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jadelynlace · 3 years

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Heavy As Bone⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter Three

☞ catch up with the series here.

☞ read chapter two here.

author’s note: Inspired by this post & kinda by Ink Drinker & mostly by my uniform kink on these men specifically. You are all to blame, and I will not be convinced otherwise, so let’s see, together, how long this lasts before I lose interest in it as a whole and re-board the train to the town of writer’s block. Yes, the reader is going to be a medic in this one; I was convinced by @ivarisms and @prepare4trouble to keep that idea, despite me thinking it would be overkill. (And I still do, so if it is, please just tell me.) **This AU is totally separate from Ink Drinker but there will be some twists and turns along the way. And no, that’s not evil laughter you hear in the distance, I promise. Also, I don’t want to hear any complaints about Ivar and children, you all know how much the mere concept slaughters me. The divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics.

content warning: Smut. ~Forbidden romance~ and more cuteness between Ivar and his son. Brief mentions of Ivar’s inability to face consequences.

pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader

synopsis: A best friend’s dying wish, and no means to ever really repay it, Ivar has been raising his Godson as if he is his own flesh and blood. He’s put up walls for his sake, for his Godson’s sake, and he’s not sure he’s ready to let them fall. But an old co-worker, healer, & unlikely lover helps to tear them down; even when you have your own walls just as high. This is the kind of human wreckage that you love.

word count: 1500+ words (the next few chapters will be shorter ones)

Despite his word about how Igor will likely climb through the sheets to rouse you both in the next morning, Ivar doesn’t let up his grasp from behind you. Snug tightly with your back against his chest as you two breathe in unison, with his hand draped over your hips. Cushioned in the sheets and Ivar swears it’s the first full night of sleep he’s gotten since he was a teenager.

Sunlight creeps through the curtains and as it pulls your eyes to part, you feel Ivar stir behind you, an incoherent half-sentence on his mouth as he pulls you closer. You stretch in the early hour, cracking limbs as you untangle from him and it still hasn’t caught up to you the change in him. From a man so tough, tightly steeled with armor, and frightening to those who don’t know him, to the man who is holding you as if you’ll float away.

Ivar hears the shower kick on next, moving to find your spot empty and he sits up quickly; the hour on the clock registering in his consciousness and he breathes a deep sigh. Relishing in the warmth, your smell still lingering on his skin and he’s up, knocking on the door to wait for your response. There’s a pull of the shower’s door, glass slipping back and you squeak, Ivar’s arms pulling around you and you stand as stone in his grasp.

“What are you doing?” You ask, the glob of soap slipping between your fingers as Ivar’s head lays over yours.

“Saving water,” He rasps from above you, arms locked around your hips and he hums contently.

“Ivar, we shouldn’t be doing this,” You say and the words pain your own heart as you speak them.

“Do you want me to get out? Because I will,” Ivar says in your hair.

“It’s not that—we work together,” You peep.

“We’re not working right now,” Ivar mumbles back.

“Ivar….”

“Hm?” He hums from above you, arms still around you and you think he’s falling back asleep.

“You have to promise, Ivar,”

“Promise what?” Ivar finally asks, lifting his head to lay his other cheek against you.

“Nothing changes between us at work,”

“Promise,” Ivar says back, even if he knows it’s a lie.

His fingers crawl across your stomach, treading up your torso like you’re the keys on a piano, and you hum when they stop at your chest. Circling suds across your breasts and before his palms fully wrap around them, you let a moan slip. You can feel Ivar press along your backside, pushing hair from your neck as you melt, blood flow to his cock as his hands explore. Dipping down through your slit and you sigh, fingerprints pressing along your anatomy and when Ivar finds the sweet spot you hold, he groans as loudly as you do.

Trailing his nose back up, your hands move behind you and fumble, attempt to pull him closer before he registers your hand on his cock, tugging slowly and Ivar’s mouth opens on your skin. Curl of your fingers as you stroke him, as he watches his grip to make sure he doesn’t crush your hips as his hand drops from your cunt to ground himself.

“Take me right here Ivar,” You whisper, voice swallowed up with the spray of the shower, the heat rising between the two of you and he nods against you. Dropping your hand from his shaft, when he replaces it he bends you forwards, angling your heat in his favor and teasing your folds. Jet from the shower crossing your back as his hands move through the droplets of water. A whine rings from your throat as you feel him push himself inside of you, reaching forwards to find the wall for balance before you can feel him bottom out. Cock stretching you and your legs feel like jelly as he holds you.

“God, you’re so tight,” Ivar groans from above you, hands pulling you back up, smoothing the wet hair from your face as he juts suddenly, breathing against your neck. “So much tighter than I imagined,” He tells you, the hours of bickering, petty bantering, jokes, and teases all fueling him as he moves. Brushing his cock through your walls as you shake, moan his name with nails digging into his wrists. “Tell me how it feels,”

“So good,” You manage, mouth dropping open as you feel his lips trail your cheek, water across both of your faces, your bodies, as he offers a languid roll through your cunt. “Don’t stop Ivar, please,” You whimper, a throaty groan being Ivar’s only response as he moves. One hand dropping for your folds, pressing wet fingertips along your nerves and it sends you to tighten. “Right—right there,” You gasp, his hips snapping as your thighs buzz from in front of him.

“Where?” Ivar says after a moment. “Where do you want me to land?”

“I’m on the pill,” You say as his head nudges yours, lips against your temple as he moves faster. “You’re gonna make me—”

“Come?” Ivar says for you, fingers circling quickly and you lurch, nod despite his head against yours as he feels your walls grab against him. “Give it to me,” Ivar demands, holding your body up and you finish, loosening the strain on your muscles as you ride the wave, his hand dropping from your clit as his hips keep going. Pressing you against him as he groans, warm puffs of his breath against your cheek and you drop your hands over his. “Fuck, baby…” Ivar slurs, hips stuttering as he chases his own end, and when you feel him halt you can’t help but moan. His seed spraying inside of you from under the stream of water, biceps trembling as he releases.

“Don’t move yet,” Ivar then says, pushing his lips against your hairline, and you nod. “Let me keep holding you,”

The sound of pans wakes Igor, bare feet padding in through the kitchen, mismatched pajamas on his body as he stops suddenly. Noticing you at the table, mug of coffee as you flip through the newspaper.

“You’re still here!” Igor cheers, scrambling into the chair across from you and you offer him a smile.

“I am, how did you sleep?” You ask the boy.

“Good—daddy turned on my lava lamp. Can I see the ones with the pictures on them, p-wease?” He asks, and you nod, thumbing through the folds before you slide the comics out for him. “Daddy! Your friend is still here!” Igor then says when he sees Ivar stalk from the pantry, a smile crossing a still blissful gaze and he nods.

“Morning, bud,” Ivar hums, glasses over his face and Igor latches to his leg, following closely behind him. “Do you want blueberries in your pancakes?” And Igor nods quickly.

The light commotion of the two preparing the batter floats around you, stealing glances every few minutes at the two of them. How Igor sits on the counter and dumps flour into the bowl, tosses the eggshells in the kitchen sink as Ivar makes a comment, not unlike a basketball game spectator. Igor’s eyes light up as Ivar ladles the batter into the pan, hooking the kid on his hip so Igor can drop the blueberries into the pancakes of his choosing. Counting meticulously with the fall of each berry, Ivar’s laugh is not too far behind.

There’s a plate in front of you from Igor’s hands and the child smiles widely at you, bed head still tangled through his dark locks and you thank him. Ivar’s eyes watching you briefly, smirking back at the smile on your lips and Aslaug’s words ring true. He’s different when it comes to Igor.

A mess of syrup covers his plate by the time Ivar sits at the table, mumbling something to himself about his son’s over-exuberance with the substance, and you three eat. Igor asking question after question to you, as if your job detail will be different from Ivar’s and it only warms you as he listens so intently. Too big of bites and through mouthfuls of food as he talks, apologizes for it, as Ivar reminds him to drink his milk so he can “grow big and strong”.

“Daddy? I’m all sticky…” Igor whines when Ivar is up, putting his plate in the sink, and Igor’s eyes move from yours to his father’s. Wide like a puppy and you can tell immediately that the look alone, from Igor’s face, can likely allude Ivar to do anything.

The station is quiet when you walk in through the bay. Trucks lined in the parking lot, matching the ambulance, the engines in their spots but there’s hardly any source of life. A medic from a neighboring shift meets you at the rig, smiling at you and you offer him a greeting.

“I guess it’s you and me today,” He hums, pulling up the tasks on the ambulance’s tablet to begin the rig’s check.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask, already fearing something with Igor.

“He changed his shift—he’s on group 2 now,” The medic tells you.

Heavy As Bone Tags:

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

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Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

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deleteddewewted · 3 years

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Incel!Shinsou Oneshot: "Why are you acting like that?”

To keep busy I just thought that a oneshot of Shinsou getting self conscious/needy would be cute since we already have his redemption arc rolling in. The next part of the Incel!Shinsou series (Part 3) will have him proving his worth at the Sports Festival. So in thinking of how he will prove himself to you I thought of how will all of those people affect him, especially you. ( This oneshot takes place pre changes, so Shinsou is still his disgusting self but he's figuring out how to woo a woman, especially of your caliber.)

Incel!Shinsou Series:

Part 1: Incel! Shinsou x F!Reader

Part 2: Incel! Shinsou x F!Reader

Incel!Shinsou Headcanons

"I know what you're doin' here. Made your intentions clear. Oh you, you terrible thing, you. Terrible thing, you. Terrible thing, you. Beautiful thing"

TW: Strong Language, Mild Sexism

People were never an obstacle when it came to the things Shinsou wanted. He’s aware that others would do anything for him if he played his cards right. The right words with the right question did wonders for him. So why the fuck couldn’t he have what he wanted when it came to you? You drove him up the wall with the kindness you showed him. He didn’t deserve it and you’re existence almost felt like a punishment from whatever deity that existed out there to make him suffer. You guys were suppose to be studying for your upcoming project that required a poster, a slide show, and one influential person that would help prove your projects point. You left him running circles within his own mind as to how you were so willing to challenge him. He wanted you to obey him not see through his bullshit. It wasn’t like you didn’t listen to him vent, or didn't give him attention, but he wanted to hold you under his control. To be the person you listened to.

In class you where both seated on the extreme ends of the room on opposite sides. You never realized this (you do), but his head would periodically turn towards your direction to look at you, to figure you out (liar). This time, you managed to catch him do it.

“What are you doing?” You asked plainly. You honestly didn’t care that he was staring, everyone does when you dress like you're attending an MCR concert in the middle of autumn.

“You look different....today.”

“Nice.” It was difficult to care. Shinsou was just some guy in your class that you had to deal with. Nothing special really....ok, maybe it wasn’t fully true. You didn’t really know him all that well or anything (Unless it was mocking and belittling everything you did, that was normal behavior for him so it wasn’t surprising to find out he was like that outside of campus.) but he wasn’t all that bad? If he cared for himself a bit more, hygiene wise he would be considered handsome or at least a competent human being (you weren't going to call him a man, men don't act this childish. At least the ones you knew.) Maybe then you would take his opinion seriously, but for now you’ll ignore his...interesting comments he's been throwing towards you today.

“It’s rude to ignore someone when their talking to you, you know?” The neutral face he had now possessed a frown and a furrow to his brows. You still couldn’t process how he took the time to make sure his hair stayed purple but didn’t care for his body odor. (This man dyes his hair purple yet cant bother to shower or use deodorant for once in his life.)

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m just not interested in anything you have to say.” With that you get up and take your things and leave. There was no point in wasting time on someone who couldn’t even look at you directly and had to also sneak glances at you. "Do I really look that unbearable?" you thought to yourself. In the end you didn’t care anymore, everyone was entitled to an opinion and the last thing you need is feeling self conscious because of your out of place classmate.

Shinsou was fuming. How the fuck did you just get up and leave his ass while he was trying to complement you. You should have been more appreciative that he was giving you his attention for once. A bitch like you wasn't even worth it so he doesn't understand why he even tried with you.

He never goes directly home after school but instead to the local theater. It was one of the few places where he could be around others and could genuinely be himself. It was weird, he didn't feel like himself when he was speaking with his "friends", friends that he's never spoken to verbally, never seen, and never would meet. He knew that he didn't deserve this, to have a safe haven when he acts like an ass, yet here he was.

"Good morning Shinsou! How are you? Are you ready for rehearsals? You did remember to read your lines, right?" Shinsou rolls his eyes at his theater mates antics. Monoma never seems to stop but he does know when to tone it down and when it comes to Shinsou he tones it down a bit. (Because Monoma is canonically considerate of others, look back the Sports Festival and the Joint Training Arc.)

"Im good man, yes i did read and memorized the script, dont worry about it." What an odd friendship, the most chaotic gentleman like man out the bunch with the quietist incel in the group. Shinsou should have seen it coming when he was adopted by Monoma but he's running on 2 to 4 hours of sleep so he doesn't really care.

Believe it or not Shinsou does take showers (only for theater) but very quickly and with no care (no shampoo or soap, fucking why man.) Theater means more to him and so making his character look the best they possible can was his first and foremost priority. He puts on his costume, gets to makeup (the minimum, because it's "gay" for him to wear makeup and since the world is unfair and cruel he has perfect skin for a greasy headed asshole.)

"Everyone get a move on! Kodai, Tsuburaba, and Awase! Go to stage left! Light techs, how's it up there?" One of the tech heads shouted out. Shinsou and Monoma got to their positions on the stage and the rehearsals began.

Love, the play was about love. Love that wasn't rejected but also not accepted. He didn't understand the concept fully. Was it romantic? Platonic? Familiar? Admiration? He loved his dad, but he mostly admired him. He worked long hours and middle resents him for not being there for him, yet he realizes that his dad works to give him the world, a home with all the things he wanted. He never had a mother so he never had parental or familiar, again his dad was there but he wanted a parent that would hold him when he came back from school everyday. He didn't have a girlfriend, so he doesn't know romantic. So far all of his characters where villains, or evil in some way. He was starting to get sick of them. Shinsou wanted something more, wanted to play a character that wasn't how everyone saw him as on his day to day life. He wanted a challenge, he wanted....affection. Just to show it. He wanted attraction. Just to abuse it. He wanted...love. To just...maybe...feel...enjoy...understand it.

"You terrible thing you. My love, you're so cold. You've left me hanging on every one of your words. You've made me loose my self, lose my self-control because of you!" He pours everything into his performance, his loneliness, his regrets, his experience. He's been told by his co-performers and directors that he has a great future in the arts, in theater. If he just took care of himself more he would be an amazing actor, not only incredibly talented but also attractive. He would have the world kneeling, bowing to him just from his words alone. He could have anything he wanted just because of his existence.

" You've made me do things i don't want to do...for you." Kodai stands there looking horrified. He's covered in blood, the blood of her lover, the one she left him for.

"No, i-i didn't-"

"YOU MADE ME-MADE DO THIS FOR YOU! You terrible, terrible, terrible thing! You beautiful thing, I've done this for you!...and you still cant and won't love me." He doesn't see Kodai anymore. It's not her face he sees, nor her voice that he hears.

Its you...its your voice. You. You looking back at him while he slowly lowered himself to kneel and crawl towards you. It's you who backs away from him as he starts to cry and hiccup.

"You wreck me, you made me. You leave me in your wake, please let me go!" He sees you and feels you grabbing his wrists back, pushing him into himself.

"Don't you ever let me go...."

You terrible beautiful thing, you.

And here we are again. This was a lot fun to write since it feels more concrete when it comes towards his personality and his full thought process. In many cases people like Shinsou just want attention or some sense of validation, which there is nothing wrong with wanting those things but it's more about the manner you go about it. You shouldn't pressure or force others to spend time with you, but there is always someone out there that will like to give you those things.

Tag list: @blossominglark

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i-did · 3 years

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Ok ok this may be a dumb question but we'll see, what are your thoughts on bdsm + andreil? The vast vast majority of these types of fics have Andrew as the dom (and I get why) BUT theres 1 dom Neil fic and I'm like 99% sure I think I saw u comment on it so I'm assuming ur reading it and enjoying it too. And tbh, I find it much better than pretty much all the dom Andrew stuff, I hadnt realised the potential dom Neil could have until I read it. But anyway, I wanted ur thoughts? 🤲 (this is so badly phrased I apologise)

Lmfaooo being perceived is so weird. I hope I didn't say anything because I remember commenting on that fic and thinking about commenting something about my personal sex life, but I don't remember if I did lmfaooo. Omg okay, all that aside–time to now respond to this seriously.

Okay regarding that specific fic, yeah I read a lot of AFTG fics of all types, I haven't read something NSFW in a while, but when I saw the ‘Dom!Neil’ tag I decided to give it a shot. It’s interesting seeing how other authors go about their ideas and just enjoying their story. It doesn’t align with my personal ideas of everything obviously, but those are my personal HC and that fic is that authors personal HC. I like that they’re exploring something that this fandom doesn’t see explored a lot and is just a fun read, lol. Honestly I give up on most BDSM fandom fics because the depiction of Neil makes me uncomfortable ...almost always. I agree a lot more with this fics concept of how they would explore power vs control in a BDSM sexual sense, than most Dom!Andrew Sub!Neil fics– which I have long ago stopped trying to read.

Okay here are my personal ideas about Andrew and Neil, and how they would explore sex.

Many NSFW HC below the cut:

I personally don’t think canon Andrew and Neil would go into BDSM culture or ascribe to either roll strictly. I feel they wouldn’t like established dynamics like that and would get turned off by that aspect, especially since Andrew both craves control of situations but fears ‘being like them’ and a lot of Dom play is about power dynamics that he wouldn't be comfortable with. Andrew sees power in sex as different as control during sex. He needs a controlled environment, and be in control of the other by having them listen to his boundaries, but he can’t feel he’s overpowering the other person. I don’t think he could do a lot of strictly Sub things either for similar reasons, he would feel like he's giving up control of the situation in a way that could make him very uncomfortable.

Neil on the other hand is also often portrayed as a very textbook sub, but I don't think he is. I see him written as a brat a lot, but personally I don’t see him doing that since a lot of what playing with a brat is, is giving them what they want and denying them what they want and them ‘defying you’ and stuff. It's like a form of playful miscommunication I don't see Andrew or Neil ever actually doing. Obviously all healthy and proper play is outlined and discussed beforehand, but I see Andrew and Neil as needing the actions themselves to be clear and cut and dry.

Neil also gets off on Andrews pleasure, Andrew is the same about Neil, they're almost like a feedback loop of “the other enjoying themselves is inherently hot.” to me, Neil getting off on other people (Andrew) getting off is a very Dom like quality. In turn, Andrew is very turned on by pleasuring Neil, but from the point of his knees, which is almost sub like, he is turned on by sucking someone else off and seeing how into it they are. Either way, I think they both wouldn’t be into hardcore BDSM or BDSM culture but also aren’t vanilla. I don’t see either of them going to leather clubs instead of Edens and going to Folsom Fair and joining BDSM social groups and stuff.

I also don’t think either would ever use titles for the other, I think they don’t call each other by their names often on a day-to-day basis, since usually the people were talking to already know their name, and we don’t need to use it for clarification. I do think–just like in canon with emotionally charged moments–names will be used with more emphasis, especially Abram which is not used frequently.

Side note about my Jewish Neil HC: Judaism rocks because sex isn’t shamed, but rather considered a blessing and a holy act. In fact, it’s a good thing to have sex on Shabbat, G-d is actively like ‘fuck yeah you little humans, enjoy life’s pleasures and each other's company’ sex was designed to feel good and a way to connect. Shabbat is all about human connection with those important to us, and a day of rest away from work, so sex on Shabbat is actually actively a good thing. I don’t think Neil is ever religiously Jewish, but Andrew making a joke about this once would be peak to me. Which also fits Abram, a very Jewish name I HC to be not just Neil’s middle name but his Jewish name, and is used in said holy context of sex.

I think like a lot of healthy adults who are sexually active, they will explore and will be more adventurous to try new and other things, especially when dealing with issues like waning to get off but having touch aversion and issues like that. I have a lot of sex life HC about them actually, ways they navigate erectile dysfunction, mental health, and what they like in a safe environment. They trust each other, and I like imagining different ways aspects of their relationship would change or evolve in my head in all different types of ways, including sexual. I also enjoy giving them kinks and inclinations I specifically don’t have, because it’s like me exploring the concept of why someone else might like something even though I personally don’t. I’m not imagining things that make me uncomfortable necessarily, just things I'm neutral on or don’t see the appeal of, but know why they appeal to others and try to imagine what these characters might think.

I feel canon Andrew and Neil explore sex and dynamics that make them comfortable, I have HC about Andrew possibly exploring pup play and wearing a collar for Neil partially as a “joke” in the beginning, but discovering they really like it. I also HC Neil is really into athletic stuff sexually, he thinks Andrew half dressed with his padding still on and a jock strap is just peak sex appeal. I also think Neil is very sensory, and makes associations with smells and senses easily, so he develops a sweat kink, which leads into his armpit kink. Neil isn't turned on by ‘the bad smell of sweat’ but rather the fact that when Andrew is sweaty he smells like Andrew a lot, rather than after a shower he smells more like soap, and he can’t smell Andrew as much. Andrew on the other hand prefers cleaner sex. He’s not triggered by dirty sex though– he used to suck guys off at an alt dance club and is used to the smell of sweaty balls, it's just not an active turn on. Neil has ‘nothing is hotter than Andrew wearing running shoes and socks, and only running shoes and socks’ energy to me too. I think Andrew feels good about himself in leather, but isn't going to be a leather daddy and wear the leather assless chaps and the cap, he will wear the leather harness that every gay wears to pride, but he wears it just for Neil. Also, Neil loves Andrews pecs, Neil’s kinda a boob guy, but for Andrew’s pecs specifically.

I personally think Andrew and Neil typically don’t have penetrative sex. They do it sometimes–and when Andrew is ready he will bottom more as a way to prove something to himself than anything–but it’s not their preferred way or their ‘go to’. When they finally do, they don’t see it as ‘finally having sex for the first time’, since all the sex they've been having is real sex, even if its oral, hand jobs, etc. I don’t think Neil is naturally inclined to bottoming, and since even the visual of topping can make Andrew uncomfortable, they enjoy sex in any other ways, thigh fucking, docking, Andrew fucking Neil’s ass cheeks, sucking each other off, mutual masturbation, frottage, etc. and it leads to stronger orgasms when they don’t have to hope ever second will be a cliff edge and turn into a panic attack. Safer waters are simply more comfortable for them to swim in, and they deem all sex as equal in ‘value.’ that being said, Andrew likes his ass being ate, as long as its just Neil’s tongue, while Neil is neutral on his ass being ate, but loves doing it to Andrew.

I also think they would explore toys, but not in the way they're often explored in fics, which is very vibrator and dildo centric. I think they would use jacking off toys, the disposable egg kind or some more long term ones, maybe even something they could use at the same time. I don’t see them ever actually using handcuffs or restraints really either. Andrew would see Neil tied up as an equivalent statement of ‘I don't trust you not to touch me’ when he wants to actively progress past that, and shows he trusts Neil by not holding his arms back or letting him touch him. Andrew had to hold down previous partners, but Neil is different, Neil listens. This isn’t my personal opinion about restraint, but it is what I think Andrew would think.

I have no idea if this is what you meant by ‘my thoughts’ but here they are. *puts something in your open palms,* idk what emoji that would be

#ask #aftg #aftg headcanons #nsft #OSHA violation #mailob

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revengeofthestims · 2 years

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30 Days of Autism Acceptance 2022: Days 26-29

(Due to personal reasons, I haven't been able to do the past few days properly so I just did all the ones I missed in one day.)

April 26th: Do you stim? What sort of stims do you have? What do you wish people knew about stimming?

Yes. (It’s right in my URL.) I stim with my fingers (wiggle them, tap them, touch the spaces between them with my thumb), I rock back and forth or side to side (especially when I hear music I like), I fidget with small objects like pens, I tap my feet, I wiggle the foot that's in the air when I sit in a chair with my legs crossed... hell, crossing my legs all the time might be a stim itself (pressure stimming). And that is just some of them, I just don't have the time to write all of them down right now.

What I want people to know about stimming is why it happens/why we do it and what to do about it, ie. to learn to live with it if it's not hurting anyone and learn how to help others with harmful stimming. I just want people to inform themselves about as many aspects of it as possible, really. And most importantly, to understand that stimming isn't something that can just be removed from an autistic person. That it's a part of how we work.

April 27th: Do you have trouble identifying physical feelings like hunger or being tired? Do you have trouble with identifying emotions?

Identifying physical feelings isn't that hard for me, but I do have a bit of a problem with thinking I'm hungry every time I feel some kind of sensation in my stomach that feels like hunger. Fortunately, that doesn't immediately make me eat (at least not usually), and I do know that it's not always hunger... it's just easy to confuse.

Emotions, on the other hand, aren't easy for me to identify. I do know when I feel good/comfortable and when I feel bad/uncomfortable, and I have some idea of what the basic emotions feel like, but identifying specific emotions (beyond the basic ones) and what exactly caused them can be difficult and confusing. I’m not sure if it’s because of autism or just because emotions are complicated in general, but... like I said, it’s not easy.

April 28th: Can you drive? If so, do you like driving? If not, do you want to learn?

No. I do like driving as a concept... I guess, but I'm not too sure about learning to drive. It seems very complicated to me and I'm not sure if I have the capacity to focus on it properly, or the coordination for it. Besides, I'm not the most fond of actually sitting in a car. It gets hot easily, the ... car smell feels overwhelming at times (especially when the inside of a car is dusty), it's just not pleasant to me in general.

April 29th: What sort of things do you like to do to relax/for self care?

To relax, I like doodling/coloring, writing/typing stuff that doesn't require much effort just for the sake of it, listening to soft/calming music, looking at pictures of cats or my favorite characters, drinking some water, watching cat videos or clips from movies/shows I like, and browsing Wiktionary (I just love words and I like etymology and translations in particular).

For self-care, I like eating snacks, using soap that smells good in the shower, and eating a good meal (when I know what to eat and I feel that what I'm eating is Just Right).

#30daysofautismacceptance #30 days of autism acceptance #30 days of autism acceptance 2022 #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #autism #autism acceptance #food mention #my post

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writersplight · 3 years

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A COMPARISON

AN: I feel I should include a content warning of some kind. There's nothing explicitly done wrong or said, but there is this hint at past bad sex experiences, and well as vague sex talk. ——— When Erwin talks, even if it’s directed at her, his words are chosen precisely. He could be talking to anyone really, and his words float through her like she’s air. It was never full conversations, just words floating from his mouth to her ears, with flat responses. There are hidden messages behind his words, and it takes learning how to decipher him to figure it out. Yet, they are forced and hollow. When Onyankopon talks, it's engaging. He’s fully listening to whatever she has to say, even if it’s nonsense, with questions and the perfect amount of eye contact. In return, she listens to all his facts about airplanes and zeppelins he has to offer. How can she not? His smile is so warm and inviting, she can’t help but sit down with a kettle of tea and hear him explain the mechanics of it all.

When Erwin would touch her, it would be quick, with specific purpose, and fleeting. Even when there were no meetings, no eyes on them except for the moon—completely devoid of life and love. It had to be initiated by him, whenever it was convenient for him. She’d be putty in his hands, though, soaking up every second. It was rare he had any semblance of “vulnerability” with her. Every touch was over way too soon, leaving her with an emptiness to deal with. She always pushed it down, making excuse after excuse for him. With Onyankopon, he listens. His touches are experimental, and he never does anything without asking. The first time they slept together, he reassured her that she wasn’t there for a quick, meaningless fuck. He just thought they should share a bed—he made some comment about how Ena mentioned cuddling earlier in the evening, but she refuses to acknowledge that as her full offer. That isn’t to mention the first time they had sex. She didn’t know the bedroom could be so. . . Satisfying. She was brought up on the idea that her life should be dedicated to pleasing a man in one way or another. The idea of actually living outside of that is a concept she only dreamt of when she ran away from home at the naive age of seventeen. Now, at almost thirty-nine years old, she’s faced with what she wants. And Ena’s never been so confused. At this point, her life is so much different than it was when she joined the Survey Corps at twenty-one. She had options beyond “kill the enemy and live another day”. Beyond “constantly prove how worthy you are”. Everything she wanted, and yet everything was so confusing. She kept expecting Onyankopon to snap and become impatient with her, or to up and leave altogether. But he didn’t. And he hasn’t. There’s no ultimatum with him. It’s always a fair and just compromise. At this point, laying awake at night, listening to him breathing, she realized how unfair it was to compare Erwin to Onyankopon. No one could compare to the openness he willingly shares with Ena. He’ll talk with her for hours about feelings and coping mechanisms, and if he does manage to step over a boundary, he sets time aside to fully hear her side, and to apologize. Rolling onto her side, Ena remembers the first time she initiated that she wanted to have sex with Onyankopon. She was really nervous “taking the lead”, but he was into it. He’s a hell of a listener, that’s for sure. It was a new territory for her, and he was always asking questions and for consent. There was a moment when she became hyper-aware of her surroundings, causing her to become still. That familiar stillness, the lifeless corpse of herself that was waiting for life to be pumped into it. She hated it. Suddenly, the pleasure was stimulating in all the wrong ways, and there was too much air in her lungs and not enough. “Is this—” “God, please stop!” His movements stopped immediately, concerned. She’s never shouted like that. She was never shaking like that. Or still. He pulls out, and gives her space. When Ena sits up, the room seems to turn with her in the middle. She didn’t know when Onyankopon left, or how the water got in her hands, or why she was crying so hard. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she held the guilt of every quiet woman in her bloodline. Onyankopon didn’t do anything wrong, but he did feel bad for not noticing sooner. Like most things in her life, her symptoms were quiet. They crept up on her, and she didn’t blame him. He put an arm under her, with permission, to help her sit up. He put a blanket around her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she whispers, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that was handed to her. “Did I hurt you in any way?” “What? Of course not! You’re so good to me, and you know what you're doing, I just—” Ena pauses, and her eyes drop to her hands because telling Onyankopon about her previous relationship was always so hard. She always felt bad for wanting better, due to the circumstances she was faced with before on the island. She made sure to clarify Erwin never

intentionally hurt her, and meant his best. Even still, he would focus on his own pleasure, and believe that if he was feeling good, so was Ena. Not true, but she restated that he didn't know, and she couldn't help because she didn't know how to please herself. Onyankopon nodded along, sipping his own glass of water. He didn't villainize her past "boyfriend"—in quotes because they were together, but they weren't able to slap an official label on it. Even still, he had to wonder why she put up with him for so long. “I don’t know why,” she admits quietly, and he realized he asked that out loud. He began to apologize, but she assured him there was no need. After all, she was beginning to wonder about herself. “I used to say ‘because I love him’, right? But now that I have freedom right now. . . I’m sure it was a form of love, but it’s nothing like what we have. I just feel bad for constantly bringing him up, Onyankopon. He’s just the only frame of reference I have.” “And maybe an unintentional source of trauma?” he wondered, and Ena shrugged. She knew that was right, but it was a lot to admit. She didn’t want to admit that about her dead boyfriend. “It seems to me that he’s the reason you’re hesitant all the time. I don’t mind it, you're open to talking through your problems, but I’m concerned as to why he’s still got a death grip on your decisions. . . No pun intended, I promise!” He sees how her face twists up with this visible guilt. He puts a hand on her thigh. “I could be in the wrong, it’s okay to tell me that—” “I know, but I don’t think you’re wrong. But I don’t want to complain about the life I had in Paradis. It feels. . . Wrong,” she finally looks back at him. Even in a moment like this, he was so goddamn pretty. “You can still love someone even though they’ve traumatized you. It’s nuanced, Ena. For a situation as complicated as yours, there will always be nuance.” He explains. “Yeah?” she turns to face her lover with a nervous smile. “So you’re not upset with me that I yelled at you to stop?” “Of course not! I could never be mad at that. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” She didn’t hold him in contempt, and told him that. She was just overstimulated in all the wrong ways. It happens sometimes. When he suggested relaxing for the rest of the night, she agreed. It started with a shower, where Onyankopon cleaned her hair so nicely. She used her lavender soap that he buys for her to wash his body, loving the idea that he’ll smell like her when he’s out and about in the morning getting groceries. Then he brewed some fancy tea blend bought from Levi’s shop, and they read some book Armin Arlert published, with in depth illustrations and diagrams by Jean Kirschtein. They go on explorations of other countries, studying various plant life and bugs. Weird, considering the ocean is bigger and far more interesting, but it was a good read nonetheless. And Ena totally didn’t slip and nearly cracked her head open when she stepped out of the shower. Nope. Onyankopon catching her and holding her close was merely him showing affection, and not caused by her slipping. It totally was, she’s just embarrassed. Months later, now, she rolls over to face him. He’s so sweet and patient with her. Not to say she isn’t patient with him, it’s just the first time that it isn’t stressful. Ena almost feels like she doesn’t deserve him. He understands her in a way that she’s never known—not to mention he can cook, clean, and understands that sometimes people just want alone time. Oh, and he loves taste-testing her experimental meals. As well as taking her flying on whatever complicatedly named airship he loves. And the way they pick each other’s brains. . . It’s sort of unfair to compare Erwin Smith to her current boyfriend. She can’t help it, she was raised in a society where comparing one another was supposed to be inspiration. Ena never felt inspired by having her hair, her eyes, her nose, her body, or her strength compared to someone else. It felt like an insult above all else. She knew, however, that Erwin liked

that challenge of trying to “best” someone, and that probably hasn’t changed since he died. Ena was okay with that.

#fanfic writeblr #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #snk #enawin #erwin smith #onyankopon #oc: p. ena bristol #enakopon #writeblr #my works.mp3

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ellaenchanting · 3 years

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Hypnovember 2020 Master List

Now that I have awoken from my post-Hypnovember nap, it’s time to post my 2020 Master List! in comparison to last year’s entries, a lot of stories this year delved more into either more intense kinks or more of my intense personal feelings than my stories last year did. Sometimes writing stories is a bit like reading my own tarot cards in that way- letting an ambiguous prompt roll around in my subconscious and sometimes being surprised or amused or even slightly unsettled by what it turns into. I hope you will find something in this group of works that soothes you, that turns you on, that intrigues you, and that most of all provokes a response. If you do, I’d absolutely love to hear about it. :)

Copying one of my favorite @jukeboxemcsa ideas, I’ve also included a HypnoBS rating for every work about how realistic the hypnosis/mind control is in each work (IMHO). In this ranking, 1 means to is absolute bullshit and 5 is a normal Tuesday night (for someone).

Icons- 📰- story. 🔊- audio 💻- technology 😍- romantic 🌈- queer 😴- regular ole’ hypnosis 🛀- brainwashing and/or character in tub 👻- spooky 🐈- at least one happy pussy ❓- bad or reeeally questionable consent 👨‍🔬 -science! 🤪 -crackfic #-#sceneideas 😭-feeeels ⭐-author’s personal favorites

Day 1: Instant M/f 📰 😴🐈#😭

Choice quote: “Sean chuckled as he moved in closer. And closer. ‘I thought you wanted to know what it was like to be hypnotized, sweetheart. To follow suggestions? To have someone else take control? It’s not real control if I’m doing something you already wanted, now is it?”

HypnoBS- 5. Read the whole thing but- IMHO totally plausible.

Fun Fact- These are the same characters from last year’s Day 5: Poison.

Day 2: Coils F/m 📰 😴 💻 👨‍🔬

Choice quote: “Daniel rolled his eyes. ‘I bet you could hypnotize me with a bar of soap if you wanted to. That still doesn’t make me like spirals.’”

HypnoBS- 5. Maybe 4 because I don’t love the induction but- maybe you will? Also- oh no poor Daniel is so conditioned that he’ll go under to anything Jamie does! How hard for him. :(

Day 3: Staged Hypnosis (Stage) F/f 📰 😴 🌈 🛀 ❓

Choice quote: “No one needed to know she was a plant. A confederate. A stooge.”

HypnoBS- 1.5. This would collapse like a house of cards. It’s a fun concept though.

Day 4: Psychic F/nb 📰 😴 🌈 😍 👨‍🔬⭐

Choice quote: “Something about the hypnosis- being in and out of each other’s heads and in and out of each other’s bodies all weekend- made her feel like she and Tris had merged in some way. Like there was a new, deeper understanding between them now- a telepathic bond.”

HypnoBS- 5. Maybe a 4.5 if you’re recognizing some nre magical thinking here. But- I’ve definitely had this feeling and this kind of experience- and I hope some of you have had it/will have it as well. :)

Day 5: Visor F/multiple 📰 😴 🛀 💻 👨‍🔬 🤪#

Choice quote: “Besides, everyone knew stormtroopers were kinky.”

HypnoBS- 4.5. Some of the exact details would need to be changed and thought through more thoroughly, but I absolutely believe you could do something like this if you wanted to. (And if you do, you definitely have to let me know. I know some of y’all out there go to Dragoncon.)

Day 6: Pendulum F/y’all 🔊😴 👨‍🔬

Choice quote: This is a trick I first learned from a science book I read in 5th grade.

HypnoBS- 5. The real thing.

Day 7: Song Aliens/the human race 📰 💻 👻❓

Choice quote: “Anna didn’t know what she was singing.”

HypnoBS- 1. I hope. Why do the song based stories always turn out so creepy?

Day 8: Performance unknown/f 📰 👻❓😴# ⭐

Choice quote: “With each snap, the gears inside her doll body click click click clicked into action. She turned, jerky but graceful. She was determined to do well. “

HypnoBS- 5 (if part of a fearplay scene, which is my headcanon for this story)

Day 9: (Hot Under the) Collar F/f 📰 😴🛀🌈 🐈#⭐

Choice quote: “She was wearing her collar. She was aroused. It was as simple as that.“

HypnoBS- 5 With time, I think you could do this. Maybe a 4.5 for the 30 minutes thing- that might lead to a bit too much cramping.

Day 10: Gentle 🔊😴

Choice quote: “Just look into the spiral....”

HypnoBS- 5. I hope.

Day 11: Summoning Sappho (Summon) eventual F/f I hope 📰 😴🌈 🤪

Choice quote: “In fact, the only ideas left to try on their brainstorming board included ‘sexy alien invasion’, ‘sexy witches’, and this. Shockingly, at this point a sexy seance seemed the most practical.”

HypnoBS-1. Although stay tuned for Femme Flirt 2021.

Day 12: Plants unknown/m 📰 😴🛀#

Choice quote: “If he focused, Chris could feel that new suggestion also growing stronger and stronger, becoming more and more firmly rooted inside of him. “

HypnoBS- 5, with the right person

Day 13: Artifact F/f 📰 😴🛀🌈 👨‍🔬 ❓

Choice quote: “She fumbled through the contents when suddenly her hand found something unexpected from her past.A red lipstick tube. An artifact.”

HypnoBS- 4? There’s different ways of reading this story, but my headcanon is that the consent here is pretty dubious.

Day 14: Tail M/f 📰 😴🛀❓👻#

Choice quote: “It was no use. She could sense her tail was still behind her. She couldn’t shake him. She should have known he’d come for her.“

HypnoBS- Let’s say 2. Although I think this could work really well for a fearplay scene in an appropriate setting (where someone wasn’t actually left unmonitored with extreme paranoia).

Day 15: Serve F/m 📰 😴#⭐

Choice quote: “He had put his heart and soul into the dish.They were hers now.”

HypnoBS- As a scene? 5 (depending on the person). As a long term effect, much lower.

Day 16: Memory F/f 📰 😴 🛀🌈 😍

Choice quote: “Mesmera waited for Galaxy Girl at the door.”

HypnoBS- 4, you could do an induction along these lines but -1 for psychic powers

Fun Fact: These characters were originally featured in last year’s Day 19: Hideout.

Day 17: Toy F/f m/f 📰 😴 🛀🌈🐈 #

Choice quote: “Dolly hated to have Bad Manners. “

HypnoBS- 4.5. This is pretty deep into headspace, but I wouldn’t want to rule it out for the right person.

Day 18: Monster m/f 📰 😴 ❓😭⭐

Choice quote: “That kind of stuff wasn’t fair to think about here. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault that she was so warped.”

HypnoBS- 5. Ouch my heart. Poor young!Ella.

Day 19: Eyes M/m 📰 😴 🌈 😍

Choice quote: “Scott looked into his partner Brandon’s eyes. Brandon had hypnotized him so many times over the years in so many ways but- this was one of Scott’s favorites.”

HypnoBS- 5. Especially in a long term relationship like this. (In my pretend Hypnovember universe, these guys are some of the patriarchs of the hypnokinky convention scene and absolutely wonderful advice givers.)

Fun fact: The story of how these characters originally got together is in last year’s Day 12: Stage story.

Day 20: Possession F/f 📰 😴 🌈 😍😭

Choice Quote- “Things that were hard to do for herself during these times became easier to do as something owned by Thadra. Taking a shower. Getting up and going to bed at the right time. Making sure she ran once a day. Making sure she ate.”

HypnoBS- Errr....4 trending upwards. Although for this to be safe and healthy you’d really need to be checking in with a therapist and working on your continuing mental health at the same time (IMHO). Please do not get relationship advice from my porn.

Day 21: Snaps 🔊😴👨‍🔬

Choice Quote- “No, that one was up.”

HypnoBS- 5. I’m not sure quite how this translates to audio but this is the kind of shenanigans I pull with friends all of the time.

Day 22: Restrict F/f 📰 😴 🌈 🐈👨‍🔬

Choice quote: “’Hmm. By ‘weird’ do you mean ‘hot’?’ asked Zahara, lounging above her on the couch. Nikki nodded. She definitely meant hot. “

HypnoBS- 2. A month is a long time and this is a strong reaction. But- maaaaaybe would work for a bit, especially within these boundaries?

Day 23: Villain there’s a m and a f 📰 🛀👨‍🔬❓#

Choice quote: “They had been planning against that damned do-gooder reporter Lizzy Lampost for months and now they were about to finally have her in their clutches. “

HypnoBS-1. But you’re not reading this one for realism, are you?

Day 24: Drink F/f 📰 😴👨‍🔬🌈 😍

Choice quote: “’Leah,’ she said. ‘I’ve found a drinking game! This might be fun! Want to try it?’”

HypnoBs- 5. With the right person. (That part of the end might be a bit harder.)

Day 25:Worship: F/m 📰 🛀🌈

Choice quote: “After all, it wasn’t the time to work right now. It was time to worship his Mistress’s cock.”

HypnoBS- Someone on AO3 told me this fic just wrecked them. Lucky that person- this one’s a 5. Maybe not with everyone, but an awful lot of people should be able to do an awful lot of the activities in this story. :)

Day 26: Fey M/f 📰😴 😭⭐

Choice quote: “Humans do not know the spells they weave.”

HypnoBS- 1 Only true in that metaphorical way. (So- really, really true. But not factual.)

Day 27: Recording F./m 📰 🛀❓👻#

Choice quote: “It’s a recording, he reminded himself. “She’s not there. No one is there.”

HypnoBS- 2 At least, I don’t know how to make this happen (outside of a consensual scene).

Day 28: Obsession M/F 📰 🛀😍👨‍🔬

Choice quote: “Some guys had cars. Some had computer systems. Some had home brewing. But Mark’s obsession was Julia.“

HypnoBS- Oh gosh. Errr...2.5? Hard to say.

Fun Fact: This started as a one-sided scenario, then it changed, then it felt really hot, now it feels like a sweet silly sitcom premise. (If you want to read some episode synopses of this hypothetical sitcom, there are some brilliant ones here! Also- feel free to send me more!)

Day 29: Helpless F/m 📰😴😍

Choice quote: “’I want to be helpless,’ he replied. Juan felt his headspace changing. He threw himself into that feeling, trusting Josie to take the reins.“

HypnoBS- 5. Not a scene log, but pretty much How I Top.

Day 30: Awaken 🔊😴👨‍🔬

Choice quote: “Aaaaaand-awaken!”

HypnoBS- 5 Hypnotist BS- also a 5

Thank you all for reading these! Thank you especially to everyone who reblogged, wrote me comments, and generally supported me through this past month. I’m going to specifically single out @daja-the-hypnokitten, @wellgnawed, and @spiralturquoise for the encouragement- y’all are the best. :) I know this is a long post, but I’d really appreciate reblogs of it!

Also, I didn’t have time to contribute myself but- if you donate to Hypnokink for Trans Lives, let me know and I’ll write you an epilogue for any of these stories that you choose.

#Hypnovember 2020 #master post #me/my accomplishments #thank you all again for reading!#seeing people actually liking my stuff gives me a ton of energy to keep going #<3 #19746 words and almost an hour of audio #an entire month of my life :P #not a novel but definitely a novella

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alovevigilante · 2 years

Text

Kari: you know what Charlie Brown? No one is going to do that in this day and age, and you know why Charlie Brown?! Because no one values kindness anymore. Let me tell you a story….

Charlie Brown: um, gee Kari, I have to go….

Kari: sit…

(Charlie Brown sits in fear of his life)

Kari : Charlie Brown… you’re a chump. A well intended chump, but a chump nonetheless…

(Charlie Brown slumps in further depression)

Kari (cont.): a wise man once said, “no matter what, you’ve got to strut.” Ok Charlie Brown?! You got that?! You MUST strut! Straight up STRUT! You?! You’re needy! You’re begging for friends. Charlie Brown people smell desperation like worn off shit on a shoe. Sure, you washed that shoe 3, 4, 7 times, but you can’t fully get that shit out of the grooves of the bottoms of the foot, see?! So, when you come around, acting a fool begging for attention and validation from your peers, people can smell that shit, ok?! It may not be fully apparent what that smell is, and they may not even be able to fully identify or determine exactly where it’s coming from, but they know it’s not them, cause they didn’t step in any shit recently, and they know it’s making them nauseous whatever that stink is, and they know they didn’t smell it til you walked up spouting your “oh whoa is me” trip, see?! So, yeah, the moral is, you need to Irish spring your old attitude and take a shower in the forest like the guy in the commercial from the 70s, ok? Be that guy, wash the shit from your shoe, and your foot, and take that knife he has with him, god only knows why he has a knife when he’s showering nude, that’s between him and the women who run into him in the forest, or whatever I can’t fully remember how he gets his information across, I’ll include a link to the commercial below for all of you reading this under 40, but be like him and cut the shit part of the soap off where you washed the shoe, because even if you washed the shit with soap and soap is inherently soap and should be self cleaning, it still had the shit on it from when you cleaned it. So cut that part out of your energy with that soapy, nudist, naturalist, Irish guy’s knife, and also, you can use the clean part of the soap to be like Redd Foxx, a comedian from the 70s you need to check out when you’re 18, cause he’s filthy sometimes, but in this case he is touting cleanliness so it’s ok, and he wants you to not only wash your asshole, but your whole ass which is always a good idea to be thorough and have good hygiene… the more you know… and get a new more pleasant and confident demeanor, because this shit you have shoved in your shoe energy is getting you nowhere, ok?! Nowhere zilch nahh nuthin!

You wanna know how I know that, Charlie Brown?! Because I spent the last 35 years, I’m 47 now with not many friends to speak of for obvious reasons, because I spent 45 years of my life being a people pleasing, professional doormat to some of the most under appreciative people because of my underlying needy energy, and their repulsion to it. I wasn’t pleasing them, even though I tried maybe because they weren’t experiencing anything authentic of me. Or maybe they just weren’t into insecure, innocent, kind girls that didn’t fit the “cool” stereotype.

At that time I didn’t value myself enough to think that just being me, was good enough. I have noticed in my life that I keep replaying the same energy over and over with different people. It’s time to break the matrix, and reprogram my perception of the world, and my place in it. I love the concept of family, and the human race should be family since we’re all under the same umbrella of genus, but we don’t treat everyone equally, and definitely not thoughtfully, mindfully, or with mutual respect or investment and I notice that constantly, and that really gets my goat, ergo i continue to feel that shit. And because i choose to focus on shit, that’s what I feel about humanity, and that expectation shows up as physical expression via others through my perception. And needless to say, I pretty much don’t have many friends left because of this fact, and this ranting I’m doing is probably one of many reasons why and not winning me any points in the popularity poles and contests around, but otherwise I’m a generally a good person who has good intentions towards humanity, ok Charlie Brown?! So do yourself a favor and don’t take any shit from anyone, not even Snoopy, ok? Cause he does that dog scootch thing dragging ass all up and down your ass with his dog ass and you just sit there and take it. And he’s a dog, ok?! Yes, it’s not. So don’t lobby for love Charlie Brown. Just be yourself, not like me now, cause I can feel the people shrinking away from me as they read this abrasive energy… and for God sakes just be happy already! And don’t forget to STRUT!

Charlie Brown (a full minute later): …Oh.

(4 more hours of crickets. A new batch this time… cause the other crickets died from croaking for so long…)

George Carlin: Um…

Kari: yeah yeah… Eh.

Carlin: Keillor, you’re probably one of the funniest people I know now, cause you’re so fucking wrong about the world today. The world is full of assholes like you, who feel slighted and angry, much like I felt when i ranted to the masses about how injust the world was when I shared it with you. But the truth was that I was a pretty ok guy myself, that felt like I wasn’t a part of the whole because of the dissociative nature of humanity as a whole. And I noticed it so much, that I wrote about it in great detail, and offered no solution to the problem other than deciding that’s the way it was.

Kari: actually George, that’s not completely accurate.

Carlin: yes it was, I’m telling you how I felt from my point of view, so it’s completely accurate.

Kari: Right. Now I’m going to explain it to you from mine. Are you open to that?

Carlin: why not?

Kari: ok. Well, your solutions came from your explanation of your experience, and your camaraderie with the people who all felt separate and alone. So, in a sense you were doing your best to slightly combat the solitary energy by sharing your isolated experiences with the masses.

Carlin: huh. Ok.

Kari: (sigh) Yeah.

Carlin: Keillor, for a chick with no friends, you’re not half bad…

Kari: Thanks. I needed that.

(Kari turns to Charlie Brown)

Kari: look Charlie Brown, you’re just a kid. I’m sorry I came down on you like that. Stay open to people. Stay invested, set some healthy boundaries, and be kind. Eventually that energy will serve you well in the end, cause you will feel it. Hopefully. I haven’t gotten there quite yet, myself. But hopefully the longer I touch on it, the more I can parlay it into my dominant vibration.

Charlie Brown: Kari?

Kari: Yes, Charlie Brown?

Charlie Brown: I think we need to talk to Linus….

Linus van pelt: Hello Charlie Brown. Hello, mad lady. Hello, bearded old man. Maybe I can share a few thoughts on this subject…

Carlin: (muttering) why I gotta be the bearded old man….

Kari: it’s better than the bald, bearded old man…

Carlin: shut up, Consistently angry lady…

Kari: that’s “angry lady” to you…

Linus: I learned from my sister Lucy, who isn’t always the nicest to anyone, that we as humans need involvement. So Charlie Brown tried that, and he had expectations that in his own head weren’t met. I think your wrong, angry lady…

Kari: ok, my name is Kari, and the bearded old guy is George Carlin…

Linus: ok. Nice to meet you both. As I was saying, I think you’re wrong about Charlie Brown being a chump.

Kari: I know, I apologized for that earlier before you came in. I was clearly projecting.

Linus: As long as you’re self aware, Kari. I do think people need one another. After all, no man is an island among himself. We need one another to make the whole of us, and when we exclude ourselves from the whole because we are choosing to focus on feeling excluded, then we can’t possibly feel one with humanity.

Charlie Brown: I guess you’re right, Linus. But when I tried to get involved, the good feeling i was looking for from others wasn’t easy to find.

Linus: it’s not easy when you’re feeling lonely. I guess what I’m trying to say Charlie Brown, and Kari, and George Carlin, is that it doesn’t matter what you do, but what you feel, that’s most important. And you are the only one that can choose how you feel. No one can do it for you.

Kari: yeahhhhh…. That feels about right…

Scene.

I’ll post the Irish spring commercial now. It will be above this one, so it won’t make a lick of sense…

#choose love #love matters #self reflection #self improvement #self esteem #selfworth #self care #charlie brown #peanuts #comic art #comics #charles shultz #I better not tag Charles Shultz #haters gonna hate #whatever #be yourself #be you #lmao yeah

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Wooden Zoo

TITLE: Wooden zoo

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that in his spare time, Loki carves tiny little animals out of chunks of wood and leaves them in random places for people to find.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I… I don’t even know, man. It just happened. Some language and just a very weird concept. Is it a prank? Is it him slowly going out of his mind? Who knows? Certainly not me…

No one really knew when it had started. One day, they were just there and no one had questioned the why and how of it all. All anyone knew was that in every little crevice, every hidden corner, lurking behind books and inside coffee mugs, they were there. All beautiful. All intricate. All fascinating. Little wooden animals, looking so lifelike that everyone feared they would come to life in the palms of their hand.

Tony had been the first to find one, they believed. A little, glistening otter made out of some type of heavy dark wood. It was barely the size of a thumb, but he could clearly see the clam clutched between their front paws as the creature rested on its back, swimming in a river of junk mail and contracts. Steve had found another, not long after. It was a goose, and it smelled of pine, perched precariously on the soap dish inside his shower. He hadn’t slept a wink that night, thinking it was an omen of ill will. Turns out, sometimes a wooden goose is just a wooden goose.

That didn’t mean that everyone in the Tower was not incredibly weary of the figurines.

“What if someone is trying to send us a message?” Bruce asked, rubbing his scruffy chin as he paced the length of the conference room during their meeting.

All the Avengers had congregated to discuss their sudden encounters will the wooden petting zoo. Some didn’t think anything of it, others were convinced that it was the first step to some sort of attack.

“Some sort of psychological manipulation, you know?” He added, nodding to himself.

Tony snorted. “Honestly, if this is the worst they can do pressure us psychologically, I’ll take my chances,” he retorted, balancing a baboon on his palm. The little guy had been standing on the table when they all trickled in for the meeting. “Yo, Criss Angel, what d'ya reckon?” He tossed the figure at Loki, who caught it midair and turned it over in his hands.

With a cloud of green, he suspended the figurine in mid-air, poking at prodding at it with his magic for a long moment before letting it fall back into his open hand. The Asgardian Prince shrugged, tossing it back. “Just a useless hunk of wood.”

“It’s not useless. They’re really pretty!” Lily complained from her seat down the table. “I’m building a chess set with the ones I find,” she added excitedly, turning to Natasha who immediately suppressed a grin.

Stark frowned tapping the baboon lightly against the table before sliding it down the shiny glass surface where Lily caught it just as it went over the edge. “You got that woodland hocus pocus. What don’t you give it a whirl?”

The young woman ruffled her silver hair, pouting. She massaged the creature between her hands, her eyes falling closed. The veins on her arms and neck turned a bright green as she concentrated, and as quickly as it started, it faded away. “The wood is ethically sourced?”

“How exactly does that help us?” Clint queried, rolling his eyes. He was firmly in the camp of “I don’t trust these things”.

Lily scoffed. “It doesn’t. What do you want me to say? The wood was taken from a fallen branch in the park and someone in the building likes whittling? Because that’s about as much as I can gather and only half of that is within the realm of my abilities.”

“You don’t think it’s ominous?” Bruce asked, halting his pacing to tilt his head at her.

She smirked. “Loki’s ominous. These are tchotchkes.”

“Hey!” Loki’s voice rose in complaint, but was quickly reigned in when the room, in unison, fixed him with an “are you really going to argue with that?” look.

Tony sighed, puffing his cheeks out as he thought. “Good enough for me. Deal with them as you see fit. They’re kind of cute, really.”

“Can I have this one? I’m missing a King for my one of my chess sets.” Lily offered Tony a broad grin.

“It’s a baboon…?”

“Ever met a King who wasn’t one?” This time both Thor and Loki protested loudly, leaving Lily to dissolve into giggles. “Point proven.”

The Tower had fallen into the comfortable silence of night. Everyone had already been warm in their beds for hours, at that point. Loki sat on the couch of quarters, whiling away time until he was tired enough to attempt sleep. Tedious, detail-driven work helped. It exhausted his mind to the point that he could safely ignore any of the demons lurking behind his eyelids.

The chaos that ensued had been a pleasant bonus.

With the creak of his front door, the materials in his hands fluttered away to a pocket dimension just in time to see Lily, in her pajamas, leaning against the entryway wall of his quarters with her arms crossed.

“Does it help?”

Loki furrowed his brow in a facsimile of confusion. “Does what help?” Out of the crook of elbow, she raised a little unicorn made of dark, unforgiving ebony. “I still don’t understand, dove.”

“Funny. First thing I found in my room was a dove.” She smiled softly. “I’m not telling the others,” she assured when he still did not respond. “I got to hand it to Tony, though. I never would have thought to use my powers on them before he suggested it.”

Though Loki was never one to back away from a challenge–or a barefaced lie–he was having trouble staring straight into her blue eyes without feeling the need to flinch away. To protect himself from her inquisitive gaze. “What did you see?”

“Emotions. Memories. Things that someone worked very hard to lock away.” He scoffed, finally managing to tear his own eyes to land on something safer. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a coping mechanism, Lokes. Tiny, stabby horses are preferred to actual stabbing.” She held the unicorn aloft in a faux gallop as if to accentuate her point.

Rolling his eyes, Loki retrieved the piece he had been working on from the pocket dimension. He held it out to her without looking in her direction. It was another two unicorns, this time in bleached driftwood.

“I figured you needed white knights for your collection.” Lily pushed away from the wall and closed the short distance between them. Just as she extended her hand to reach for the new pieces, he pulled back, letting her teeter forward as she lost her balance. “If you tell a soul–”

“Who the fuck would believe this, Loki?”

“Lily…”

“I swear. I won’t tell anyone.” She grinned impishly as she added the new unicorns to her little group. “Plus, it’s kind of nice to see Steve freak out every time you leave one in his shower.”

Loki joined her in her merriment. “I’ve left a legion of ducks in there, tonight. Expect ruckus in the morning.”

“You’re the fucking worst, Loki.”

He shrugged, leaning back casually, grin still in place. “It passes the time, kitten.”

Lily rolled her eyes and headed back to her quarters. She set the unicorns in the velvet-lined box she had acquired. It was late and she was now desperate for her bed. When she reached her bedside, two more items were on her pillow. Two lionesses posing regally; one dark, one light, with crowns on their heads–Queens. These were the first pieces that didn’t feel like they had been made to fight a feeling off–in fact, the emotions in the wood felt pleasantly excited as they pulsed through her glowing, green veins.

Attached to one of their necks was a scrap of paper written in loopy script.

It passes the time. xL

#Loki #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #wooden zoo #Fanfictrashdump

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nightfayre · 4 years

Text

a donation drabble request for the ever kind and supportive Ayobami @tps31! thank you SO MUCH for your donation and support!! you’ll never know how much it means to me <3

prompt: tianshan quarantine fluff, aka “why the hell am I stuck in a house with you all day every day?”

(a/n: this is just a random thought but I honestly don’t think I’ve written a fic about the boys still in middle school like, ever, so thank you so much for this prompt! it was so refreshing to write them as the flustered, airheaded, and teasing boys they are!) <3

tianshan, 3600 words, rated T

* * *

Guan Shan hates this.

The laundry basket next to his. The pair of shoes at the front door. The extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and the second phone charger plugged in next to his bed. There’s a gray duffel bag taking up the corner of his bedroom and a black jacket draped over the back of his desk chair. None of it takes up too much space, carefully put into their respective places and never crossing the boundary, but—

Guan Shan hates it.

And, what’s worse: he never asked for this. He was stupid enough to mention He Tian’s name at the dinner table one night; a passing comment he hadn’t really thought about. But then his mother had paused with a spoonful of miso soup at her lips, pensive.

“He Tian,” she’d echoed, as if the name felt foreign but sweet on her tongue. “Isn’t that the one who lives near the center of the city? The one who lives alone? The tall and polite and handsome one of your friends?”

“Uh,” Guan Shan had said, smirking with distaste. “Yeah. Sure. That one.”

“Poor thing. Alone throughout all of this mess.” She sighed. “Why does he not live with his family?”

And Guan Shan had thought about it for a moment, sifting through his mind like pressing rewind on a VHS. “I don’t know,” he’d admitted, reaching for the soy sauce. “Never asked.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, you should invite him over, then.”

Guan Shan choked.

Oblivious, his mother had continued: “Have him stay a few nights. No one should be left alone throughout this entire period. Who knows how long this will last, what with how many cases that have been reported. He’ll go stir crazy by himself, poor soul.”

“He’s already stir crazy,” Guan Shan said, eyes watering from a dislodged grain of rice. “I don’t want him here, ma. I’ll literally do anythin’ else. Seriously.”

She’d given him a disappointed look. “Ah-Shan, I thought I raised you to have a little more compassion than that.”

“Trust me, a person like him doesn’t need compassion.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” she reprimanded. She tapped her chopsticks against her bowl, succinct. “After we finish dinner, you should reach out to him and invite him to spend the week with us.”

“A week?”

“Well, now that school is postponed and I’m working from home, wouldn’t it be nice to have company for a bit?”

“Ma, please—“

“You will text him, Ah-Shan. No excuses. The world needs kindness right now, and we will do whatever we can to contribute to it.”

And that, unfortunately, was that.

That night, Guan Shan deleted the message immediately after he sent it, as if that would erase it out of his memory, too. But it was hard to forget the string of skeptical yet blaringly enthusiastic string of response texts that followed the invite, and even harder to forget the sight of He Tian at their front door half an hour later, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and smile bright as he greeted Guan Shan’s mother with practiced sweetness and feigned gratitude.

Guan Shan hated it.

But as his mother shot him a warning look, Guan Shan couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t just ignore him like he did, sometimes, at school.

And now, five days in, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Little Mo, are you naked?”

Running a towel over his hair, Guan Shan scowls at his reflection in the mirror, still foggy from the steam. “Fuck off, chickenshit.”

“I’m kidding.” He can hear the smile in He Tian’s voice. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Then you can wait.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, sweetheart. Are your showers usually this long?”

“That’s an average fuckin’ time for showers!”

A hum, muffled by the closed door. “Really? Mine only take ten, and that’s generous considering the precious amount of time I spend washing my—”

The thunk of the lotion bottle against the door rattles its hinges. “Fuck off!”

He waits until he hears He Tian’s footsteps recede. Guan Shan hates that he knows He Tian is walking away with that smug-as-all-hell smile, satisfied.

He dresses quickly after that, doing his best to ignore the citrus-scented face wash by the faucet and the contact lens case by the hand soap. The first time he’d seen all of He Tian’s things laid out like this on his bathroom counter was something like a revelation. It was like some things clicked into place, unbidden. Now it makes sense why Guan Shan sometimes thinks he catches a whiff of lemonade every time He Tian gets too close, and why He Tian looks like he’s scowling whenever he reads but, really, it’s just because he’s blind as a fucking bat and has to squint to see fine print.

If nothing else, Guan Shan suspects at least something valuable might come out of all this time he’s forced to spend together with He Tian — (read: blackmail) — but then again, He Tian hasn’t commented on the old, stained state of Guan Shan’s pillow like Guan Shan thought he would because he’s used it since he was four and can’t really sleep well if he’s not using that specific pillow. And he also hasn’t said anything about the way Guan Shan jumps, sometimes, when the toaster springs up his toast in the mornings because he never fucking sees it coming and it — sometimes — causes him to drop his jam knife.

A stalemate, Guan Shan supposes as he pulls his shirt over his head. Except, deep down, he knows that He Tian probably isn’t even aware that such a concept exists. After all, what would He Tian be if not someone to fight ‘til a broken victor is left standing?

By the time Guan Shan walks out into the living room, it’s ten o’clock. His mother, having finished washing the dishes because Guan Shan made dinner, is nowhere in sight, likely huddled up in her bedroom with a book like she always does before bed. That leaves He Tian alone on the couch, casually flipping through TV stations in a t-shirt and sweats, and he doesn’t see Guan Shan at first when the latter turns the corner.

“Bathroom’s open, dipshit,” Guan Shan mutters. He Tian looks up as Guan Shan approaches, settling on the opposite end of the couch.

“About time.” He Tian tosses Guan Shan the remote, and he barely catches it before it smacks against his chest. Standing, He Tian smiles and says, “Find something good to watch by the time I get back, okay?”

“I don’t work at your beck and call,” Guan Shan seethes. But despite his retorts, his fingers find the remote buttons as He Tian saunters back to the bathroom, hands in pockets and steps quiet against the creaky floors.

For a while, there really is nothing interesting on any of the channels. Guan Shan flies past a romcom, an old horror film, a few cartoons, the dreaded news. Nothing catches his attention — and he feels exhaustion coming on quick. He thinks, maybe, of just going to bed. But behind the apartment’s thin walls, he can hear the water running from the faucet. Despite himself, he frowns.

It’s odd, really. He never thought he could get used to the image of He Tian’s broad frame hunched over his sink in the mornings, or the way He Tian can reach the bowls at the top of the cupboards without going on his toes, or the sight of He Tian’s nape pressed against the twin-sized air mattress on the floor of Guan Shan’s bedroom. He never thought anyone could make his mother laugh as much as he can, or finish puzzles as fast as he can, and he certainly never thought that his mother would spill Guan Shan’s childhood stories to someone she’d only met... once? Twice? He doesn’t keep track. He never had to before.

Nevertheless, it’s not nearly enough time to warrant such trust. Such comfort.

Guan Shan hates it.

But in the midst of his lamenting, the faucet shuts off. A few moments later He Tian returns. And when he plops back onto the couch — too close — he smells of mint and vanilla-scented chapstick.

Too aware of his presence and the way his knee almost touches Guan Shan’s, Guan Shan takes a long second to snap back to reality when He Tian asks, “What’s this?”

Guan Shan blinks. On the TV, there’s some kind of documentary playing. A narrator drones over the images of a complex space aircraft, and the camera pans out to show footage of the stars it swims in. As the screen switches to an interview of someone very important-looking in a suit, Guan Shan scowls.

“I don’t know. Nothin’s on.”

He Tian stretches his arms above his head, long and lithe. “Well,” he says, drawn with a sigh, “if you’re trying to put me to sleep, it might actually work.”

“Fuck off, I don’t control the damn stations,” Guan Shan bites. “And you shouldn’t be tired to begin with. You did jack shit today, just like every other day.”

He Tian looks at him, the corners of his eyes softened with drowsiness in a way that Guan Shan has become used to seeing.

“That’s not true,” He Tian says. “I went with you to pick up supplies so your mom can sew masks. And we went to get the mail downstairs. And I helped you go grocery shopping—“

“You fuckin’ stood there with the cart and didn’t help at all—“

“—and I chopped the onions and peppers for dinner. That’s a lot. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s a normal person’s life,” Guan Shan says, exasperated. “Honestly, what the hell did you do all your life until quarantine?”

He Tian seems to take a moment to genuinely think about his answer. “Homework,” he offers, brows a bit pulled. “Basketball. School, obviously. I usually go to the convenience store for dinner, but sometimes I’ll get takeout. And I don’t get mail, but my groceries get delivered to me, so.”

And then he looks at Guan Shan, almost as if expecting some kind of praising reaction — but Guan Shan can only stare.

“That’s ridiculous,” Guan Shan says after a long moment. “That’s ridiculous and fuckin’ miserable. You live like a robot, and a broken one at that.”

Silence. Then He Tian sits up a little straighter, as if a puppetmaster had pulled on his strings.

“I mean, I used to take piano lessons,” he says, frowning as he rubs at his neck. “And Cheng took me to shooting ranges. And…” A pause. “Camping. Yeah, we went camping some weekends. Went to rivers and fished together all day. I caught a few sometimes.”

Guan Shan blinks. “What, are you tryin’ to prove somethin’ to me right now?”

And He Tian shrugs. “Maybe.”

The answer takes Guan Shan by surprise. But He Tian’s face is neutral — expression always so put together — and Guan Shan wonders if maybe He Tian is lying to him. Building up some kind of persona again just to tear it down later. Because, surely, with that much fucking money and privilege, the guy doesn’t just sit there in that empty apartment all day and twiddle his thumbs. Surely, with his reputation, he has a regular posse of socialites always seeking him out and inviting him to some kind of get-together or event. Surely, considering all that he is, He Tian doesn’t waste his time looking for, or teasing, or protecting, or calling up—

“Guan Shan?” He Tian says, mouth a little twisted. “You still awake?”

The low rambling of the space documentary suddenly seems louder. Guan Shan swallows, once, then forces himself to look away.

“You make no fuckin’ sense to me,” Guan Shan mutters. Then: “When are you leavin’?”

“Ouch,” He Tian remarks in an empty but unsurprised tone, shifting back on the couch. After a moment, he shrugs and responds, “Depends. Your text said a week but your mom says forever.”

A scowl. “She didn’t fuckin’ say that.”

He Tian smiles. “No, she didn’t. But she did say as long as I wanted — which, really, isn’t that much different from forever.”

Guan Shan swallows; feels inexplicable heat crawl up his neck like a spider, and he clenches his jaw against it.

“You should go live with your own family,” he says, staring ahead. “I’m sure they’ve got all the time in the world to shower you with attention.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees He Tian smirk.

“If I didn’t want to live with them at the best of times, what makes you think I would want to live with them at the worst of times?”

Guan Shan considers that. “This… isn’t the worst of times.”

“There’s a pandemic with no cure killing hundreds of people every day,” He Tian says, bland. “School is practically cancelled. People aren’t going to work. You invited me over to your home, unprompted. Even I know, with all things considered, that these are pretty bad times.”

Guan Shan can’t argue that. Instead he stares at the television, watching an astronomer point out weird symbols on some kind of map. It takes a lot of concentration to focus on nothing. After all, if he shifts his gaze any more to the right, he’ll see He Tian. If he lets his eyes slide down any further, he’ll see the way He Tian’s knee is still too close to his own. Both are dangerous territories for dangerous thoughts, and he doesn’t want anything to do with either.

After a moment of silence, Guan Shan says, “You know, you should get friends. Real friends, and not your fuckin’ fangirl group.”

He Tian raises a brow. “I have you and Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi.”

“That’s not—” And then Guan Shan stops, frowning, because he’s not actually sure what their ragtag mess of a group isn’t. Instead, he swallows and pathetically hides behind: “I’m not your fuckin’ friend.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Or, maybe, it’s exactly what He Tian thought what he’d say. Guan Shan isn’t sure; he’s never fuckin’ sure when it comes to him. But it doesn’t stop him from tensing up when He Tian turns to face him, fully. Wholly. It leaves no escape, and Guan Shan realizes with a sour kind of reluctance that he has no choice but to look back.

“No?” He Tian asks, meeting his gaze. “Then, what are you to me?”

The way the television’s screen lights up He Tian’s face — it’s like looking at a painting, alone in the museum, at the dusk of day. Blue hues shine through his hair, dim, and his eyes are only bright enough to reflect the silhouette of Guan Shan sitting in front of him. It’s eerie, how the both of them are so undefined in this moment. Maybe, in a way, that’s easier.

Guan Shan’s voice feels thick when he says, “I’m not answerin’ that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t— need to.”

“Why?” And then: “Overthinking it?”

Guan Shan flares. “What? What the fuck does that— No, I just— I don’t need to answer fuckin’ anything, asshole. I… I owe you jack shit.”

Silence responds to him. He Tian watches him; studies him. Guan Shan feels like a specimen under his gaze, split apart layer by layer under the microscope. He feels like, somewhere, something in him is splintering. And He Tian is watching it happen.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ answer,” Guan Shan admits, sudden, like a sinner in a confession booth, heavy and quiet and raspy. “Okay? I told you, you don’t make any goddamn sense to me. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my ma.”

He Tian soaks that in, almost as thoroughly as he takes in the sight of Guan Shan’s flushed scowl.

“You didn’t want me here?” he says, teasing.

“No, dipshit. Every time you’ve been here hasn’t been because I asked you to be.”

He Tian smirks. “Ouch,” he says again, except this time it’s said in a way that pricks Guan Shan like a rose thorn.

Guan Shan pushes down the heavy feeling in his throat. “I don’t know what you were expectin’,” he says, truthfully.

And then He Tian looks away, rolling his head. There’s a kind of empty look in his eyes that Guan Shan thinks he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s the same look he’s seen in He Cheng’s eyes in the few rare times they’d crossed paths.

“I wasn’t expecting a pandemic,” He Tian says. His voice sounds loud in the small room. “I wasn’t expecting school break to get extended. I wasn’t expecting all the restaurants to close, and for all the store’s shelves to be wiped clean.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “But I guess, for some reason, I was expecting a text from you after weeks of nothing.”

It hits Guan Shan, hard and heavy, like a ring-laden fist against his cheek. The last time he’d seen He Tian before all of this mess was a month ago — more — and at the time, none of them had known that this is how it would turn out. How could they? It’d only taken a week for things to turn south, and Guan Shan was too busy worrying of how he and his mom were going to file for unemployment to think of the way his phone had been silent for longer than he’s been used to.

He wants to pull it out right now; check his recent messages. It would be with a sort of disbelief when he would find the timestamp on He Tian’s contact, he already knows. But the shock wouldn’t come from his own lack of outreach. No, his perplexity would stem from He Tian, the same person who couldn’t go a single weekend without a conversation about nothing over Facetime back when things were normal. The same person who, apparently, hadn’t messaged him once until Guan Shan texted him that dreadful night five days ago.

Had he been— testing Guan Shan?

“I didn’t reach out to anybody else,” Guan Shan hears himself saying. The words taste bitter as they leave his mouth. What is he doing? What does he have to justify? “I... It was weird, those first few days of the lockdown order, and my ma and I— we had a lot goin’ on. It wasn’t— I mean, I haven’t talked to Zheng Xi or Jian Yi this whole time either. I just... don’t have time. Or, I did, but it wasn’t urgent. I— yeah, I barely use my phone anymore, anyway. I’m always at home now so I just... don’t need it.”

He stops, his tongue feeling thick. He Tian isn’t looking at him, but he knows he’s listening. Somehow, the thought makes it even worse.

“What,” He Tian suddenly says, and there’s a curl to his mouth that he can’t seem to help, “are you trying to prove something to me right now?”

“I—“ Guan Shan flares, teeth clenched and ears hot. “Fuck you. No, I’m not, asshole. I’m actually rescuin’ your damn pride, but apparently you’ve got too fuckin’ much.”

“Hey, hey,” He Tian says, wrapping his fingers around Guan Shan’s wrist when he makes to get up. “Come on. Don’t make me finish this documentary by myself.”

Guan Shan scowls. “I’m tired. Let go.”

“Then we can sleep on the couch,” He Tian replies — and then almost as if it were an afterthought: “again.”

Guan Shan warms at the implication of it. “Why the fuck would I do that when my room is around the corner?” he hisses.

He Tian tugs his arm. “Because I’ll follow you anyway since I’ve only got two days left with you and I’m not letting today end like this.” He smiles. “We’re not sleeping yet. I’m selfish.”

“I could’ve fuckin’ told you that,” Guan Shan mutters, dry. But he relaxes, settling back on the couch, and eventually He Tian lets him go. The skin he had touched feels electric in his absence.

“Let’s make popcorn and ride this out,” He Tian says, settling against a throw pillow. His eyes, no longer empty, are content as they drift back to the screen.

Hand in chin, Guan Shan smirks. “We both brushed our teeth already. I’m not doin’ it again.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He Tian gestures to the TV. “Popcorn and something more interesting than this.”

“If you think this is so damn boring, then why are you still here?”

“When else will I find an opportunity to spend time with you like this after I leave?”

Guan Shan doesn’t respond. After a moment, He Tian huffs.

“That’s when you’re supposed to invite me back over in the future, little Mo,” he says, amused. Guan Shan shoots him a warning look as the documentary goes to a commercial break.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “And don’t try to convince my ma, either.”

He Tian hums, shifting, and Guan Shan suppresses a flinch when his knee presses up against his. Warm. “I hadn’t even thought about that. That might be the agenda for tomorrow, now.”

“I’m sick of you,” Guan Shan growls. And He Tian laughs, like it’s the funniest thing ever, how easily he can get under Guan Shan’s skin and force him to worry about nothing and get him to stay with him to watch shitty television all within the span of twenty minutes. How Guan Shan has managed to survive more than three days is an incredible feat. How he’s unable to chase away the thought of inviting He Tian over for dinner after he leaves, sometimes, is an inexplicable one.

And when the documentary comes back on with a cheap intro jingle and the streaming quality of a disposable camera, Guan Shan feels He Tian’s foot hook against his and tries to convince himself, over and over:

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

* * *

thank you for reading! likes/reblogs would be greatly appreciated, as this fic is dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement. if you would like a fic/drabble written for you (and you want to support the BLM cause!), please see this post!

have an incredible week! <3

#19 days #tianshan #:)))#please reblog! it would mean the world!

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albusofecclesia · 3 years

Text

Creative Writing - Academic Burnout

(inspired by this Dark Academia self care post by archaic-stranger)

Within the Order of Ecclesia’s dormitories, Albus lay on the couch in his quarters, splayed unceremoniously on his back with one arm slung over both eyes to block out the bright light of dawn piercing through the picture windows across the room. Academic burnout had struck hard. Compounded with his recent travel fatigue, he had become entirely overwhelmed by the last two years of intensive training - both physical and mental - and simply no longer had any drive to move, speak, or think more than was absolutely necessary.

Master Barlowe had given him some reprieve time to sort himself out, encouraging Albus to report back to him whenever he felt ready. While appreciated, the crux of the matter was that Albus wasn't entirely sure when that would be ready. Not having subjected himself prior to such an intense level of burnout, he had naively figured it would have abated after a day or two of rest. Yet it had been four days since his return, and an all-encompassing metaphorical weight sat on him, draining the willpower to do even the most basic of menial daily tasks. It was starting to concern him. Or rather, it concerned him when he could manage to 'feel' at random intervals interjecting themselves into his presently numb and brain-foggy experience.

He sighed laboriously, the culprit of his melancholia-like state presently a mix of numb boredom, and languid, liquidous apathy for himself and everything around him. He knew he ought to at least get up and find breakfast. Getting out of bed and dressing for the day had already felt monumentous, sapping the reserves of his carefully cultivated energies from the last few days. If he were in a moment of lucidity, he would lightly chastise himself for finding such a simple, normal thing to be so difficult. But it wouldn't serve him any further to be irritated with himself - no matter how tempting negative self-talk would be during the uselessness-inducing miasma he found himself in.

Dramatic eons later - which in non-burnout time was twenty or so minutes - he wandered near-trancelike through his quarters, towards the door, and out into the hallway. A polite few nods were managed with the odd colleague that Albus passed as he descended the stairs to the main floor, pausing briefly by the pigeon hole mailboxes in the common area foyer. To his surprise, there was something in his inbox: a single parchment folded once width-wise. He hadn't expected anything after collecting his stack of mail upon his return to the order. So this letter was a complete surprise.

"To a wonderful, magnificent friend and human being. I've never met someone so strong and giving and kind against all odds the way you've been facing everything. Take the time to relax, you deserve it."

Well that was a lovely start. At fast glance there appeared to be no signature, and while the penmanship looked a little familiar he couldn't quite put his thumb on who might have written it. Why had they chosen to remain anonymous?Following the complimentary blurb was a list of items titled 'self-care ideas'. He quickly scanned the list, noting the first few and lumping them together in their relevance:

• brew a cup of your favorite tea and look out the window for a bit • cut up some fruit to eat and arrange it nicely on a plate • bake something or make a nice dinner for yourself

Tea and fruit sounded appealing. Main breakfast hours would start soon, so he would have to be quick if he wanted to secure himself something from the mess hall before having to deal with an onslaught of students and faculty. Requesting tea and fruit from the kitchen staff wasn't quite what the list had suggested, but once he received his order, he found a spot to sit near a window and rearranged the fruit slices and berries on the plate in some semblance of a floral mandala. Once the breakfast tea had brewed and cooled sufficiently, he held the cup in both hands as he let his gaze wander to the outside scenery. Little thought passed through his mind. It was equal parts unsettling, and yet somewhat nice to just have a silent inner self. Yet, it was strange - he was so used to his mind always working, deducing, planning, considering, analyzing… having such an active brain was something he had quietly prided himself on.

What if this was the new 'normal' for him? Is this was it was like for 'regular' people? For non-academically gifted folks? Goodness, how boring. He stopped his motions at that thought and paused to gave his head a light shake. This was not a healthy worldview to further entertain. One must maintain some level of altruism, and use any gifts with a modicum of humility.

Closing off those thoughts, he removed the note from his pocket, unfolded it, and continued down the list:

• reread an old favorite book - or just your favorite chapters • [read] about something you find interesting, even if it’s one you’ve [read] before • read some poetry, or write some of your own • make origami with book pages • tidy your desk

The last thing Albus was interested in was looking at another book any time soon. And yet, the ideas were solid to his reasoning and he hoped to find the energy to entertain them in the next few days. Although, perhaps if he tried the first item, it might kindle an interest in the following suggestions. Once returned to his quarters, he went to his desk and perused the shelf where he had curated favoured books and tomes. They were all academic and research-based in their own way, even the more topically 'spiritual' books. One book held his interest for a few minutes, but he really didn't have it in him to continue to read further on ritual entrancement practices of the world.

A quiet sigh elicited, and he abandoned the reading suggestions for the time being. Especially the origami with book pages? The absolute audacity. But he considered making an attempt with note paper later. As for tidying his desk, it wasn't entirely messy but it wasn't absolute chaos. Organized clutter, despite the oxymoron.

• lie on the floor for and listen to music

Well that sounded a bit silly. But it was different, and might shake things up a bit. A record of an orchestra playing works of Tchaikovsky was chosen and set up on the gramophone. Albus eased himself down to the floor and moved to lay flat on the carpet, feeling a bit ridiculous as he did so, listening to the music for a few moments. He couldn’t quite decide what to do with his hands, changing them from clasped together over his chest, to spread wide out on either side of him. The whimsy of the activity made him feel a bit like he was a child again, which was soothing for a few seconds before he decided he'd quite had enough of engaging in such behaviour. Sitting up, he looked at the list again.

• put on classical music and take a long bath/shower

The music was already playing. Upon further consideration, he had worked so hard to gain these quarters which had the luxury of a half-bath section. He might as well further appreciate the advantage. Yet filling and draining the basin was a bit labour intensive. While being clean was a necessity to him, he rarely took long soaks, and typically opted for the shorter methods in order to cut down on time spent preening and grooming. With no pending research, lectures, or plans, he could afford to do this. It ended up being a good and relaxing soak; the warmth of the water relieving, lingering muscle tension, the lavender soap's scent heady and soothing, the music filling the emptiness in his mind with joyful entertainment. Afterwards, he dried and dressed, feeling quite rejuvenated as he glanced the list again for the next items:

• if you’re religious or spiritual, spend some extra time on your prayers/meditation • light a candle and watch the flame

Both of these could easily be achieved in the Order's chapel. While he was not exactly religious, he held knowledge of the sacred and the profane being tangible aspects of their world. They existed, yet he did not believe entirely in the concepts of Heaven and Hell being particular afterlives for Humans. If Earth was the realm of humanity, he considered the other two as realms of their respective inhabitants. Cross visitation between realms was possible, but Humans had too many limitations on their species to be able to persist in the other realms for long. These were, of course, theories that he was both interested, and loathe, to test for himself.

The chapel was of Christian Orthodox decoration, every finery imaginable on display. Likenesses of Saints and other holy figures adorning the windows, walls, carved into pews, and as intricate statues placed in key areas of visibility. Albus wandered down the center aisle of the chapel's nave and headed for one of the ornate prayer candle holders on either side of the crossing dais. Lighting a candle, he knelt on the ground and stared at the flickering flame, giving silent thanks for the opportunities he had been afforded thus far in his lifetime.

Flame snuffed, he ventured outside and read the next objectives to attempt:

• go outside barefoot and stand in the grass until you feel just a little bit cold, then wrap yourself in a blanket to warm up • buy flowers for yourself (optional: press them between heavy books so you can keep them forever)

Some minutes later he attempted the first of the two in a secluded meadow just outside the Order grounds. It felt a bit embarrassing at first, but the self-consciousness soon faded and soothed into a feeling more akin to the child-like way he had felt when laying on the carpet listening to music. His eyes scanned around for flowers to fulfil the second of the list items, those he would press and turn into a bookmark either for himself or as a gift to a friend.

Returning home again, he pulled on a warm sweater to chase away the chill that the cool ground had given him, and looked at the last item on the list:

• write yourself a love letter and seal it with wax

A smile formed and he sat at his desk, feeling much better having gone through the motions of the list. Pulling out the appropriate stationary, he set about writing a short note to himself before folding it and sealing it shut for another time.

"I am enough, I deserve time to rest, and I am thankful for those around me."

#drabbles #extensive headcanon writing #creative writing prompt #writing sample #((first bit of the letter taken verbatim from a dear friend who cheered me on through my own work burnout))#long post #headcanons #set in ecclesia #self writing tag

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

Submission by @entitynumber5: Hi Connor, I hope you’re having a WONDERFUL birthday and that you get to take a break from studying to do the things you enjoy and just have the lovely day you deserve!!! For this morning’s “write what I like” sprint (trying a new method of getting it all out before I have to put the brain into study mode), I wrote a lil something about 🎃 spooky season birthdays 🎃set in the Emmaverse… which turned out kind of long and a bit sappy. So there is no pressure to read it! I just love these characters :’) the working title is “Martin and Jon get proven wrong by an adorable five year old”.

Content warnings: brief mentions of blood, alcohol and minor injury (in relation to Martin working a Halloween paramedic shift); food.

Emma is obsessed with birthdays. Just not her own.

She turned five in May, and no matter how special they tried to make the day—with rainbow layer cake and carefully-selected presents and a visit to the roller-skating rink with her best friends—she didn’t seem half as excited as when it was someone else’s birthday. She would hardly sleep the night before friends’ parties. She spent hours wrapping the presents she picked for them with ribbons and bows and even confetti stuffed inside the paper. The only time they could encourage her to practice the piano for her weekly lessons was when she played the Happy Birthday song over FaceTime for her friends’ birthdays that were during school holidays.

The only thing Emma seems to have held onto from her own birthday is the notebook given to her Georgie and Melanie. Martin seems to remember there being two: one with little cartoon ghost drawn in the front by Georgie and the other with a scribble of the Admiral by Melanie. But Emma only carries the one around with her everywhere, and Martin is starting to doubt his own memory about there being a duplicate.

She has it with her now, as they sit outside the lecture theatre where Jon is currently teaching. In the too-big chair beside the door, her legs swing as she holds the notebook very close, staring intently at its pages while she wriggles her fluffy purple pen in thought.

“Daddy,” Emma says, in that voice that means she has a Very Serious Question, “When is your birthday?”

Martin is still a little dazed from nearly a week of night shifts. It’s the first time in six days that he hasn’t been working or sleeping at this time in the afternoon, and while walking with Emma to Jon’s work to surprise him at the end of the day seemed like a nice idea in practice, he really wishes he was lying on the sofa. They could be watching Peppa Pig for the thousandth time. Or getting started on dinner, which he isn’t going to let Jon make after a long day of teaching. He’s been mentally calculating how many hours it is until he can go to bed, how many tasks he has to do before then.

This feels like a selfish thought, though, and he pushes it aside quickly in favour of smiling at Emma. “My birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, still very grave, “That’s what I said. At school today, Miss Jones made us all put stickers on the big calendar on the wall for our birthdays. I wrote down all of my friends’ birthdays.”

“That’s nice.”

“And now I want to write down yours.”

“Okay, well, my birthday is next month.”

Emma frowns. “Next month. That’s…” she counts on her fingers until she seems to reach the answer she’s looking for. “October?”

“It is!” Martin grins. “Well done.”

Emma’s little frown doesn’t ease. “What day?”

“Well, do you know how many days are in October?”

Emma thinks. Shakes her head.

“There are thirty-one days in October,” Martin tells Emma, “And my birthday is on the very last day.”

Emma nods and returns to her notebook, slowly enunciating the words as she writes them down: “Oc-to-ber three-one.”

Martin wonders if Emma realises his birthday coincides with Halloween. Besides birthdays, she still doesn’t seem too interested in dates, no matter how many times her teacher makes her write them at the top of every page in her workbook. And during previous years, they celebrated Martin’s birthday the day before or after Halloween itself, so they can separate the two events, although perhaps she doesn’t remember.

Before Martin can ask, the door of the lecture theatre opens and students start filing out. Emma puts away her notebook and pen, her frown of concentration replaced by a glowing smile as she waits, bouncing excitedly in the chair, for her Baba to notice them waiting just outside.

“Jon,” Martin whisper-shouts as he tiptoes into the house after his shift, hoping he doesn’t wake Emma—but that his husband knows it’s urgent. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

Jon emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pair of yellow washing up gloves dripping soap suds and a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Martin ushers him back into the kitchen and shuts the door as quietly as possible, hoping it won’t wake Emma—or, worse yet, the cats, who will sit outside any closed door and cry to be let inside no matter what activity they were engaged in before.

“Martin,” Jon says, “What’s going on?”

“They just released the shifts for the next few weeks,” Martin replies, “And I’m working.”

“Well, good. I should hope so.”

“On my birthday.”

Jon’s expression merges into one of comprehension: Emma. And her newfound obsession with birthdays. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t suppose you could swap shifts with someone?” Jon asks.

Martin sits down at the table, lowering his head into his hands. He wants to shower, change out of his paramedic uniform, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else until they’ve had this conversation. “No one’s going to willingly take a Halloween shift. For a start, Andrew is terrified of clowns. And people are usually drunk, and it’s actually really hard to tell the difference between real and fake blood.”

“We could celebrate the day after,” Jon says, taking off the washing up gloves and sitting opposite Martin. He reaches across the table to take Martin’s hand. “I mean, you were born five minutes before midnight. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as a… slight shifting of the truth.”

“Jonathan Sims.” Martin gapes across the table at him. “Are you suggesting we lie to our daughter?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No, Martin,” Jon says again, “I’m simply suggesting we separate your birthday from Halloween, as we have done every year, and not draw attention to the fact because our daughter is currently obsessed with other peoples’ birthdays.”

“And it might upset her if she knew we were actually celebrating on the wrong day.”

“Exactly.”

Martin sighs. “I don’t know. It feels… sort of wrong.”

“Apparently, children under the age of seven have no concept of the passing of time and—”

“Did Tim tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh, god. It wasn’t Helen, was it? Please tell me you haven’t been having philosophical discussions about parenting with Helen again.”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts, “It was in the parenting book you gave me.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that chapter. Oh, god, maybe I should re-read it. The whole thing. Beginning to end. I—”

“Martin.” Jon squeezes his hand. “You deserve a day of your own. Tim and Sasha already agreed to take Emma trick-or-treating on Halloween. She will be focused on that for most of the day; she’s already talking about how excited she is. Let us spend the day after that treating you to all the wonderful things you deserve on your birthday—and every day.”

Martin manages a small smile, although every instinct inside of him is telling him not to accept Jon’s proposal. Not because he is worried about the ethics of manipulating their daughter’s concept of time—although this is a concern, too—but because he doesn’t want Jon to feel like he has to do any of this. To make a whole day about him, even if he takes great pleasure and care in doing the same for Jon on his birthday.

“Thanks, Jon,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, why don’t you go and have a warm shower? I’ve put the hot water on so it shouldn’t run out while you’re in there this time.”

Martin smirks. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Martin presses, teasing now. “Because I did have to treat a farmer who’d been kicked by one of his cows this evening.”

“Okay, alright, yes. Yes, you smell. Please go and have a shower.”

Martin laughs and gets up from the table. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“That really is disgusting, Martin.”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story. About the farmer, I mean. He’s fine, by the way. I’ll tell you about it when I’m out of the shower.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why today, of all days, have you abandoned the notion of showering before you sit down at the dinner table?”

“I had something important to tell you!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon shakes his head again. “Now please have a shower. For your sake as much as mine.”

“Love you,” Martin sing-songs as he exits the kitchen. He hears Jon’s gentle laugh chase him into the warmth of the bathroom, where Jon has put on the radiator and left him a fresh towel. He smiles, feeling his love for Jon balloon in his chest, and settles into the sensation being home.

Martin’s Halloween—and birthday—shift is so busy that he barely has time to check his phone. Tim has sent an album of photos of him, Sasha and Emma out trick-or-treating, dressed as Mike, Sulley and Boo from Monsters, Inc. Jon has been updating him on the number of trick-or-treaters who have visited their house (fifty-four, as of ten thirty p.m.), and how Iris and the cats are holding up with the constant ringing of the doorbell.

On his break, Martin quickly texts Tim to watch his glucose levels and not to forget his insulin (to which Tim replies yes, sir with a number of yellow heart emojis). He also texts Sasha to say she can take home any of the Skittles they get on their expedition, since they’re her favourite but Emma hates them. He tells Jon he loves him and to give Iris a pet on his behalf and that there’s some spare sweets under the sink, if they’re running low. Then it’s back to work.

The shift passes quickly, in the end. There is so much to do and no time to think about anything other than their patients. He does get given a toffee apple by someone dressed as a Minion at a student house party, and he narrowly avoids getting his face painted by twins who are the same age as Emma while his team are checking their mother’s twisted ankle after a fall trying to get to the door in time for a last-minute delivery of sweets. It’s not an awful shift, but it is, like always, exhausting and difficult in the same measure as it’s rewarding and hopeful.

By the time he gets home, all he wants to do is sleep. Emma is tucked into bed, fast asleep, while her nightlight projects solar systems onto the ceiling. Jon, too, is sleeping soundly with the cats for company. Iris barely looks up from her bed when he comes inside, but she gives a little wag of her tail each time he passes down the hallway to shower or get a drink of water. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Emma’s sweets on the table, next to the empty bowl that had once been full of treats to hand out to their visitors.

Martin’s smiles—it looks like a night well-spent for his family—and this thought carries him through an exhausted shower before he crawls into bed next to Jon. Jon must be tired, too, because he doesn’t stir. Martin makes a mental note to check his joints aren’t playing up from all the getting up and down from the sofa during the trick-or-treat visits.

Sometime later, Martin wakes to the soft click of the door as it opens. He squints against the light bursting around the edges of the still-shut curtains, expecting to see Jon tiptoeing to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Instead, Emma is creeping inside, holding a tray of pancakes while Jon follows behind, balancing two cups of tea.

“Happy birthday!” Emma says, as she places the tray down on the bed next to Martin. “We made spooky pancakes!”

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up fully. He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed: 11:42 a.m. He’s been asleep for just over six hours, but it somehow feels longer and yet not enough. “It’s not—”

Jon clears his throat.

“Oh. Oh, thank you, Emma! These are wonderful.”

The pancakes are, indeed, spooky. Emma has used a pumpkin cookie cutter to shape them and then drawn on funny faces with fruit and syrup. No longer responsible for balancing the tray, Emma looks at Jon, a little uncertain, and Jon nods in encouragement as he places their cups of tea down on the bedside table.

“I made you a present,” Emma says almost shyly.

Martin smiles gently at her. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulls something off the tray. It’s the second notebook, the one Martin thought he’d imagined, wrapped in a glittery silver ribbon and some confetti streamers. She offers it to Martin, and he takes it carefully, holding it as if it might fall apart in his hands.

“You can open it,” Emma tells him seriously.

Martin unwraps the ribbon. Emma takes it from him, along with the confetti, perhaps to reuse for another present. Slowly, Martin cracks open the notebook to the first page. There is Georgie’s ghoulish sketch, alongside a new inscription in Emma’s handwriting: Sorted Poems By Emma K. Blackwood-Sims. For Daddy’s Birthday. October 31.

Martin feels something tender and soft unfurl in his chest, until he’s certain he is going to cry. He begins to flick through the pages, but Emma says: “Wait!”

Martin stops. “What is it?”

“Look.” Emma climbs on to the bed, elbowing her way into the space next to him, and reaches across Martin to open the notebook on the first page again, where her inscription is. She points at her name.

“It’s meant to say assorted poems,” Jon says, “But neither of us were sure how to spell it.”

Martin laughs, the sound a little wet and shaky with the tears he can feel building. Jon hates spelling. It’s his least favourite type of homework to help Emma with.

“Look,” Emma says again, “I wrote my name like yours!”

Martin smiles. “Blackwood-Sims? But that’s your name, too.”

“No,” Emma insists, “Emma K Blackwood-Sims. Like you! Like a proper poet.”

“Oh,” Martin murmurs, “Oh.”

He’s sure he and Jon will laugh about this later. Martin doesn’t actually have a middle name. Emma does, but it certainly doesn’t begin with K. But right now, he feels tears on his cheeks as he takes in his daughter’s hard work.

Emma reaches for his face, patting away his tears with the palms of her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” Martin replies, sniffling in an attempt to draw back the tears, “I’m happy. And I love you so, so much.”

Emma frowns. “Will pancakes make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Emma. I promise. These are happy tears.”

“Pancakes always make me feel better,” Jon announces, climbing onto the other side of the bed and sliding back underneath the covers. He settles Emma down in the middle of them, handing her a mug full of juice. She doesn’t drink tea yet, but she doesn’t like to be left out when they do, so she has her own mug.

“These look wonderful,” Martin tells them, arranging the tray so they can all reach. Emma takes a plate and hands it to Jon, then does the same for Martin, before grabbing the final one for herself. “You’re getting very good at pancakes.”

“Baba said we can learn French toast next,” Emma says.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Emma nods. “It’s more difficult than normal toast.”

Martin chuckles. “It certainly is.”

They distribute the pumpkin-shaped pancakes between them. While they eat in bed, they tell each other stories about their Halloween night. Jon talks about the costumes of the people who visited their house, how many compliments they got on their pumpkin carving skills. Emma narrates her trick-or-treating adventure with Tim and Sasha. Martin shares the safest tales of his nightshift, the funny costumes he saw and the extravagant decorations at the parties they visited.

Martin is exhausted again by the time they’ve finished the pancakes. Jon insists on taking their empty plates back to the kitchen and making them another cup of tea, while Emma snuggles against Martin’s side. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not your birthday, Daddy,” Emma whispers.

Half-asleep until now, Martin grunts himself awake. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I know it’s not really your birthday,” Emma tells him, not moving from where she’s clinging to his arm, “Your birthday was yesterday. On Halloween.”

“Oh, Emma, we—”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, “It’s like when we had a party on Saturday even though my birthday was on Wednesday because I had school.”

“Yeah.” Martin stokes his hand through Emma’s hair. “It is a bit like that.”

“I still get to say happy birthday.”

“You do.”

“But can we have a party on the right day next year?” Emma asks.

“For your birthday?”

“No, for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Martin laughs. “Yes. It might not be a party, if I have to work again, but we can do this. This is lovely. Thank you for being so thoughtful. And I’m excited to read your poems.”

“Baba said they were good.”

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”

“It was fun.”

“That’s good. That’s what matters most when you make things.“

Emma wriggles around until she’s grinning up at him. “Can I read your poems now?”

Martin sighs, barely supressing a laugh. This isn’t the first time she’s asked. “Emma.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting in a way that breaks Martin’s heart to the point where he can never turn her down when she’s looking at him like this. “Please.”

“Alright,” Martin gives in, “I’ll read you one tonight. Before bed.”

“Yay!” Emma’s grin grows even wider. "Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And I love you very, very much.”

“Love you, too.”

They settle back down. Martin dozes a little again, a smile on his face, as he thinks about telling Jon later that their daughter very much does understand the concept of time. There really are some things parenting books don’t prepare you for—like the way his love seems to grow with each day he gets with Emma and Jon, even when he thinks it’s impossible, that he already loves them more than any person can.

Some things are gifts even when they are not given as such, and Martin is beginning to allow himself to think of his life with his daughter and his husband as one. He didn’t ask for it with words or lists. He doesn’t know, even now, if he deserves it. But it’s his. And he will treasure it always.

Not featured: Martin realising what he’s agreed to and frantically trying to find a non-angsty poem he can read to his five-year-old daughter. Jon thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #emma #SDSFLSKFLKJFA AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #HANNAH HANNAH I LOVE THIS SOOOO MUCH #I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WROTE THIS OH MY GOD #this is so incredibly special to me I don't even know how to express it #oh my god this is so sweet and I loved every second of it #oh my friend #thank you so much #i love the way you write martin as ALWAYS #and Emma is so sweet here oh my goodness!!!!!#she takes after her dad by caring about other people's birthdays like that #i loved the way you talked about how exhausted he feels after working night shifts #and the lovely little moment where they're talking quietly in the kitchen #martin's musings about not deserving this #and feeling selfish for being so tired on jon's birthday #oh my god i can'ttttttt #i love this so much i'm gonna read it 8000 times #hannah you are fantastically talented #and such an incredibly kind soul #i truly wish we were not an ocean apart!!!#thank you for all the wonderful joy and kindness you bring to the world #you are so very loved #THANK YOU!!!!!!#<3 <3 <3 #submission

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1274

Department One: Apparel And Jewelry

What are you wearing today? Just a white duster dress. Very loungewear-y, hahaha. I didn’t feel like wearing shorts today.

What does your favorite shirt look like? At the moment I’m obsessed with my Vante shirt. It’s fanmade but it was made tastefully; the designs aren’t too loud and I love the cute little shoutouts and tributes to his past paintings, so it had been a ridiculously easy decision for me to want to buy it.

What kind of underwear do you prefer wearing? Eh I don’t really have a preference as long as I don’t find them uncomfy.

What are your favorite kind of jeans? I’m definitely still stuck in my mom jeans phase. Idk man, I just love how they match nearly all kinds of tops.

What do the last pair of shoes you wore look like? They were adidas sneakers. Not a big fan of chunky shoes but it’s an Ivy Park and it was on a big discount HAHAHA so I didn’t hesitate to get them.

How many shoes do you own? A little more than 10. I love shoes and wanna collect them someday...just not today, hahaha.

How much jewelry do you own? Not too big on jewelry; most, if not all the ones I wear are just borrowed from my mom since we share the same style anyway.

Do you own any real diamonds or other expensive jewelry? Yeah, the ones I would borrow from my mom are pretty pricey.

Has anyone ever gave you jewelry as a present? Yes, I received rings and necklaces from my ex. One of my aunts also gave me a necklace when I turned 7.

Do you like diamonds or gemstones better? I just stick with diamonds...which is...also a gemstone too, if I’m not mistaken.

Silver or gold? Silver.

Department Two: Electronics

Do you have a DVD player in your car? Not in mine, but we do have one in the family car. I used to watch movies on there often but after one grueling road trip where my motion sickness acted up, I haven’t wanted to use it since.

If you have one, what does your camera/camcorder look like? I just use the camera in my phone but back in the day I used to have a DSLR; that was when I thought I wanted to take up photography, heh. It was a Nikon D3100.

How much did it cost? I’m not sure since my dad gave it to me as a present, but a quick search told me it would’ve cost him around P20,000 which issssss wow more expensive than I thought.

What kind of cellphone do you have? I have an iPhone 8 with an LCD screen that’s deteriorating by the day HAHA. I really need to get a new phone.

How often do you send texts? I text just for work purposes now, so it really depends on how busy my accounts are. Some days would require me to send out more texts than usual.

Do you have your own computer or does your family share? I have my own laptop. My workplace also provided me with what’s supposed to be my work laptop, but they had it sent to me when I was already a couple of months into my job and all my needed files and programs were already in my personal laptop. Since I was too lazy to start everything all over again, I’ve never actually used the work laptop haha.

How many computers are in your house? We have three laptops in total - my siblings and I each have our own. Kind of a necessity these days.

Do you still have a VCR? I don’t think so.

How many DVDs do you own? We probably have around 30-50 but most of them are movies from like the 2000s that we just haven’t thrown out. Personally, I have about five DVDs of old films like Gone with the Wind, Rebel Without A Cause, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, etc, and recently I’ve been buying BTS merch so DVDs are part of that mix too.

Does your car have a GPS? No. I use Waze on my phone instead.

What kind of iPod/MP3 player do you have? Haven’t used an iPod in like a literal decade. I use Spotify for my music.

How many songs are on it? Spotify doesn’t work that way since it’s technically a database of songs.

What size is your TV? Never bothered to ask/check.

How many TVs are in your house? Four. Living room, dining room, master bedroom, my brother’s room.

What video game systems do you have? We have a PS3 and PS4.

What about handhelds? Switch. I believe my sister also still has her DSi stored somewhere.

How many video games do you have? Probably somewhere around 50-60. My dad and brother are content with repeating their games lol.

Department Three: Home

What kind of shampoo do you use? It’s a Dove variant but I’m just blanking out on the specific name/what it does.

Soap or shower gel? Shower gel.

What does your comforter look like? It’s pretty colorful and has geometric shapes and lines.

Does it match your pillows? Yep, they come in a set.

What size is your bed? Twin.

Do you or your parents like to decorate the house with various things or is it plain? My mom puts considerable effort in decorating the house but it’s nothing overboard that it feels tacky. There’s enough decor in enough spaces.

Does the furniture in your house match? Sure. I imagine my mom would be very irritated if she felt something was uncoordinated at home.

What does your couch look like? It’s a gray L-shaped couch. Gabie broke a portion of the couch’s springs when it had only spent its like first two weeks at home but surprisingly my mom has not noticed it yet; probably because she barely sits on that side.

How many does your dining room/kitchen table seat? It has six chairs, though since we’re five one of the chairs is almost always unoccupied.

Do you have any fancy china? No, my mom isn’t the type to collect those.

Do you have outside furniture? Yeah we have a table and chairs up on the rooftop, if they count.

What do your curtains look like? My siblings and I have pull-down blinds. The other rooms have these pulled-back gold curtains that’s accompanied by white sheers.

Department Four: Grocery

What kind of bread do you get? Sliced white bread, always. Sometimes my mom will pick up pan de sal, but she gets those from a certain bakery and no longer the grocery.

What is your favorite kind of cake? CHEEEEEEEEEESECAAAAAAAKE.

Do you get a lot of sweets from the grocery store? Eh, nah. Not a big fan of sweets.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Don’t like soda.

Do you drink juice? What kind? I can take it or leave it. I wouldn’t buy it for myself.

What is your favorite chewing gum? Doesn’t matter to me. The flavors last for only like a minute anyway.

Do you usually get candy from the check-out aisle? Nah. Those are far more accessible so who knows who could’ve touched or tampered with them. Plus, I mentioned I don’t like sweets.

What is your favorite soup? Miso or cream of mushroom.

Have you ever had soup when you were sick? No. I don’t enjoy hot beverages/liquids very much so I doubt I would feel comfort from soup when I’m sick.

What are your favorite canned vegetables? Not sure if it’s a cultural difference thing but canned vegetables kind of sound gross and I don’t think I’ve encountered those (I actually had to look it up lol). My parents always buy fruits and veggies as is.

What do you eat for breakfast? Fried rice is a constant but my mom switches up the set of viands every time. Some of the meals she serves would be hotdogs, eggs (either scrambled, omelette, fried, or sunny-side up), corned beef, dried fish, hashbrowns, luncheon meat, tapa, and Vienna sausages. Poptarts or toaster strudels? Poptarts. I’ve never had toaster strudel and I’m honestly not sure what that is.

What salad dressing do you prefer? Spicy mayo.

Ketchup, mayonnaise, or mustard? MAYONNAISE. I can live without the other two.

What kind of cookie do you like best? I only ever eat chocolate chip.

What kind of snacks do you get at the grocery store? Salted egg chips or Pringles. Not a big fan of snacks either. This survey is making me realize I’m way more into full meals than anything else.

Do you get the meat from the deli? Er, we don’t have delis here. Too fancy a concept lmao. If we have them, they are most likely in those extremely upscale, boujee neighborhoods.

What is your favorite frozen dinner? I mean my dad buys frozen meat, fish, etc, but the frozen dinner sets that I see in American culture, which I’m guessing is what’s being referred to in this question, are not common here.

Do you prefer frozen dinners to actual cooking? I honestly can’t imagine how it’s filling, but then again I’ve never tried it. Personally, food made from scratch is still the best.

What is your favorite kind of pasta? Fettuccine.

Do you eat meat? And if not, do you eat vegetarian meat? Yes, I eat meat. I get vegan options if they’re accessible and affordable, but those choices are hard to come by here.

What is your favorite fruit? Avocado is really the only one I’ll give a pass to. Everything else tastes horrible.

What about vegetable? Broccoli, bell peppers, green beans.

Department Five: Health And Beauty

What kind of makeup do you normally use? None. If I absolutely have to put on makeup, I will begrudgingly put on foundation, maybe some eyeliner, and lip gloss. And they will all most likely be borrowed from my sister.

Do you wear more makeup on special events? Not necessarily.

What is your favorite makeup brand? I wouldn’t be the right person to ask because I would just say none of them.

Do you use any acne products? Mmm no, I just splash water on my face, really. I actually got into a conversation about skincare with my co-workers yesterday and besides the usual shocked experessions I get when people find out I don’t use products, they recommended I at least get moisturizer and sunscreen. Idk, let’s see but historically it’s been hard to convince me to invest in skincare haha.

What kind of perfume do you use? I have one of Beyoncé’s perfumes, Heat Rush. I don’t actually know if that’s still in production but it’s been my staple for like a decade or so now.

Have you ever been on a diet? No. I never really had to be on one.

What products do you use in your hair? Shampoo and conditioner.

How often do you brush your hair? Only when I have to leave the house or have an important virtual work meeting.

What do you take when you have an upset stomach? Nothing. The toilet usually solves that for me lol.

Do you take any prescription medicine? Nope.

Department Six: Movies, Music, And Books

What is your favorite movie of all time? It’s been Two for the Road for a solid nine years and it doesn’t look like anything’s on its way to dethroning it anytime soon.

What genre of movie do like best? Drama. The more realistic it is, the better.

What was the last movie you watched? It’s a Korean film called Be With You. I liked it and I cried waterfalls, but the ending was so rushed it was kind of disappointing.

What was the last movie you purchased? I don’t buy movies. If I wanted to see a film I’ll check if Netflix has it, then if they don’t I just try to scour one of those illegal movie streaming sites that always happen to have thousands of pornographic ads hahaha.

What is your all time favorite band? Paramore. Do you still buy CDs? Only from artists I’m an extremely huge fan of. Right now that would be BTS, so I’m catching up on all the albums they’ve released in the last eight years.

What was the last CD you bought? I got the Butter album set, if that counts. If it doesn’t, the last full-length album I purchased was Dark & Wild.

What was the last song you listened to? I think it was Permission To Dance.

What is your favorite book? I haven’t found it yet.

Do you even like reading? I used to love it a lot more, to the point that back in grade school I was known as always having a book in my hand. I just don’t know where that passion went.

How often do you read? Nearly never. I mean...I do read fanfics, I guess; but I won’t count those.

Department Seven: Sports And Fitness

Do you own a bike/scooter/skateboard/etc.? We do have a bike at home, but that doesn’t mean I know how to ride it. We don’t have the other two.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike w/o training wheels? I still don’t know how to last on a bike without training wheels heheh.

Have you ever been camping? Nah.

How often do you work out? Nope but at work my boss just started another fitness challenge, so I’ll probably have to get back on working out soon just because I would want to accomplish the challenge.

Are you in good shape? Sure, I think so. I’m not like fit fit because I neveeer exercise haha, but I also don’t make it a point to constantly eat unhealthy foods or have an unhealthy lifestyle to the point that it affects my body.

Do you go to a gym? I do not. I thought of getting a membership at the start of the year but I’m glad I didn’t push through with it because all the gyms are still closed anyway.

Have you ever been fishing? No. Idk if it’s my kind of pastime or not.

Have you ever been on a boat? Yeah. My country has like 7000 islands so I was bound to get on a boat at some point in my life haha.

Can you play golf? Never seemed interesting to me so no. Even on Wii Sports I barely picked golf.

Ever rode on a golf cart? Yeah, in resorts where we had to ride them to be taken to our room.

Would you ever go hunting? That’s an easy no.

What is your favorite sport? Pro wrestling or table tennis.

Ever played on a sports team? No, my school didn’t have a table tennis varsity.

Department Eight: Toys

What was your favorite toy as a child? Cash registers because I liked the buttons. Also Play-Doh sets that had those contraptions that would squirt out the clay in various shapes.

Do you still play with toys? Well, no.

Do you collect any toys? I don’t, but I’m not opposed to start buying Funko Pop figurines of people or characters I’m interested in.

Did you ever have building blocks? Sure, but I was never creative enough for them.

Did you play with dolls? No.

Barbies or Bratz? Which were better? BRATZZZZZZ

What is your favorite board game? Scrabble.

Do you like to do arts and crafts? Hell no.

Do you think that kids now have it better than when you were young? For sure, but isn’t that kind of the goal?

#survey #surveys

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

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Omg I've been binge reading all your Klaus fics and can I just say you are an AMAZING writer and I'd straight up buy your novel in a heartbeat if you write one. The way you use words and make me feel things, I can't even! ❤️ I saw your requests are open so I wanna request a Klaus fic where the reader takes care of him after he comes home all messed up.. like runs him a bath, gives him a haircut, cooks him food and puts him to bed...You can make it NSFW too in the end, I surely won't complain ;)

A/N: Listen, I think like 25-50% of why I love Klaus is the mere concept of caring for him when he needs it, so this was an excellent prompt. Thank you so much! (I hope you enjoy it even though it didn’t end up getting NSFW) Word Count: 2197 Content Warning: T - withdrawal, references to drug use

You weren’t really paying attention to the familiar hallway of your apartment building, too busy juggling groceries in the struggle to find the right key. You had lived in this building for three and a half years now, it wasn’t like you needed to look where you were going, instinct guiding up the stairs and along to your own front door. Which is why when a figure lurched out of the shadows, stumbling toward you, you were completely unprepared. You screamed, dropping both your keyring and the bags of groceries on your arms as you threw your hands up in defense. The back of your mind registered the sound of something cracking, probably your eggs as they hit the tile floor. The rest of you was focused on the hundred and twenty or so pounds of human body crashing into you. You felt the fuzz of ragged fur and well-worn leather beneath your fingers as you tried to steady the both of you.

Finally you registered the sweaty, washed-out face.

“Klaus?” you asked, recognizing your neighbor.

He had only moved into your building a few months ago, but you two had quickly become friends, chatting – okay maybe you, at least, were flirting but it’s not like it was going to go anywhere, not really – in the mailroom or when you passed each other coming and going. A few times, you had invited him over for dinner or he had talked you into spending more hours than any human reasonably should watching movies, stretched out together on his couch. But you had never seen him like this.

“Oh hey, Y/N,” he trilled, trying to act normally even as he swayed again and you reached out to brace him. “Don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m…not doing so hot and I didn’t know where else to go.”

You frowned in concern and ushered him inside, only belatedly remembering your groceries and going back for them after you had guided him to a seat in your living room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you began to put things away and waited for him to settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you just got dragged through hell and then spat back out the other side.”

He chuckled, more of a defeated escape of air than an actual laugh. “I feel like it too.”

You frowned at the eggs, completely ruined. The carton of orange juice was dented and wouldn’t sit right on the shelf but it was whole. Tomatoes: bruised, blueberries: free range in the grocery bag. Klaus didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, not that he had really said anything yet, anything of substance.

“You said you didn’t know where else to go?” you prompted, trying a different angle.

“I haven’t had anything in days,” he explained vaguely before doubling over to press his head between his knees. “Christ I feel like shit,” he groaned.

Something about the way he said it registered in your mind enough for you to figure out what was going on.

“Withdrawal?” you asked simply, moving to sit on the couch, turning your body into the arm of it so you could face him.

He nodded, looking up at you with red-rimmed eyes.

“So why come to me? I don’t…I mean I can’t help you get a fix.”

“I know. I didn’t think you could. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Okay. Do you need anything? Is there any way I can help?”

He shrugged, shivering despite the sheen of sweat on his brow. His tongue darted out to lick his chapped lips and you tried to resist the urge to trace its path with your eyes. He looked like he just might curl up in your chair and go to sleep, and if that was what he really wanted, you would let him. However, he was sick, and he had come to you, and if he couldn’t tell you what he needed, you would just have to try everything until something helped.

A moment later, you had put the kettle on for some tea and were handing him a drink of cool water.

“Here, drink this,” you said, pressing the thick green glass into his hand. “I’ll make you some tea, mint to help with any nausea, but that’s going to take a bit to be ready. Are you hungry? I was planning a bolognese but I can do something lighter instead. Maybe some soup?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that, Y/N…”

“When is the last time you ate?”

He frowned, blinking heavily and turning his head to stare into the space beside him as if your end table held the answer to your question. “I can’t remember.” He paused. “No, we had waffles…was it really that long ago?”

“Right,” you said, a little concerned that he almost seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. “That settles it, I’m making dinner.”

Decision made, you stood once more and began bustling about your kitchen. He grimaced as you chopped the vegetables and herbs for the stock and you winced, apologizing quickly and trying your best to chop quietly.

“So why are you…I mean why haven’t you…used…in a few days? I’m not an expert but isn’t cold turkey super not the recommended method to break an addiction?”

“Hm?” he asked, startling as if you had woken him from dozing. “What was that?” He turned around in the chair to blink at you over the counter.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep, you can go back to it if you want…”

“No, no, it’s fine. But I didn’t hear your question.”

“Oh, well I was just wondering why the cold turkey? Especially since it doesn’t exactly seem planned?”

“Dealer got picked up,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Most of the others around are too scared of the cops to take a new client.”

You nodded, surprised at how casual he was being about the whole thing.

“It’ll blow over in a few more days, and everything will be fine. I hope.” His voice dropped on the last remark and you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it, so you decided not to comment.

Instead, you watched with a frown as he stifled another yawn.

“You know, the soup’s going to take a while, if you want to try and get some sleep while you wait?” you offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Sleep is when they find me easiest. God so many grabbing hands. And the screaming. Always screaming.” He shivered, not from cold or the lack of chemicals or for the drama, but in obvious, genuine fright.

“Oh.” You frowned and bit your lip. “Is there anything I can…do?” you felt yourself flush with embarrassment as soon as the words left your lips, certain that they would sound far less innocent and well-meaning that you had intended them.

“Well,” he drawled, trailing off in thought. “Sometimes they’ll stay at bay for a bit if I’m not alone?”

“Okay. Well, there’s not really a lot of room for both of us on the couch, so we could take a nap in my…bed…but, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re kind of gross…so would you mind maybe showering first?”

He laughed, high and light and it made you smile, sounding a bit more like his usual self. “No offense taken. Ooh, do you have a tub? I would love a bath…”

You raised your eyebrow curiously but nodded.

His hands clapped together giddily.

You padded to your room to dig out a spare towel and were about to give it to him when another thought occurred: he had nothing to put on after except the clothes he was currently sweating through and hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long. Rooting through your drawers you eventually found a pair of fluffy pink and blue striped pajama pants and an old t-shirt from the Led Zeppelin concert you had gone to in high school which looked like they might fit him.

“Y/N, you are an absolute angel,” he said dramatically as you handed him the stack.

“Can you handle it on your own or…?” you trailed off, feeling awkward about your unspoken offer to help him bathe, but only a few moments before he had been practically falling asleep into his glass, and he had been unsteady on his feet in the hall.

“Oh I’ll be fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before he suddenly turned his puppy-dog green eyes on you. “Unless you wanted to. It really helps me relax to have someone wash my hair for me…”

You felt the hot blush creep across your face and down your neck again as you bit your lip.

“O…okay…” you stammered nervously.

“Perfect, now I’ll just go in there and slip under the suds and I’ll shout for you when I’m decent.”

“There’s nothing decent about you,” you muttered under your breath. “And I think you might be trying to give me a heart attack.”

He winked at you as he passed you and you knew he had heard you.

A few moments later, you had set the soup to simmer low on the stove and were kneeling on the uncomfortable tile of your bathroom floor behind Klaus. Your fingers were buried in his sopping hair, gently lathering the practically candy-scented shampoo into it. His eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back, exposing the column of his throat to you tantalizingly, and the sounds he made, practically purring at your touch, had you thinking all sorts of untoward thoughts. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were just trying to help him and that it probably meant nothing to him in his muddled state.

Finally, after maybe a little longer playing with scrubbing his hair than necessary, you scooped up some of the water to rinse away the soap. As you did, your fingertips brushed along his exposed neck and shoulders and he moaned.

“Do that again. Please,” he begged.

Heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it behind him, you did as he asked, dancing your fingertips along the planes and angles of his skin before digging them in just a little, gently, massaging him.

“Christ, Y/N, that feels so good,” he sighed.

‘The water’s getting cold,” you pointed out, a little breathless from the way he said your name. “And you’re going to turn into a prune if you spend any more time in there. You should probably get out.”

He turned his head, craning to look at you. “Would you like to stay and watch?”

Caught off-guard, you stared at him, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing. Then you stood, racing from the room, his lilting laughter following you. You practically threw yourself onto your mattress, hoping that the few minutes it would take for him to get out of the tub and dress would be enough for you to calm your frantic pulse before you actually exploded.

You also realized that you were in a now-damp pair of jeans and a button-down and that wouldn’t be very comfortable if you fell asleep in it, so you quickly changed into a baggy shirt and shorts, settling them on your hips just as the door creaked in and Klaus entered, bare-chested but fitting into your pants better than you ever had.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Y/N?” he asked, sitting beside you, still tousling his curls with the towel.

“Because you’re my friend and you asked me for help,” you said as if it were obvious.

“You could have turned me away and told me not to bother you with. Other people have.”

“No I couldn’t have,” you smiled softly. “I care about you too much to do that.”

Suddenly his lips were on yours, surging forward hot and hungry and desperate. You moaned as his tongue parted your lips somewhat forcefully and he pressed you backward onto the bed. You fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on it and causing him to inhale sharply. One of his hands, still chilled and shaking slightly, found its way beneath your waistband, sliding easily past the slightly worn elastic. You hissed as he moved your underwear out of the way and made contact with your skin.

“Klaus…wait…” you gasped out, pushing at his shoulders to move him away from you.

He pulled back immediately, looking at you with a mix of concern and fear.

“What is it? Did I…?” he murmured, apology already dancing on his tongue.

You reached up to cup his face between your hands, caressing softly and trying to brush the worried wrinkles from his brow.

“No, Klaus, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered. “I just…I think we should take it slow tonight, okay?”

He nodded carefully, clearly unused to this kind of tenderness, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek before pulling him down beside you, curling around him and running your fingers soothingly through his shaggy hair. He sighed contentedly, snuggling closer and burying his face in your neck.

#fic request #the word document for this is title 'The Care and Feeding of Your Klaus'#like it's a pamphlet from the pet store #take that as you will #I forgot about the soup until the very end #and honestly that stresses me out almost as much as if I had forgotten actual soup on the actual stove #Klaus Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #percentages created by plucking random numbers out of thin air and are therefore wildly inaccurate

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Fic request: Miss Twisted trying desperately to woo Alice Angel and ends up both embarrassing herself and making herself seem endearing.

Summary: Romance is a lot harder than her radio dramas make it out to be, but Miss Twisted won't be deterred from wooing the girl of her dreams. Lucky for her, she has some outside intervention.

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[[MORE]]

It was a little like how one of her dramas began. Though, hard as nails, femme fatale goes into a seedy bar with her buds to scope out the local birds. The three are losing the flirting battle because none of the dames think they're classy enough to get with them for a one night hookup, and then as if by miraculous coincidence an angel steps out into the stage. Literally.

Miss Twisted liked the concept behind a romantic relationship. It drove her absolutely giddy with delight when she kicked back to listen to her afternoon radio soaps. She was just never lucky enough to find the sort of gal that'd fly with her.

Sure, hooking up for some hanky panky filled night was fun and all, but it lacked the emotional depth of a romantic partner to get all sweet with and do all of those cute couple things she saw the folks of Bouillonburg doing to woo their significant others.

Brute and Cameraman were good company sure, but unless they started going around in drag she doubted she'd find either attractive. Also they were more like her brothers so, ew, no... And honestly the idea of Cam in a dress was gag worthy. Brute might make it work, he had the badonkadonks to fill the front of a dress very nicely.

Shaking her head, Missy winced.

"Shoulda started with a few virgins rather than straight up vodka..." She contemplated as she pushed away her last glass.

"Lightweight." Cam teased as he chugged straight out of a whiskey bottle... Somehow. She had no idea how he could drink without a mouth and watching him did little to provide an answer. "Bar's full of snobby wenches tonight. Not even a lady of my caliber in sight..."

"They host ugly nights on Thursdays." She stuck her tongue out at him and yelped when he pulled her stool back, nearly causing her to fall.

"It is Thursday. And just because you 'fleshies' don't think us object toons are pleasing to the eye, doesn't mean we're not beautiful." He seemed cross. "Don't need my own friends being a bunch of obnoxious racists..."

"You know I don't really mean it, you square." She signalled the barman for another round. "You're cute honestly, just not my type."

"Cute? I'm very handsome thank you very much! Back in my home town everyone thought I was quite the catch!" He huffed proudly before looking around. "Not much of your type around either... The ladies here only have eyes for the men."

"And the men only have eyes for the ladies. Poor Bubu, been a while since he's had some fun..." She glanced at the large burly wolf who was collecting olives from the martini glasses he'd been drinking. He looked resigned to a night of zero bedroom fun.

"Hasn't it been for all of us?" He downed the rest of his bottle and covered his faceplate as he belched. "Pardon me."

"You burp like a little girl." The demoness teased again as she picked up her new glass and turned to face the stage. The previous act had finally come to an end, and she was curious to see who else had signed up to entertain the local drunkards.

That's when she came into the stage... The most dazzling vision Miss Twisted did ever lay eyes upon. A beautiful curvy hourglass figure accentuated by a tight black dress, a round heart shaped face that fit plump lips and large doe-like soulfull eyes, ebony locks that framed her face nicely, a pair of stubby curved horns upon her head, and a brilliant halo that cast her in an ethereal glow...

Miss Twisted felt cupid's arrow pierce her heart as this wonderfully beau walked towards the microphone, an angel among sinners.

"Wow mama..." Color flooded her already flushed cheeks as the act began. Eyes glued on sensually swaying hips and kissable lips moving to form syllables... Oh and that voice! That splendurous voice! Like a siren's song to her ears.

Cameraman squinted as he turned to look.

"That little lady looks familiar..." He hummed.

"She's gorgeous..." Missy giggled as she practically drooled watching the angel on the stage. Cameraman looked at his friend and sighed, before turning to look at Brute who was also watching the little demoness with an inquisitive look. The object-headed toon shook his head and simply ordered another bottle. It took a lot to get him drunk, and alcohol was honestly such weak stuff... He sure wished more establishments in Bouillonburg served his kind of drinks.

The wolf shrugged his shoulders and asked for his own refill. Best not get in the way of his female friend's thirsting.

The angel was quite the gal indeed. And, it turns out, a close friend of Missy's old pal! Why, the naughty little Imp was even at the bar to watch his lady friend do her magic on this deplorable crowd of drunkards and bastards. That, the demoness found out when a pained yelp came from her right.

She glanced down and grinned.

"Trying to pickpocket Cameraman doesn't work too good, that belt of his is booby trapped~" she giggled menacingly as she stared down at none other than Bendy. Papa Pluto's most favourite little troublemaker.

"Oh, hey Misty. Didn't see ya there..." The little imp shook off the shock he'd just received, glancing up at the glare of the object-headed toon's lens. "This uh... This your friend?"

"Yep."

"Ah... He can keep his wallet then. Any more buds o' yours around?" He grinned sheepishly.

They both pointed at Brute who was definitely listening in, as he suddenly noticed the absence of weight on his back pocket.

The burly wolf growled at the imp, smirking when he quickly tossed him his wallet back.

"Sheesh... What a bruiser." Bendy turned to look back at Miss Twisted. "So what brings ya to these parts of our lovely little city?"

"Lust." Missy replied. "Gotta scratch that itch sometimes... Been pretty unlucky on that front tho."

"Yeah, the birds here ain't bein' easy... Poor Alice there is as cute as a button, and so far no one went and tried to woo her other than a bunch of slobberin' wolves... Err, not actual wolves mind ya. Just wolf-whistlers." He corrected himself, glancing at Brute very briefly.

"A friend of yours?" Missy asked.

"Yep! The dame on the stage, movin' her butt like there's no tomorrow. Got pipes made o' gold that one." He pointed to the angel, which made Missy gawk.

"You're friends with that gal?!" She stared at the object of her affections, then at the tiny round imp like she couldn't believe his words.

"Yeah we are pretty tight." He grinned wider. "Been tryin' to teach her to loosen up, Boris and I. That's my other bud... He's somewhere around here."

Cameraman and Brute both lost interest in the conversation and went back to drinking. They seemed to be ready to call it quits soon since they weren't going to get any action tonight.

"Bringing an angel to a dump like this sure seems like the way to loosen up..." The demoness remarked sarcastically.

"Hey she's havin' fun, ain't she?" Bendy defended as he motioned to Alice who did seem like she was enjoying herself. "And not many other bars in this town have birds on birds and brutes on brutes... Best place for her to meet a gal that'll want to have some fun with her."

"Oooh..." The demoness's arms coiled tightly with merriment as she took in those words. Available and her type? Lucky lucky day! "I'm down to mingle with your gal pal, if you know what I mean... She seems like more than a one night splendor."

"Hey hey hey!" Bendy hopped onto the stool to the left of her. "My gal Alice ain't some piece o' eye candy you get to slobber on and discard. She's like, a super fine wine. Good with age, refined, quality."

".... Bendz, I just said I wanted more than just some fun. I'm looking for a partner, not just a patty cake one night stand."

"Oh... Hm, still how do I know ya won't corrupt my pal? That's my job!" The imp crossed his arms, brow creased slightly.

"Because she's perfect! Duh?" She rolled her eyes. "I want a girl that I can sweep off her feet and whisper sweet nothings into her ear."

"Uh-huh... And?" Bendy was all ears it seemed, so she was definitely going to sell it. Brute and Cameraman glanced back with renewed interest. This ought to be good entertainment.

"If I dated her, I can guarantee your gal Alice would wake up knowing I'd be there to make her happy. To shower her in love, affection, and fantastic gifts. The next more grand than the very last one..." She carried on. "I'd take her to see the world, sail the seven seas on a cruise ship, traverse the skies in a hot hair balloon, ride across the country side on horseback, and scale the tallest mountains so she could see the stars and awe inspiring views..."

Bendy snickered slightly and Cameraman began to tap her on the shoulder. She swatted his hand away.

"Tell me more of how you'd go about wooing Alice." Bendy smirked.

"After all the grand adventures, I'd go back to do the small things. Wake up besides her, watching her rest before I roused her with more sweet nothings. I'd bring her breakfast in bed, lovingly prepared to her tastes. I'd massage her ankles after they ached from dancing to her heart's delight. I'd make her feel like the most special girl in the whole entire world if just so I could drink in her smile, hear her sweet voice call my name..."

"Aww, Bendy you didn't tell me your friend was so sweet..."

Miss Twisted clamped her mouth shut as she turned to stare at the reason Cameraman was trying to get her attention. The reason why Bendy looked so amused by her gushing... Why that little no good devil...

"I ah..." Face flushed more from embarrassment than the alcohol she'd drank, Missy did not know how to salvage this mess she'd just made, proclaiming an imagined future of romance with the angel that was standing there, smiling at her besides an awfully familiar looking gangly wolf.

"So... Any plans for when you get married?" Cameraman asked. "Need a wedding photographer?"

"Cam, so help me Pluto I will end you..." She hissed, hiding her face in her hands.

"Cameraman try to warn Missy that pretty angel coming over." Brute pointed out, laughing heartily at her misfortune.

"Eheheh! Well Alice, am I or am I not the greatest wingman in history?" Bendy grinned mischievously at his two pals.

"You uh... You didn't need to embarrass this poor lady, Bendy..." The wolf winced in sympathy, despite seeming nervous when looking at the trio. He especially avoided the object-headed toon's scrutiny, messing with the straps of his overalls when the other began to murmur about familiar looking faces.

"Still... All those things you said miss..." Alice smiled "They were very nice. I haven't really found that many other ladies who wanted to actually date. People these days are all about quick thrilling hookups rather than old school romance."

"Yeah, it's a real shame ain't it?" Missy gulped down her shame, smiling back at the beautiful angel. "I mean, just look at you! You deserve all that I said, and more! Who would just discard you like chewed up gum? A madwoman that's who!"

"Such a charmer... I like it." Alice giggled. "I think... I think I'd like to get to know you. I'm Alice. Alice Angel."

"Miss Twisted. I'd definitely like to get to know you."

Cameraman sighed.

"How sweet... At least one of us got something out of this dang bar..."

"Brute got many olives." The large wolf pointed out. Everyone stared at the little bag he'd filled with olives. That was... That sure was a lot.

"That you did big fella... That you did."

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy crack up comics #miss twisted #alice angel #cameraman #the brute #bendy the dancing demon #boris the wolf

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