE SINGLE differentially expressed gene. Granted, my sample size is itty bitty, but still, ONE DEG????]

Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage is WILD. Stopped me in my tracks. I can't tell if it's a joke which is the worst part. goes hard tho.

Dunno if I've mentioned this before but today I'm thankful for the clay mask my mother introduced me to. Anytime my skin feels dull, I can slap that bad boy on and a special avocado overnight moisturizer and it'll have me glowing the very next morning.

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derry-dyke · 1 year

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tw : homophobia, references to past suicide attempt/ideation

based on scene that was cut from the script of it chptr. 1

Pennywise towered tall above his small frame, looming eerily over Richie where he stood trapped against the wall. It wore a sharp and gnarly grin. But It wasn't attacking. Not yet. Pennywise liked to play with his food. It was something It’d demonstrated to all of them more than enough times. Richie knew then that Pennywise not only had him cornered, that It was going to kill him, But that It was going to torment him while It did.

Frightened eyes flickered to his friends, Who were all screaming for him, Panicking as they begged each other for solutions on what to do. How to save him. There didn't seem to be an easy answer. A sinister voice cut through the fearful yelling.

"Oh, No! Richie!" The clown mocked the other six.

"Do you think they'd still save you if they knew your dirty, disgusting secret?"

Pennywise cackled. Richie's fearful eyes widened in realization and panic. No. No, No, No. It couldn’t tell them. They couldn’t know. Pennywise was gonna tell them, and then kill him, feed on his fear and shame before he‘d ever get to explain himself. His eyes fell on his friends, who looked confused by the entity's words. At the same time, their main focus was still getting him out of there alive. A mixture of terror, confusion and determination in their expressions. He wondered if they’d still love him this much if they’d ever found out, Or if Pennywise was right.

"Should I tell them what you're hiding, Richie? Should I tell him?"

Richie's stomach twisted itself in knots, and his face prickled red with humiliation, eyes stinging with the pressure of oncoming moisture. It only got worse as the scene unfolded, Richie looked to the group again. His eyes finding Eddie's out of the other five pairs of eyes. Then he was tearing his gaze away, Only to land on Pennywise again. Except, It wasn't Pennywise anymore. It was shifting. Morphing.

Finally, Another Eddie stood in front of him. Not his Eddie though. It sounded like him, It looked like him, But as he leaned in closer, Richie saw the gray undertone to his skin, the paleness of his eyes, the black liquid that was beginning to seep from his lips.

"Are you gonna tell them, Rich?" Pennywise asked, sounding hauntingly like Eddie, but sinister. Fake Eddie's cold hand stroked up Richie's arm, mocking a loving touch that Richie was certain he'd never receive from the real Eddie.

"Stop-- Stop it, You’re not real, Stop!" Richie pleaded. He shook his head, closed his eyes tight, but he wouldn't go away. His hands pushed fake Eddie's away, but they came right back. Richie’s eyes opened again when he felt a cold, gross hand come to rest on his cheek.

"Kiss me, Chee!" Pennywise mocked way too accurately, cackling afterwards. If he survived, Richie wouldn't be able to even look at his best friend after this.

"Don't touch the other boys, Richie. They'll know your secret! I know your secret. Are you gonna tell our friends? Are you gonna tell them how gross you are, Trashmouth? Are you gonna tell them about your disgusting, sick feelings about me?"

Eddie's voice rang in his ears, but even as he reminded himself that it wasn't Eddie, That Eddie would never, he couldn't keep the tears from falling down his cheeks.

Fake Eddie leaned in close, the stench of death on his breath.

"Do you love me, Chee? Do you love me? Aren’t you gonna say it?" He asked, managing to sound as sweet as his real Eddie always did. Richie hated it. He shoved the imposter back with force. His eyes avoided his friends, humiliated.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Richie screamed, his voice breaking because of the tightness in his throat. Pennywise only laughed maniacally, shifting disturbingly back into the horrifying clown, looming over Richie again.

"You? Kill me? You can't even kill yourself right, Trashmouth!" It’s hand caught Richie around the throat, Lifting him off of the ground. Richie screamed and cried in fear, Pennywise had him. It'd spilled all of Richie's secrets to his friends and now It was going to kill him right in front of them. His skinny legs kicked at the clown, But it was futile.

"Oops! Was that another secret? So many secrets! Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll do it for you. I’ll kill ya! I’ll do it for free!" Pennywise grinned, then It’s jaw was unhinging, billions of rows of teeth being revealed as It prepared to tear into Richie. Richie screamed and cried, part of him was genuinely afraid that his friends wouldn't come to his rescue over what they'd just learned.

Why would they?

#fic #writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #angst #amanda's writing #i know your secret

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medicus-mortem · 2 months

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@chatcambrioleur asked: The surgeon’s not-girlfriend has organized a basket for his gift. Left next on his bed, he would find it after she left the Tang, departing once again for her home ship. An expensive, rich, moisturizer for someone who washes their hands often, formulated special for those with tattoos, to brighten and soften the skin. A coffee that she found to be rich in ingredients and in taste, some anatomical body parts candies, and at the bottom, a number of 8x10 photos. An envelope containing his name, in a familiar, neat, lovely script. For your eyes only. Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome. Upon opening the envelope, he would find photos of Nami, in various poses, in lingerie she knew Law had enjoyed on her. A number of differing sets, in varying colors, notably of black and yellow. Smoldering, brown eyes met the camera’s gaze, tasteful (and some tasteless) photos, showcasing every soft crevice and curve of her body. After a number of photos with lingerie, she had also included a few where she was fully nude. Stretched on a bed, entangled in silk sheets, looking longingly at the viewer. And for his eyes only, there was only one viewer in mind. Perhaps she had to leave the gift for him to find because she was too embarrassed to face him with it, herself. Who knows? It’s hard to say. Heart Day!!

He might have drunk too much last night. Kinda comes with the whole Heart Day celebration thing. Plus, Nami was there, and Law couldn’t help but enjoy losing his inhibitions with here around. Right in this moment, when he’s waking groggy and with a pounding headache, the doctor does feel some regret. He groans, an arm reaching for the warm body he hopes is still at his side, but he finds nothing. Not even the lingering warmth from her being there only a moment before. Bleary eyes open, the Surgeon of Death searching the gloom of his chambers for the Cat Thief, but he is disappointed to find the room empty.

A deep, disappointed sigh leaves him as he rolls over, gaze now on the ceiling. He stares for a few moments until something catches his eye. A basket sat down on his desk. Head rolls to it, the doctor frowning. Curious, he drags himself from his sheets and strides over to the gift basket. Leaning over it, Law puts on his desk lamp, blinking back some of the sensitivity of his eyes. Gaze soon drops to the basket and Law feels a small smile touch his lips. He looks upon the moisturiser, turning it about to eye the ingredients and giving an approving grunt. Then comes the coffee, the doctor putting it aside to use in today’s first cup. Next the sweets that draw a low chuckle as Law takes one out and pops it in his mouth. It’s the liver he’s eating.

Finally, he comes to that envelope on the bottom. He smirks at Nami’s handwriting, taking a moment to run his finger over the neat scripts. Then, with care, he opens the envelop to pour the pile of photos into his hand. The first picture he sees, Nami in that yellow lingerie he so adores, makes his eyebrows arch up, but it isn’t long before a sleezy smirk slips onto his features. Nami leaving like she did was probably a good idea because after seeing these Law would not have let her leave this room all day.

“Nice,” he says to himself, selecting one of Nami’s most tasteful and less lewd pictures. He slips it into his wallet, hidden behind a picture of his crew, before depositing the rest of the pictures back into the envelope. He then puts that envelope with his porn collection, the doctor knowing for a fact that he probably won’t be touching anything other than Nami’s pictures for a while.

Still nursing a headache but feeling oddly light, Law pulls on a pair of pants and strolls from his room. In his hand he holds that bag of coffee, the pirate captain looking forward to trying something new this morning.

#chatcambrioleur #boring question // answered ask #as planned // ic #Heart Day #[Law is so lucky getting this kind of stuff from Nami for free]

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nexuskrp · 6 months

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We are pleased to introduce HAN DAEUN, a thirty-two year old ALPHA feMALE originally from BUSAN, SOUTH KOREA. If it wasn’t for the smell of BERGAMOT & LEMONGRASS that clings to their skin, you might mistake them for the famous idol, Bae Joohyun. I last ran into them REVIEWING A NEW SCRIPT not too long ago and they’re known for being WELL-SPOKEN and AMBITIOUS. That said, you need to watch out for when they get JUDGEMENTAL. Anyway, I’m sure they’ll make a great neighbor!

BACKGROUND:

born to a pair of betas, they were somewhat surprised to have an alpha daughter, let alone one so beautiful. daeun was born a bit prematurely and has been small for her age ever since.

her natural beauty caught the attention of those in the entertainment industry early on, and daeun was asked to audition for an entertainment company in seoul when she was just fifteen. she ended up being signed as an actor trainee and dedicated the next couple years of her life to learning to memorize lines and deliver a spectacular performance.

thanks to her beauty and natural charisma, daeun quickly rose to fame. however, she remained rather small for an alpha and found herself cast in the role of an omega or beta frequently. she secretly resented this, though in interviews she’d always speak about how it made her more empathetic to others and she enjoyed putting herself in their shoes for a role. it was a lie; she felt disrespected by directors’ refusal to cast her as what she truly was.

as she reached her mid to late 20s, daeun began to grow a bit weary of the celebrity lifestyle. she took a hiatus and focused on developing her own brand, launching a business and releasing her own skincare line. she’s since expanded her lineup beyond moisturizers, cleansers, and serums to include other branded accessories (sun glasses, hair bands, scrunchies, and other hair accessories, hats, and other small accessories).

the business has been a moderate success, though not yet profitable to be her only gig. she returned to the acting and modeling world just before turning 30 and has been known to be pickier with her roles now that she has the flexibility that comes with star power and fame.

#nx accepted #bae joohyun #red velvet #nxdaeun

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222empyeranenby222 · 2 years

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💖The thing about living in the end babes, is that you actually have to LIVE THERE!💖

💖💖This is something that I also make the mistake of forgetting sometimes! And it takes balance, on one hand you can’t grow obsessive, and place your manifestations on a pedestal! But you also can’t get obsessed with your circumstances and forget about your manifestations!💖💖

So you have to 💖LIVE but in your END!💖 To go about your daily life and not be consumed with your manifestations or with your circumstances.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Living in the end:

❤️ Always make sure that you’re not obsessing over your desires! Every thought you think should come from a place of already having it!

❤️ Don’t punish yourself! I would actually tell myself I’m not allowed to hang out with my friends or have fun until I manifest this or that! This is obsessing, and it comes from a place of lack!

❤️ Make sure to do fun things! Watch Tv! Play video games! Paint your nails! Watch memes! Just make sure you’re doing this from a frame of mind that implies you already have your desires!

❤️ If your manifesting a dream body, don’t obsess over what you’re eating cause irregardless of what you eat you already have your dream body!

❤️ If you’re manifesting ideal grades/career/ know that you were born to excel and thrive no matter what

❤️ If you’re manifesting an ideal person, shut out anything that is contrary to your ideal version of them and focus on the fact that they are insatiably and madly in love with you

❤️ If you’re actively bored and obsessing about your reality because of this then you need an outlet that makes you happy, have faith that EVERYTHING IS MANIFESTING and actually get involved in something new!

🌹List of things you can obsess over instead of noticing lack + circumstances:

❣️Do chores, it’s better than letting yourself spiral

🌹Getting into a new fandom! Particularly, a new book/YouTuber/Anime/Band/Movie

❣️Learning a new instrument!

🌹Learning how to paint!

❣️Learn how to sculpt with clay

🌹 Learn how to cook something new!

❣️Take bubble baths! Use your most luxurious products and pamper yourself

🌹Ground yourself in reality, be aware of yourself! Focus on mindfulness! And take in your physical sensations!

❣️ Meditate! And calm your mind!

🌹Revamp your beauty routine! Or make one if you don’t have one! Find face masks/facial cleansers/moisturizers and study what works best for your skin

❣️Hang out with your friends and meet new people! Don’t isolate yourself and let yourself stew in your negative thoughts

🌹Exercise daily! Can’t focus on lack of you’re focused on the burn!

❣️Go outside, literally go touch grass and enjoy nature!

🌹Write poetry, write short stories!

❣️There’s literally so much more I could put here but that’s literally just the ones off the top of my head, THE important thing? The absolute most vital thing? Always make sure while you’re living in the end, your thoughts are all about already having it!

Living in the end:

💗These are some tips both for when living in your 4D and 3D can be challenging and whatever emotions may come with that

💗Getting too caught up in our circumstances can be just as frustrating as putting our desires and not ourselves on a pedestal

💗Your 3D reality is simply a mirror! Don’t let it irritate you, sadden you or make you feel less. It’s okay to feel emotions, but know that you have everything you need within you already! And that these things will pass.

💗Irregardless of what your 3D is showing you are lovable, perfect, brilliant, worthy and divine!

💗These are both general tips and tips for when it gets hard in your 3D

💗Keep persisting!

💖 Write a script! Read it to yourself every single morning! To always remind yourself of the life that you ARE living, read it multiple times a day

💝 Stick reminders around you to help you remember who you are! Change your desktop or phone wallpaper, put sticky notes around your room, set reminders on your phone that go off at random times, to remind you, you are LIMITLESS!

💖 If you ever feel overwhelmed don’t be afraid to go back to the basics! Settle down ease your mind read some Neville, listen to some lectures

💝 Spend some time looking at motivational posts to pump yourself up and motivate yourself! You can do it! What you want is MEANT for you!

💖 Go directly into your 4D and shut out your 3D if your 3D is too much for you right now, you can give your desires to yourself in your 4D right now and having it in your 4D means having it!

💝 Give yourself a pep talk!

💖 Listen to some music to motivate you and get your spirits up! There’s just certain songs that make me feel like the baddest bitch that ever was or will be! Those baddie playlists will have you feeling like a BILLION and can also be the motivation you need to focus when it’s hard!

💝 Listen to subliminals and affirmation rampages on YouTube too! Lay down and let the affirmations flow through you. Repeat them in your head

💖 Take a break from your daily reality and unwind, focus on things outside your circumstances! Distract yourself and persist in the fact that you have your desires!

💝 Have a set of affirmations that your repeat to yourself to keep yourself from spiraling! E.G “I always come out on top” or “I’ll always win in the end” “I am destined to have my desires no matter what” and “Everything is working out perfectly in my favor!” “I am destined to have a happy ending and a positive outcome”

💖 Vent your emotions out, sing, draw, cry it out, and once you release these emotions then they will pass, after, you continue to persist

💝 If it’s hard right now, Write down all your old beliefs that are in play in this situation. What fears are you feeling in this situation, what do you worry will happen, what are your old assumptions and beliefs about this situation? Reverse them and affirm the opposite

💖 When the 3D gets rough remember to use healthy coping skills! Self Soothing! Distraction! Opposite Action! Emotional Awareness! Mindfulness! And a Support Plan for when things get challenging! Having healthy coping skills is important if your 3D is triggering and you’re spiraling!

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parfumieren · 10 months

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Habit Rouge (Guerlain)

"Smell this." I hold my wrist under my husband's nose.

He inhales deeply, then shrugs. "It's okay."

"Just okay?"

Cheerfully: "Mm-hm."

This scene occurs daily at my house, with very few deviations from script. I would say that ninety percent of the perfumes that have undergone this test rated an "okay". Some receive a "Weird", others a furrowed brow and a muttered, "Where is it?" Occasionally I get a resolute "No!" balanced on the next wearing by an enthusiastic thumbs-up or - best of all - a blissful nuzzling at the nape of my neck.

Little does the man know, this time I'm not asking on my own behalf.

In the years that we have been together, my husband has never worn any kind of fragrance on purpose. He has built a personal regimen involving Ivory Soap, Gold Bond Powder, Nivea Sensitive shaving cream, and "plain" therapeutic moisturizer-- all of which, in concert with his personal scent, happen to smell fantastic. But his sensitive skin limits the amount of experimentation he's willing to do with new or unfamiliar products. He has reacted with mild interest to the masculines in my collection, particularly Bertrand Duchaufour's Timbuktu, yet has never made a single move toward swiping it for himself. And the idea of an "aftershave" other than plain cold water makes him shake his head.

I would never presume to choose a fragrance for him. But if my husband were ever to choose Guerlain's Habit Rouge for daily wear, I'd be the one doing the nuzzling.

Looking back over the evolution of men's fragrances, one sees certain categories -- fougères, leathers, woods, and aquatics -- lording it over all. Habit Rouge belongs to none of these. It's classified as an woody oriental, but is no less masculine for its lack of chauvinism. Bear in mind that in 1965, when Jacques Guerlain formulated HR, the definition of masculinity itself was in flux. Beginning with the Mod style movement of the early 60's, men had begun to struggle free from the previous decade's buttoned-down definition of manhood and to explore (gingerly, of course) a more "feminine" interest in fashion, art, and self-expression.

By 1966, lavishly pattered flowing shirts paired with hip-hugging flared trousers and Cuban heels would be considered the cutting edge of male fashion in psychedelic London. An outre "new Edwardian" aesthetic waited in the wings, all velvet and brocade-- to this cultural style revolution, Habit Rouge acted as the huntsman's trumpet call.

It kicks off with a fantastic top note, unashamedly floral yet not at all delicate, a hearty handshake of a scent like neat camelia oil on good leather. It then rapidly kaleidoscopes through a hundred sunset shades of citrus, with raspy wood notes gently shouldering their way to the fore as if to reassure you of HR's core masculinity. No need to overstate the obvious here, as so many overtly hairy-chested fragrances do at a shout. HR is perfectly comfortable with its identity; its manliness goes without saying and can survive a bit of dandifying.

It ends where very few masculine fragrances have ever dared to end-- in a faint, talcum-powder shimmer laced through with orange blossoms. This explains why so many men have lost their bottles of HR to wives and girlfriends-- but don't draw the wrong conclusions, gents. It's not that HR is for ladies. It's that ladies love HR, no matter who's wearing it. Why not you? (Still not convinced? Be advised that Sean Connery swore by Habit Rouge for years. That's right-- 007 HIMSELF wore it, so calm down, big boy.)

"Smell this." I hold my Habit Rouge-sprayed wrist under my husband's nose.

He inhales deeply, then shrugs. "It's okay," he says. Then he takes my wrist in his hand and smells again.

"Hm," he says.

Hm, indeed.

Scent Elements: Bergamot, lemon, rosewood, basil, sandalwood, carnation, patchouli, cedar, cinnamon, vanilla, amber, moss, benzoin, labdanum, olibanum

#habit rouge #guerlain #perfume review #parfümieren

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eleganzadellarosa · 5 months

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Sweetpea

pairing: male oc x female oc

genre: fluff and angst

word count: 1.4K+

AN: would you believe me if I said this plot came to me in a dream? I kinda woke up crying 🥺 it’s so cute and so adorable and I hope it warms your heart. As always, enjoy and thanks for reading <3

P.S - characters are seniors

“Hi Sweetpea, good morning!”

There it was again, the sweet smile that fills my heart with love every morning. The one that makes my heart flutter and flips my stomach. Does he know how much love I have for him? Can he tell?

When I smile back, his smile gets brighter as if his smile is powered by mine. Sweetpea has been his nickname for me for as long as I can remember. The only boy that didn’t throw dirt on me during recess or steal my milk in the cafeteria. I didn’t love him then, he was just nice, a good person, soon my best friend.

It was the start of high school that I realized the small jump my heart did every time he was around wasn't only due to being happy to see him but that I wanted to be in his arms forever. Can he tell?

He didn’t care that he lived 3 miles away, he always came to walk me to school without hesitation. I looked forward to it. Looked forward to looking left and right until I could finally see his shape round the corner. He always did a little jog and wave when he saw me standing in front of my house.

It was cute, maybe even the cutest thing he did and he has a long list of those.

“You look so cold, sorry I had you waiting for so long.”

His hands came up to warm my cheeks, hopefully hiding the blush that threatened to paint them. He was perfect in my eyes, the most handsome I had ever seen. He truly shined inside and out.

“Hi Pumpkin, good morning.” That was the best nickname I could come up with for him after all these years but of course nothing could beat Sweetpea and he didn’t seem to mind it at all. “I didn’t wait long so I’m not cold.”

Maybe I should have kept the last part to myself so I could feel the warmth of his skin a few seconds longer. Truthfully the brisk of the winter air froze the moisture in my skin, yet I never felt cold when he was around. He was the sunshine that melted the cold snow.

At school everyone knew we were two peas in a pod. Rumors circulated that there was no way we weren’t dating with how much time we spent together. He always denied them and it broke my heart. Did I really not have a chance?

“Okay class, today we’re finally going to announce the two leads for the play.”

The drama club teacher was nice, very bubbly and brightened any room she entered. Being a part of the drama club helped me express my feelings without having to claim them as my own, labeling them simply as acting.

I never knew why Pumpkin joined, he had a knack for it but it didn’t really seem like an interest of his.

“Pumpkin and Sweetpea congratulations, you will be our two leads in the upcoming play. You have 3 weeks to go over your lines but I’m confident that you’ll both push through and give us an amazing performance.”

My face flushed hearing the “ooohs” and whistles from everyone after hearing the announcement. My nerves were triggered, my hands were shaking. The play was about a romance between two royal parties who belonged to opposing sides who eventually confess their love for each other, a forbidden romance of sorts.

And there was a kiss scene. Nothing vulgar, quick and innocent but knowing who I had to do it with made me anxious. This would help none with the burning desire I felt for him. And with his skills, he would make it as believable as possible.

The weeks passed by and the script flowed smoothly as if we lived as the characters themselves, but the kiss scene we never practiced. It would have to be perfect for today on the first try. No room for mistakes.

“Sweetpea, how you feeling? I’m kinda nervous, I don’t wanna mess up.”

How would he? He was perfect for the role and he looked like a prince himself. He didn’t know what nervous was. I stood thinking about kissing my best friend for the first time and enjoying it. I wanted it but I didn’t want to mess up the picture perfect friendship we had. I didn’t want to break the cycle.

“You two are on in 5!”

The deafening silence from the audience and the booming dialogue from the stage battled for who could break me the fastest. Each step we took toward that stage, arms interlocked, my heart rang closer to my ears. My face had to be cherry red by now, no one could tell me otherwise.

“Deep breaths Sweetpea, we got this. I got you.”

It was time, no more giving yourself a pep talk when the curtain had already risen and you were exposed to the crowd.

It went well, the first half, just like we both practiced for weeks. The emotions, the dancing, everything. Everything except the kiss. The kiss that was approaching like rapid fire, something I could no longer stop.

What was I so scared for? It was one kiss lasting 5 seconds at most. I was in a comfortable setting with my best friend of 10 years. I was scared of the change, not between us but within myself.

I knew my love would grow stronger to the point of sleepless nights, but the fear of losing him was too painful. He said it himself, we weren’t dating and the stern manner in which he said it made it known he had no intentions on ever changing that.

The moment was now to deliver his lines and get it over with and never look back.

“My love, I cannot bear to live without seeing your beautiful face everyday.”

His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me in.

“It pains me having to return home without you in my arms.”

A hand came up to cup my cheek.

“I love you.”

His lips were on mine and everything around us faded. Only he and I stood on that stage, no one else in sight as he confessed his love to me. Oh how I waited for this day to come. Or so I hoped. My delusion could not get me any further, so I let the tear fall from my eye as he ended the kiss.

Applause roared through the auditorium. The performance was perfect but my heart was broken. The curtain dropped and I pushed my way past the heavy double doors and ran to the dressing room.

The tears flowed down my cheeks and my heart burned with pain. My knees could no longer hold my body and I fell against a chair clutching my chest.

It was an ugly cry. The kind that wet your face, shortened your breath and stuffed your nose.

He came. He came to check on me as he always would whenever he knew something was wrong. I couldn’t see his face this time but I knew from experience that he looked as if the doctor told him a family member had only days left to live.

“Sweetpea…what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Ah, the pain in his voice as he accused himself of doing something that would put me in this state only further pained me. Of course he didn’t do anything wrong, he never did. Especially not this time.

He came closer, cautiously and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey…look at me, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t wanna see you like this.”

I looked up at him because I needed him to know that as badly as I was crying, nothing he did or is currently doing was the cause.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? You did an amazing job with the play, the audience loved it!”

“I love you Pumpkin!” I confessed through teary eyes and a snotty nose, but better late than never right? “I love you and I’ve loved you for years now and I can’t take it anymore. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I want you to love me too.”

“Sweetpea…why is that making you cry? I do love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I care about you so much and I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me that sooner. You are my Sweetpea from before, now and forever.”

He kissed me again but this time after his own confession, one that I waited to hear for a long time. It was worth the wait and worth everything that lead up to it.

I am his Sweetpea and he is my Pumpkin.

cr to kgymz for divider

#oc #romance #heartwarming #drabble

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lokilickedme · 2 years

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I’ve been thinking about this for the last three days and it’s really bothering me how women are guilted, pressured, and shamed into spending outrageous amounts of money to stay young looking or “reverse aging” when aging is literally what we’re meant to do as living things. I don’t mean dropping twenty bucks for a decent moisturizer to keep your skin hydrated and healthy - everybody should do that, it’s good for you and your skin needs it no matter your age, especially if you live in a dry climate like I do. I’m talking about cosmetics companies aggressively preying on our fear of getting (and looking) older. A completely natural process, turned into something horrifying and grotesque by a group of people who just want to sell you something.

(continued under the cut for length and pictures)

Little and I were walking through the mall on Friday afternoon, headed for Hot Topic where he was hoping to get a collectible toy from his current favorite franchise before they sold out. As we passed a big, brightly lit, completely mirror-enshrouded boutique with a fancy name in shiny silver script, a ridiculously young, ridiculously handsome, ridiculously perfect-skinned man literally stepped in front of us and forced us to stop. He pushed a sample packet into my hand and gripped my shoulder to turn us toward the boutique, and as we sidestepped to avoid him he had us skillfully diverted into his place of employment within two steps. “You’re so beautiful Miss, just lovely, can I ask what you use on your skin?”

I’ve been accosted outside this boutique before, so I knew what was coming. Long spiel, gushing praise and flattery, and then The Big Sell. But I always walk away with a nice sample of a very expensive product that’s nothing special but kinda nice, so I tolerate the long script if I have the time.

But this guy...he was something.

He kept telling me how beautiful I was, but that I “could look better. Don’t you want to look better?”

I told him no, not particularly. This shocked him, I could tell...and from that moment the game was on.

He asked how old I am, looking down at Little, who is 10 but very small for his age - people generally mistake him for a six year old, so this guy likely thought I was younger than I am based on my kid (I had him when I was in my 40′s, which always throws people for a loop) and it was obvious his assumption was that I was maybe in my 30′s and looking a little on the haggard side. I smiled at him, because this is where I always get them. “I’m definitely old enough to be your mother and possibly old enough to be your grandmother.”

He looks at me incredulously, shaking his head, glancing down at Little again like he must have misjudged his age. “How old?”

“How old do you think?”

He looks a tiny bit scared, like he knows he’s walked into a trap. I’m hard to guess, nobody ever gets it right. I’m short and small and don’t act my age and he’s regretting stopping me now, I can tell.

After several long uncomfortable seconds I tell him I’m 54, and he looks taken aback for a second, and I can see him shuffling his script cards in his head. “You look lovely, incredible, so beautiful” he gushes. And then he goes in for the kill. “But you have signs of aging, do you see them when you look in the mirror?”

Of course I have signs of aging, I just told you I’m 54. He gestures toward the giant mirror to our left. I smile at him and shake my head. “I’m fine with aging, it doesn’t bother me. It happens, why worry about it?”

He gives me a smug look, obviously thinking he’s got me now, and says “Yes, but don’t you want to look better for your husband?”

You mean my husband who is 30 lbs overweight, bald, and farts in front of me? I actually start laughing and say “Nope.”

“That’s not good,” he says.

“It is what it is,” I say back. Judgemental fucker, making calls on my life? You wanna meet my husband? I can arrange that.

I let him go through his presentation, because I’m here to teach him a lesson now. Through the entire conversation, which is mostly one-sided, I repeat over and over that I’m happy with the way I look, that I don’t feel the need to “look better” for someone else, that I’m comfortable in my own skin and don’t subscribe to any beauty ideals presented to me by the media and cosmetics companies like the one he’s pushing. He’s aggressive and starts touching my face, telling me to look in the wall-sized mirror we’re standing in front of. “You see these lines? You see this redness, this sagging?” I nod and smile as he’s pointing out all the things about my face and skin that prove I’m a human being living a life full of joy, sadness, happiness, stress. The physical proof that I’m alive. He’s going on about them as if they’re bad things. I just keep smiling and shaking my head, and he gets frustrated because I’m not agreeing that I should be fighting this natural process with his expensive creams and serums.

I eventually have to ask him to cut to the chase because the store Little wants to go to will be closing soon. I outright ask him the price of the stuff he’s been dabbing on my face through the duration of the upsell. I already know - I’ve been handed the brochure before - but I want to see his face when he says it.

$1200. Another $400 for the moisturizer that goes with it, and $250 for some other add-on that’s “essential to the regimen”. To convince me he asks how much I spend on the product I currently use.

With a smile I tell him I spend $12 for a high-concentration no-name vitamin C serum from a wholesaler. He’s speechless for a few seconds, and I can see him searching my face for some way to disparage it. He obviously can’t, so he pulls out his calculator and starts hitting numbers. “It’s tiny, right? How many bottles do you buy per month of it?”

“One bottle lasts me 6 months. So I buy two a year.”

He acts like he doesn’t believe me, then launches right back into his high pressure presentation because the numbers obviously aren’t on his side. You should spend this on yourself, he says. You’re a good mother, you do everything for everyone else - he points at my child, who is bored to tears at this point - you deserve to look better, you need to be doing this for yourself. And then he starts negotiating, asking me how much I think I should spend to look good.

“$12 twice a year. Works for me, don’t fix what isn’t broken and $1200 is insane. The car I drove here in cost less than that.”

“Isn’t it worth it though? Don’t you want to look better?”

“Why? Didn’t you say when I walked in here that I look beautiful?”

“Yes and you do but you could look better!”

“Why do I need to?? I’m 54, I’m supposed to look like this!”

And around and around we went, until finally he threw his hands up and made an exasperated noise that made Little laugh. “What can I do??” he asked in frustration.

“Nothing at all. All this - “ I made a circular motion around my face - “I earned it. It’s me. It took me a long time to get to this and I’m happy with it.”

“How about if I do this - “ He starts to write a price on a piece of paper. I don’t bother to look at it. Because I wasn’t lying - I’m at a point in my life where I’m genuinely happy with the way I look, and no $1200 product is going to give me anything more than I’ve already got. I’m a human being. I’m alive. I laugh and I cry and I frown and I smile. Life leaves wrinkles. Who the hell gets mad about that? The only way to stop aging is to freaking die, and I’m not into that.

“Thanks for the sample” I say, waving the little packet in front of his face.

And then we left, Little and I.

I’ve been sort of stewing over this ever since. This man who couldn’t have possibly been a day over 25 years old with the smooth perfect skin of a young person who hasn’t experienced life yet, shamelessly shaming women into believing they should look better when there’s literally nothing wrong with the way they look. Telling them that aging is gross, that the natural process of getting older is shameful and they should throw crazy amounts of money at it to “fix” it, that they should be willing to do anything and spend anything to make themselves look better for someone else.

I say bullshit.

This is the face he was trying to convince me needs to be “fixed”:

I have smile lines, laugh lines, frown lines, sun damage, crow’s feet, wrinkles, sagging, a fairly deep scowl crease, the works...because I’m 54 years old, and to tell me I should be trying to look 30 years younger is absurd. Should I not laugh, not cry, not enjoy the sunshine and my kids’ jokes? I have freckles in the summer and am pale in the winter, my skin does what it’s meant to do, and just like the rest of me, it’s getting older. Yeah I could be better about using sunscreen and I often forget to wash the day’s grime off before I fall asleep on the couch at night, but I’m happy and if that angers the people hawking “youth in a bottle” products, they can just die mad about it.

#we made it to Hot Topic in time btw #and Little got his toy he wanted #and I gave the sample packet to my MIL #her verdict was I DIDN"T LIKE IT THAT MUCH #I said good because it's $1200 #she did that thing Italians do to signal disgust that looks like ASL for fuck you #I laughed so hard #gonna go back to the mall and tell that guy my MIL said fuck his $1200 glorified Oil Of Olay

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theleetoalerandalertoalee · 7 months

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Day 7 - Flustered

Yun Jin x Xinyan

Sorry if the story is a but choppy, I’ve been having trouble focusing lately aaa

Enjoy!!

“Hey hey, Yun Jin! What’s shakin’?”

Yun Jin looks up from her script, “hm? Xinyan, it’s been a while! What brings you to Lingju Pass? Don’t you have a tour in Natlan in two days?”

“Yup, but I wanted to pay you a visit before I left.”

“Oh,” Yun Jin sets the script aside and sits up to talk to Xinyan, “really? Well…thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Hehe, of course! Say, why don’t we just relax for a bit? Just because I won’t be back till after my tour.”

“Hm, very well. Only for a bit, though.”

“Whoo! Thanks, Yun Jin!”

Yun Jin smiles as Xinyan sets down her guitar and drum to sit next to the opera star.

Yun Jin opens and closes her hands, wincing, “do your hands ever get sore?”

“Hmm, they used to, but after playing the guitar with no pick, my skin has calloused and stuff, so not really anymore.”

“Don’t you have a pick, though?”

“I do, but sometimes during a performance you drop it, but the show’s gotta go on, y’know?”

“Ah, right, of course.”

“So, I mean, why’d you ask? Are you feeling sore?”

“Yeah…I was wondering if you had any tips or tricks to help.”

“Well, a compression glove is great, but we’re quite far away from Liyue, so I can just give you a small massage if you want.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah! You’re my friend!”

“Well- ah, thank you.”

“Of course, here.”

Xinyan takes one of Yun Jin’s hands, “wow, what kind of moisturizer do you use? It’s like your skin has never touched anything ever!”

“Aha, just an anti-blistering thing. It’s like a protective layer for my skin while I’m rehearsing.”

“Wow, cool!”

“Do you want to try it sometime?”

“Thanks, but nah, rock and roll calls for calluses.”

“I see, well, let me know if you ever change your mind.”

“Will do,” Xinyan slowly starts to massage one of Yun Jin’s hands.

Yun Jin’s face blushes and she looks off to the side, trying to focus on the mountain peaks.

“Hey,” Xinyan stops for a moment, “you alright?”

Yun Jin nods, “yes just…hm, sensitive…”

“Ah, I gotcha. I’ll be gentle, then.”

“Thank you.”

Xinyan smiles as she restarts the massage, this time much more carefully and slowly. The massage starts from the tips of Yun Jin’s fingers down to her wrists.

As time went on, the closer to Yun Jin’s wrists the rock star got. It was only a matter of time before-

Yun Jin’s breath hitches and her face goes a brighter shade of pink, “ah-! Um- sorry about that, I- uh…just ignore me.”

“Hm? Is everything alright?”

“Y-yes, perfectly fine.”

Xinyan pauses for a moment before the situation clicks, “ah, hehe, I think I get it.”

“Hm? Do you-?”

Xinyan drags her fingertips across Yun Jin’s wrist and the opera performer giggles softly.

“Aw, you didn’t tell me you had ticklish wrists~! That is adorable, Yun Jin!”

Yun Jin shakes her head as she giggles quietly. Her face was still completely flushed.

Xinyan moves to Yun Jin’s other hand, starting at the fingertips once more.

“So, what is the new script about, if I’m allowed to know, hehe.”

“I would tell you, but I pushed the performance back to when your tour is over. So, I’d like to keep it a surprise.”

“What?! You did that for me?”

“Heh, of course I did. You’re always there for me, so I thought it’d be a way to say thank you. I know you like to watch up close.”

“Of course! I like to get near the action!”

“Well, I’m happy to give you something to look forward to after your tour. I know that after tours you get a bit…sullen.”

“Well, yeah, I like to perform. It gives me a high to be on a stage with all those people all coming together through music- it’s just- it’s beautiful, ain’t it?”

“Yes…it really is.”

Xinyan gets down to Yun Jin’s wrists.

“No need to be embarrassed, Yun Jin! I think it’s cute, hehe.”

“Ah- hahahaha, th-thank you,” Yun Jin says with blushed cheeks.

“Of course! Trust me, if you’re this flustered about it, your secret is safe with me.”

Yun nods gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m very happy to be your friend.”

“I’m happy to be yours, too! How do your hands feel now?”

“Better. Thanks again.”

“Sure.”

“We still have some time before sundown…”

“How about I play you a tune I’ve been working on?”

“I’d like that.”

“Perfect, on four- one, two three, four!”

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