#YOU. (grips him like the onion cat) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asirenscream · 1 month

Text

a shrimptastic picnic | wren & felix

TIMING: current

LOCATION: the common.

PARTIES: @asirenscream & @recoveringdreamer

SUMMARY: wren's bad attempt at potato salad leads her to the lions & lambs picnic and felix is kind enough to taste test, until they're interrupted by a man insisting they learn more about the well respected shrimp. a totally normal picnic, right? right!

CONTENT: mentions of the potential of food poisoning.

The Lions and Lambs picnic seemed pretty daunting to Wren. Well, not just because she had to subtly find out that there weren’t actually going to be any lions or lambs, but because of how many people would be there. Standing in the grass of The Common, Wren tried not to sweat too much. Her fingers were gripping the tupperware container she had put her potato salad in. She hadn’t ever made potato salad before, but someone had mentioned how that was a common picnic food. She had taken hours attempting to boil the cubed, unevenly sized potatoes and mixing them into the mayo mustard mixture. The website on The Google she had found said that anyone could put what they wanted in potato salad! The comments were very helpful so Wren threw onions, celery, raisins, and walnuts in it. Hopefully people liked it.

Shifting on her feet, Wren tried to coax up the nerve to approach the crowd of people in The Common there for the picnic. This would be a good way to step over her anxiety and fear of humans—of people in general. Should she have brought forks or spoons? She didn’t own many of them… Or plates. Or bowls. Should she have brought those, too? Oh, she was definitely spiraling now. Brown eyes squeezed shut as Wren tried to take a steady breath and ignore the racing of her heart. Maybe if she pretended people weren’t there for a minute then it’d be okay. It’d be fine. Right? Right!

Wren slowly opened her eyes and tentatively started walking across the grass, the slightest tremor in her form. She accidentally bumped into someone and squeaked, looking up with wide eyes. “Sorry! I’m—wait. I know you, right?” She got out in a rush. She felt like she remembered him from online. “You have the cat? Um, right? I’m not misremembering.” Cats didn’t tend to be birds' biggest fans. Wren hadn’t met a cat before so she wasn’t sure how they’d in turn take to her. “I’m Wren! I think we talked before, hi!”

—

For years, Felix had felt fairly isolated. First, they’d had their father as their well-meaning warden in that house in the woods. Then, there’d been Leo and his less-than-good intentions in the apartment they’d shared for years, where Felix made themself smaller and smaller by the day in order to allow Leo space to be big. Felix had never really had the chance to branch out and meet new people until after their breakup with Leo and, by that point, they’d been so nervous that it seemed a herculean task just to start a conversation. But they were working on that. They were doing better now. They were reaching out to people, they were making friends.

They were going to picnics.

It had seemed like a good idea, in theory. They’d even managed to talk themself out of the tempting idea of dragging Mona or Natalia along for the ride, reminding themself that they needed to be able to meet people without the security blanket of someone they were already close to being there to help. They could do this on their own. Just Felix, the muffins they’d brought, and… a whole lot of people. Like a lot of people. Were there always this many people at things like this?

Someone bumped into them in the crowd, and Felix stiffened a little. “Sorry,” he said, at the same time that they apologized. Then, blinking down, they realized they recognized the girl. “Oh! Hi! You’re, um, the bird girl. I mean, the girl who likes birds. I mean, person. Bird person. Person who likes birds.” All right, Fe, reel it in. “I’m Felix! Um, what did you…” The trailed off, looking down at the tupperware in her hand and what they could see of the… substance inside. “...make?”

—

Bird girl. Well, they weren’t wrong. It caused Wren to let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. That felt a little too on the nose, even if they didn’t realize it. “Yup! Yeah, bird girl seems… fitting.” Her laugh strained just a tad bit more before she reeled it in. “Big fan of birds! That’s me, yes. Um, anyways!” She rocked onto the balls of her feet as she tried to ignore her own anxious, awkward tendencies. “Hi Felix! I’m happy to see a friendly face.” He really did seem friendly from their brief conversation. It did little to ebb her already overwhelming anxiety, but it was something at least.

Looking down at the container, Wren had to take a moment to remember the name. “Uh, potato salad!” She looked back up and smiled. “The recipe said to just add whatever I wanted! So I did that. I’ve never made potato salad. I didn’t even know what it was! I had to search what picnic foods were, because I don’t think people would like my go to foods.” Raw meat, raw fish may be more accepted, but she didn’t know how well either of those would hold for human consumption.

There was plenty of activity around Wren and Felix. It was overwhelming, so Wren did her best to ignore the push, push, push of it all. “Um, did you bring anything? Or just come for the fun? Would you want some potato salad? I didn’t bring forks! Should I have brought forks? I don’t know how picnics work, I’ve never been to one. What do you think?” She blabbered on. Wren could tell when she was spiraling and it was definitely happening. “Oh god, sorry. When I start I just kind of can’t stop! Ha.” She winced.

—

She seemed nervous, and Felix wondered if they’d said something wrong. They had a habit of that, they knew, of speaking out of turn and generally making a mess of things. They were trying to do better, trying to improve, trying to… be the sort of person that people wanted to talk to, but it was an uphill battle. Spending most of your teen years living off the land in a murder cabin tended to make social interaction a little more difficult. Trying to save the interaction, Felix nodded. “Uh, yeah! Birds are great. I like birds, too.” They didn’t. Not more than the average person, at least. In fact, some birds freaked them out a little. But, hey! They could pretend, in the interest of friendly conversation. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s nice to, uh, know somebody.”

Glancing back down to the container again, Felix tried not to let their… surprise show on their face. That was not potato salad. Felix had seen potato salad. Felix had made potato salad. Felix had even enjoyed potato salad. That was not potato salad. But it was her first time making it, and she’d found a recipe that apparently wasn’t very helpful, and wouldn’t it be unnecessarily mean to point that out? “It looks great!” Felix lied, flashing her a bright smile. “I can’t wait to try it!” They hoped they had remembered to put anti-nausea meds in their jean pockets.

“I brought muffins,” Felix replied quickly, holding up the muffins and offering one to Wren. They liked to think they were some quality muffins, but they might have been a little biased. They glanced back to the ‘potato salad’ Wren was holding with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah. I’d love some potato salad. I think, uh — I think there’s forks where the other food is. So we can go over there and get some forks. And then. Eat this potato salad!” They felt a little like they were tying a noose for their executioner here, but it was fine. “No, hey, it’s okay! I kind of do the same thing. It’s cool. Come on, let’s… go find a fork.”

—

Wren’s smile was shaky at best, but it was getting easier to breathe through the anxiety when she just focused on Felix in front of her instead. They seemed really nice and dealing with one person in comparison to several was always going to be preferable to Wren. Especially when they seemed to be as kind as Felix was. “I don’t do this kind of stuff often,” a pause as Wren tried to figure out how to word it, “go out, I guess. Being around a lot of people kind of freaks me out.” An understatement, but she could lighten it a tiny bit. There was no harm, right?

“Thanks! I tried really hard, so I hope it’s good.” Wren smiled, holding up the container briefly to observe the potato mixture in there that had taken her way too long. Humans were really strange in what they could eat and couldn’t. She didn’t want to make something she’d enjoy, but would make humans sick. That was the quickest way to give away the fact that she was very clearly something else entirely. The constant fear and itch to not be found out was persistent enough.

Baking! That was another thing that Wren was eager to try. “Oh wow, these look amazing! Thank you!” Wren took the muffin excitedly. “Do you bake a lot? Or cook in general? Baking seems really hard, but so fun. Do you have a favorite thing you like to cook or bake?” She practically bounded alongside Felix to go near the other food. Someone was going to eat her food! She was way too excited. “Fork adventure! Hah,” Wren giggled almost nervously and could feel the heat from her embarrassed blush travel all the way up to the tips of her ears.

There was a table full of other dishes and cutlery, plates, anything you could think of. Wren made work of setting down the tupperware container and popping off the lid. It didn’t look awful, at least. Or to her, anyway. It looked like vegetables and sauce? That was normal, for sure. “If you hate it, it’s okay! Don’t worry.” Wren added quickly, resisting the urge to grimace. “Rome wasn’t painted in a day or whatever the saying is. I heard that one on TV.”

—

Given her overall demeanor her words — that this wasn’t a thing she did often — felt unnecessary to really say. It was clear that she was uncomfortable, out of her element. But that was okay. Felix was a little out of theirs, too. So they smiled back at her, they shrugged their shoulders. “I don’t really do this often, either,” they admitted, wondering if they were this obvious. Being around a lot of people was pretty scary, but they’d found it was a lot better when you were around one you trusted. They could be that one for Wren, they thought. Or… try to, anyway.

Even if it meant eating her potato salad. They spared it another look, careful not to let the uncertainty shine through in their expression. They weren’t sure she would have picked up on it, but they didn’t want to take any chances. “I’m sure it’s great. I think, um, the first step to cooking and being good at it is to try your hardest. Right?” Wrong. Very, very wrong. The first step to cooking and being good at it was not making anything like what she had in her hands. Felix’s stomach was not going to be happy with them after this.

But Wren was happy, or seemed to be. That made it feel kind of worth it. She took a muffin, and Felix offered her an encouraging smile. “I love baking. It’s something I do a lot. Um, I do more of it when I’m stressed. I like to think I’m pretty good at it, because of all the practice.” They paused. “Baking, I mean, Not being stressed.” Though they got plenty of practice at that, too. “Yeah! Yeah, let’s go on a fork adventure.”

It didn’t feel like much of an adventure. They walked to the table and grabbed a fork, trying not to sigh as Wren popped open her tupperware. It smelled… interesting. Like a lot of things at once. Felix, unsure where to start, stuck his fork in. “Yeah. That’s — That’s totally how it goes. Um, I think.” They tried to remember that meal at the Raven, the one that looked terrible but tasted fine. They did their best to convince themself that Wren’s potato salad would be the same as they brought the fork to their mouth.

—

Wren swallowed hard around the small lump that formed in her throat. Ever since all but crash landing at Wicked’s Rest she had been endlessly surprised by the kindness people showed her. She hadn’t ever really considered before that this may be the norm for humans and their society. Felix was offering her kindness simply because they wanted to. She couldn’t say it made her any less perpetually terrified of those around her, but at least it was comforting to know that kindness was the go to for a lot of people she had, thankfully, already met.

“Oh, yes! I think so, too. Something about being bad before you can be good at it,” Wren agreed cheerfully. She peeled carefully at the wrapper around the base of the muffin before taking a bite. One of the things that Wren had also come to love was all the various foods humans had to offer. The muffin was sweet and the sugar went right to her head with how ready she felt to bounce all around. “Wow! This is amazing, Felix!” Maybe baking was something people were just good at off the bat. Felix seemed to be at least.

Nodding along, Wren took Felix’s words into consideration. So they weren’t good at it off the bat then. Practice was the key. She’d have to keep that in mind for herself. All wasn’t lost. “I get that, though. I’m always stressed—especially about things I can’t control, which I’ve been told isn’t great for me, but it’s hard not to and all. Do you make cookies or anything? Or cupcakes? Those are baked goods, right?” Okay, reign it in, Wren. That wasn’t a normal thing to ask someone—a fellow human. It took her best efforts sometimes to not look like a fish out of water.

Wren clapped her hands together and smiled expectantly. She hoped that they didn’t feel too pressured right now, but this was a big step for her. Cooking and trying to offer it to people without having an anxiety filled meltdown. She thought she was doing pretty well so far. “So? Thoughts? Concerns? Comments? Questions?” She asked, trying to do her best to not look over eager, but failing.

—

She was right about that, at least; the first step to being really good at something was being really bad at it. Felix’s mother had been particularly fond of that saying, smiling each time one of her children came to her to admit to some mistake. That’s how you learn, she’d tell them. So… maybe Wren’s potato salad was effectively poison. Maybe Felix would regret eating it. But this was how she was going to learn, wasn’t it? Their mother had helped them with that, so maybe it was their duty to pay it forward and help Wren.

They smiled as she took a bite of the muffin, pleased that she seemed to enjoy it. “I’ll give you the recipe, if you want. Um, baking is — It’s about being precise, but knowing when to improvise. My mom used to say it was like jazz music. There’s notes, but some of it is you making it up as you go.”

It was easy to see themself in Wren. In her stress, her anxiety. Felix had a pretty good idea how she was feeling right now, and they wanted to help. If that meant eating bad potato salad, they’d eat it. “Yeah,” they confirmed with a nod. “I make cookies a lot. Cupcakes sometimes, too, but I’d rather just make a normal cake. I don’t know why, but I like normal cakes better than cupcakes. Those are baked goods, yeah.” Man, Wren wasn’t kidding when she said she was new to cooking. Maybe she was a sheltered kid, someone who’d just moved to town for college or something. She was about the right age, and Felix had heard that some college kids didn’t even know how to do laundry when they first got to their dorms.

The potato salad sat on their tongue, and it was… wrong. All of it was wrong. The texture, the taste. It was hard not to make a face as it settled, and when Felix swallowed, it was… a little too hard of a gulp to pass for neutrality. They opened their mouth, now blessedly free of “potato salad” and tried to think of something to say.

Luckily, they were rescued by an approaching person. The man wore a red shirt and red shirts, with a red had sporting claws on either side. He came to stand beside Wren, the smile on his face a little too wide. “Shrimptastic day we’re having!” He greeted, and Felix, eyes wide, nodded.

“Um. Yeah?”

“Have you seen our booth? We’re just over there. We have pamphlets. Would you like a pamphlet?”

—

Jazz music. Wren wasn’t quite sure what that was, but she could figure it out. The website Google had been her best friend since stumbling right into the thick of human culture. “Sure! That would be really nice.” She nodded, “improvise… kind of like how I did in the potato salad!” She supplied, looking proud of herself. The website did say that you could throw whatever you wanted into it and it’d more than likely work.

“A normal cake! Like the big ones with a bunch of layers? I saw that on a TV show.” Wren gasped, trying to refrain from getting more muffin crumbs all over her sweater. She wasn’t entirely successful, but that was fine. “Do you have a favorite flavor or anything? I’ve heard that you can’t go wrong with chocolate. I like chocolate loads.” She informed them. Taking another bite of her muffin had her head bobbing along happily as if there was music she was dancing to.

Mouth full of muffin, Wren didn’t get to hear what Felix thought of her potato salad when someone came up beside her. She did her best not to choke on the baked goods in her startled state. Thankfully with that came not shrieking out loud like the impulse had been. Wren quickly chewed and swallowed, wiping at the crumbs on her face. ‘Shrimptastic day’... what did that mean? Shrimp were delicious, she’d allow that.

“Um, yes?” Wren wasn’t sure if that was the right answer. “What is your booth about? Shrimp?” Someone did say that they had been given a bunch of shrimp they didn’t want. Her brown eyes flickered over to Felix to see if they had any earthly idea what could be going on with this shrimp enthusiastic person. “I didn’t realize so many people here liked shrimp that much.”

—

Felix didn’t want to encourage more potato salads like this one. They really didn’t. But saying, no, nothing like what you did with the potato salad, do the opposite of whatever you did with the potato salad would probably hurt Wren’s feelings, and that wasn’t at all what Felix wanted. So they grit their teeth together in a forced grin and nodded their head. “Yeah! Like that!” Surely not every attempt would be as bad as this one, right?

“Yeah, like that. I like chocolate a lot, but I have to be careful how I make it. I’m lactose intolerant — uh, which means I don’t process cow’s milk well — so I have to, you know, use other ingredients instead. But you can make it work! And if you don’t have allergies to worry about, they make a lot of boxed good cake mixes. Pretty much all you have to do is add the wet ingredients!” Maybe that should be Wren’s first stepping stone if she wanted to be a baker. It was hard to mess up a boxed cake mix, wasn’t it?

It was strange, feeling grateful for a stranger approaching to talk about shrimp. After their experience at the theatre with Mona, Felix had little desire to talk about shrimp at all. But talking about shrimp would give them time to think of something nice to say about Wren’s potato salad, wouldn’t it? It was… was sticky a compliment? No, right? She probably hadn’t been going for sticky.

The man smiled at Wren, something strange behind his eyes. “Isn’t everything about shrimp? If it isn’t, it should be.” His eyes flickered down to the potato salad. “I spotted you from across the way. Your food looks very good. I think we might have similar ideologies.” He reached out, putting a hand on Wren’s arm in a way that was strange; like he wasn’t quite used to having hands. Felix blinked.

“Um, actually —”

The man continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “Of course people like shrimp. Who would deny shrimp? You wouldn’t, would you? Would you deny shrimp the respect they deserve? The fear? The awe? Be honest.”

—

“My friend Van is like that! She offered me medicine once when I cried at her work then got raw meat.” Wren informed Felix. You’re supposed to share stories with friends or people who would become friends, right? She was totally nailing this. Boxed mix sounded a lot easier than trying to bake from scratch. Maybe she’d have to give that a try. She could make something for her friends and hopefully they’d like it! “Oh, that sounds like a nice idea, thank you! I’ll give that a try. I can follow instructions, for the most part. Sometimes I like to do whatever I want since that’s more fun, but I’ll do my best to try to follow it all without too much change.” Jazz, jazz music. Had to follow it to make it work best, but with some changes is what Felix said.

The man had a certain look in his eye that was making the hair on the back of Wren’s neck stand up. She didn’t have a good gut feeling, but when did she ever? This could just be her anxiety talking, knowing her. Poppy always poked at her mercilessly for her fear over the smallest things that she wouldn’t be able to sense real danger if it smacked her in the face. Was this one of those situations? She wasn’t equipped to be able to handle this, she was sure.

“Oh, ha! Um, thanks!” Wren laughed nervously, the brief grimace on her face quickly being hidden by an equally as uncomfortable looking smile. “I didn’t think everything should be about shrimp, to be honest. Isn’t there other things to enjoy like… I don’t know? Nature? Um, stuff that isn’t shrimp? Right, Felix?” She quickly looked at them with a wild look in her eyes. She didn’t want to do this alone.

Shaking the man’s hand off as casually as Wren could manage, she looked at a loss for words. “Aren’t shrimp usually just eaten instead? Is that what your pamphlet is about? A shrimp eating contest sounds like fun!”

—

“Oh, hey, I know Van!” And… they also knew that humans weren’t supposed to eat raw meat. Felix could handle it — the jaguar was built for digesting raw meat, and they did share a body — but it made human sick. Maybe Van didn’t know that, or Wren didn’t, or both; either way, Felix felt it was their responsibility, as an adult in the equation, to say something. “You cooked the meat, though, didn’t you? You really need to cook meat before you eat it. I mean, um, there are some kinds you can eat raw, I think — like sushi and stuff — but for the most part, you’re really supposed to cook it.”

At least she seemed willing to accept boxed cake mix. Felix thought it would be a big step for Wren, the kind of thing that could really push her in the right direction. Boxed cake mix would be so much better than this potato salad, because anything would be better than this potato salad. Not that Felix was going to say that. They were not breaking kids’ spirits. “They usually put the instructions on the box with the cake mix. But, um, you know, you can still add stuff to it! Like… chocolate chips.” And not onions, they wanted to add. Definitely not onions.

They wondered what had drawn this shrimp-loving man their way. Surely he didn’t really want Wren’s potato salad, did he? He kept looking at it, something like hunger in his eyes. Felix moved to grab him a fork when Wren spoke, drawing their attention away. “Um, yeah. Shrimp is cool, but it’s not everything. Haha.”

It was like a flip had been switched. The more Wren spoke about shrimp, the less friendly the man seemed. His hand dropped from her shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “Eaten? You would eat them? Shrimp are to be adored! Worshiped! Eaten, perhaps, but only after a natural death. Only to keep them close, to make them a part of you.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving a pamphlet which he shoved into Wren’s face. “You will educate yourself. You must.”

“Hey,” Felix took an uncertain step forward. “Look, you’re being a little —”

The man turned to them, reaching out and shoving them. It wasn’t a particularly hard shove, but it caught them off guard enough to send them stumbling backwards and make them drop the tray of muffins they were holding. “You cannot possibly understand,” the man mumbled, seeming to grow more and more frantic. “You could never. But you!” He turned back to Wren, gesturing again to the potato salad. “You must! Come with me. Come with us.” As he said it, he reached into his pocket again, this time producing… a shrimp.

—

“Oh, wow! She’s great, huh?” Wren smiled happily. Oh. Right. Humans didn’t eat raw meat. Sometimes she forgot how far away from human she was the longer she was in her human form. Though, then stuff like this would happen and she’d be very much reminded how human she wasn’t. “Um, sure! Yes. I definitely cooked the sausage. Don’t worry. I am very much a food safety expert. I watched two videos on the site YouTube about it. Especially since I didn’t want anyone getting sick from my potato salad!” She looked it up after realizing that human stomachs couldn’t handle what a siren’s stomach could.

Wren really wished that they were still talking about boxed cake mix instead of shrimp. Which, that was something she never thought she’d think. She loved eating shrimp. This whole shrimp loving man seemed to take it to another level than her casual enjoyment. Casual enjoyment of shrimp was also another thing that Wren didn’t think she would ever think to herself before. The longer Wren is in Wicked’s Rest, the more she is convinced it’s an odd place to live. It worked out, though, she was pretty sure she also was considered odd to most people.

Blinking owlishly, Wren merely stared at the man with wide eyes. This… was so bizarre. She flinched back with the pamphlet being shoved in her face. At least this wasn’t as distressing as Regan taking her to see a dead bird. Wren had almost transformed in front of the woman with how upset she was, so she would take the building anxiety over that any day. Especially when it was with some man insisting that she educate herself on the worship of shrimp.

“Hey!” Wren said sharply the moment that he shoved Felix. “That was mean! Don’t touch my friend!” She shook her head rapidly as he seemed to get more frantic and set his sights on her instead. Snatching the shrimp out of the man’s hand, Wren bit off the shrimp leaving only the tail. She chewed thoroughly and shook the tail around, “that’s what I think of your shrimp! Go away! You touch my friend again and I’ll claw a chunk of you and your shrimp! Again!” Wren scowled at the man, shoving his shoulder hard to get him away from the pair. “Get out of here, weirdo!”

—

“Yeah! Van is great. And, um, so is cooking sausage. Before you eat it. Which you should do!” Did watching two YouTube videos make you an expert on something? It was hard to judge without knowing the length of the videos, Felix supposed. They’d seen videos on YouTube that were up to eight hours long, though they’d never ventured to watch any of them. There was every possibility that Wren was an expert on food safety, even if the content of her potato salad made them doubt that she was an expert at food anything.

In any case, she was probably better with food than… this guy. This guy who was so angry at the prospect of them eating shrimp, a popular food item! Felix didn’t mind the shove, really — they’d suffered far, far worse, after all — but it was nice that Wren was so upset about it. They offered her a small, grateful smile. “I’m okay, Wren,” they assured her, glancing down at the muffins. At least they’d managed to let one person eat one before they were ruined. And Wren had said they were good!

They glanced back up, away from the muffins and back to the situation at hand. The situation which saw Wren… eating the man’s pocket shrimp. That couldn’t be healthy, could it? It had been in his pocket! Shrimp needed to be stored at certain temperatures, probably! Felix took an uncertain step forward, faltering when the shrimp man’s wail cut through the air.

“You would dare? What makes you think you’re worthy? What makes you think you’ve earned this?” He pointed a finger in Wren’s face, wagging it around. His own face was red with fury, growing impossibly redder as he was shoved away. He looked from Wren to Felix and back again, eyes narrowing. “We won’t forget this,” he said lowly. “You’ve made our list now. You!” He pointed to Wren. “Are an enemy of the shrimp.”

And with that, he turned on his heel, stomping away and tossing the pamphlet behind him.

Felix knelt, picking it up and flipping through it. “Um, that was… weird,” they admitted, shoving the pamphlet into their pocket. They’d find a garbage can to dump it in later. “It was nice of you to stand up for me, though. I really appreciate that. Are you okay?”

—

Felix insisted they were okay, but Wren felt so angry. How dare this man think he could just shove people around because they don’t like shrimp? All Felix’s hard work was on the grass. It made Wren’s heart hurt and that only increased her anger. She let out a shaky breath and managed a small smile in Felix’s direction. “I’m glad you’re okay, Felix. That wasn’t okay what he did! I’m very sorry for your muffins. That’s so mean of him. Mean people don’t deserve good things!” She turned her sharp glare to the man in question.

“I would dare? No, you dare!” Wren threw back in return. Though it wasn’t the best comeback, but she was too mad to think of anything better. “Get your dumb finger out of my face, weirdo! I hope you stub your toe every morning when you wake up and every night when you go to bed! It hurts really bad and you deserve it!” Wren shrieked back at the man. “That shrimp wasn’t even that good so I’m not that worried about being on your list! List of bad shrimp recipes and storing, I bet!” She huffed. “Watch some long YouTube videos and maybe you’ll be a better person after!”

Enemy of the shrimp. Wren would eat shrimp for breakfast if it meant telling that man what’s what again. She huffed and knelt down to carefully pick up the now ruined muffins. “That was really weird. I don’t think normal people keep shrimp in their pockets.” Her head shook as she held the muffins with a sad sigh. “I’m sorry about your muffins, Felix. They were very yummy and he ruined them.” The younger girl sniffled, feeling the tears start to well in her big, brown eyes. “I’m fine! Sorry, I cry at everything.” Wren hiccuped weakly. “I’m just so sad that he was so mean to you! Maybe we could make muffins some other time? Ones that won’t end up on the grass.”

—

The anger on her face was a familiar thing. Felix didn’t get mad often, didn’t tend to rage against any machine or whatever it was that people did when they were upset with the world at large, but the jaguar did. They felt his anger in their chest sometimes, burning and directionless, upset at a situation he had no control over but was stuck in all the same. Did Wren’s feel similar? Felix wondered, sometimes, how things felt when your body was only yours. Was it preferable? Or was it good to have that ‘out,’ that thing inside of you that you could point the finger at if things went too far?

The shrimp man stormed off, not bothering to respond to Wren’s words. He’d said his piece, it seemed, put them both on some… list that Felix hoped wasn’t a literal thing. (He didn’t know their names, did he? Felix had called Wren by hers, but only her first name! You couldn’t do anything with just a first name. Could you? Anxiety ebbed in their chest.) Felix watched him go, unable to relax even after he’d disappeared into the crowd.

Turning to Wren, they tried to offer a comforting smile. They wanted to be a force of good, a steady thing to lean upon. It was hard; Felix hadn’t felt steady in years now. But Wren was clearly upset, even if she said she was fine. “I can make new muffins,” they assured her. “And, um, yeah. You could help. If you wanted to. Um… I don’t know about you, but I’m not really… feeling the picnic anymore. If you want, we could go back to my apartment, and I could show you how to make muffins? Maybe we can come back tomorrow and bring them. Does that sound okay?”

—

Using her free hand, Wren wiped beneath her eye where a tear had escaped. She felt like a tsunami inside right now. Everything was a swirling mix of chaotic emotions that she was having a hard time tampering down. She couldn’t remember a time she felt so angry and so upset in one breath. That man was just mean and he was mean to her friend. That wasn’t okay. She didn’t want her friends to be upset or hurt because other people didn’t know how to be kind. Part of her contemplated actually going flying for the first time in… well, ages, but immediately decided against it. She wouldn’t be any good flying like this, even if she already wasn’t the best flier there was.

Wren managed a small smile in return. “That would be fun.” She agreed after a moment and a small sniffle. “I don’t think this picnic sounds very fun right now, either. That sounds like a lot more fun.” She sighed shakily, standing to her feet to reluctantly throw away the newly ruined muffins. Wren wiped her hands on her jeans and contemplated whether or not she wanted to take the potato salad with her to Felix’s apartment. Maybe people would enjoy it and she could come back for the tupperware container tomorrow when they brought the new muffins.

“Okay! Okay, muffin mission time. We got this.” Wren did her best to be optimistic after the torrent of emotions that had been swirling throughout her. “I’m thinking we make sure to taste two of them, one each, that way more than just one person gets to have them.” She reasoned, practically skipping beside Felix as they headed away from the picnic. The picnic definitely hadn’t gone like Wren envisioned, but she got something out of it regardless. More time with a new friend and apparently on the list of the shrimp… Whatever that may mean she could only hope for the best and be optimistic for what could come. Not everything had to be scary, right? Right.

#para: a shrimptastic picnic #wickedswriting #para: felix #recoveringdreamer

9 notes · View notes

archivehub · 1 month

Text

Title: Eyes Summary: It's dinner time at the Maheswaran-Universe household, and the Crystal Gems are visiting.

Late again (whoops) but here's day 2's short! I used this short to practice setting a scene, so tell me if my setting descriptions are effective. I used the prompt "Casual."

The short is also beneath the cut:

A salty-sweet, peppery aroma filled the air around Steven as he masterfully diced an onion before sliding it into a bulky pot, filled to the brim with boiling contents. Anything involving cooking had become a breeze for him ever since he had taken a few online culinary courses in preparation for fatherhood.

“Dinner’s up in five more minutes!” he declared as he dropped a pinch of salt into the concoction. His eyes flicked toward a bundle of veggies. “Actually, make that ten. I, uh, forgot to mash the carrots,” he chuckled sheepishly.

Pearl beamed, “Oh, I can help!” She startled Cat Steven as she then shot off the couch and practically skipped into the adjacent kitchen.

Drawing inspiration from the Beach House, the Maheswaran-Universe residence was quite open-concept. Given the right angle, one could easily see from one end of the home to the other.

“How’s the baby doing, Con-woman?” Amethyst smirked as she hung upside down over the back of a recliner.

“Is she healthy?” Garnet swiftly added from a nearby sofa.

“Probably healthier than any other baby on Earth given her dad’s powers,” Connie snickered from beside the fusion. Within her arms lay an incomprehensibly small infant; she was occupied with gripping her mother’s finger with the force of a thousand suns. “She has been very… grabby lately, though.”

“Babies are like that,” Amethyst shrugged, “or at least Steven was.” She tumbled off the back of her recliner with an audible thud. As she picked herself up, she snorted, “One time, he gripped Pearl’s nose so hard she almost poofed!”

“I did not almost poof, Amethyst,” the pale gem rolled her eyes as she pulled a stack of plates from a cupboard.

“Sorry, P; I can’t hear you from all the way over here!” the purple gem guffawed as she once more hoisted herself atop her recliner. “Baby Steven must’ve had, like, super strength, though! Maybe his powers kicked in sooner than we thought,” she pondered half-mindedly.

Connie quirked an eyebrow, glancing down upon her infant daughter. “You think Gracie has powers?” she murmured.

“There’s always the possibility,” Garnet informed; she absentmindedly adjusted her visor, seemingly occupied in her own thoughts.

Amethyst gasped, “Yeah, what if she’s just like Steven!? Have you guys tried, like, rubbing her spit on a wound yet?”

For but a second, Connie met her husband’s eyes from across rooms. Based upon his tight expression, she could tell he was listening in on the conversation. “No, we, uh, haven’t,” she half-muttered as she brushed her daughter’s brown curls back, revealing a pair of abnormally large eyes…

Eyes which had nearly given her father a heart attack only a few months prior.

#connverse #steven universe #connie maheswaran #su #fanfiction #steven quartz universe #su fanfiction #steven x connie #connie x steven #garnet #amethyst #pearl #glowweek

7 notes · View notes

all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth · 7 months

Text

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Pusher (3x17)

Agent Frank Burst, the guy with the great name. Say, Frank, are Agents Mulder and Scully there?

Frank holds the phone to his ear, as the SWAT team sets up the trace. He hears Mulder’s voice come across the line from the other room. “Yeah, we’re here.”

Perfect. Frank, how much do you weigh?

He tightens his grasp on the phone, adding a second hand as if squeezing it against the side of his head would help him find this bastard once and for all. “Excuse me?”

About how much do you weigh?

He’s sick of this cat and mouse game. He doesn’t care if he has to tell him his mother’s maiden name and his favorite breakfast cereal if it means getting his location.

“Anything to keep you on the line, you stupid piece of sh—” He looks at the computer that’s tracing the call. Another number pops up. “I don't know, about a hundred-ninety, hundred and ninety-five.”

Two-fifteen if you're a day, you're totally the wrong weight for your height. I mean, no offense, Frank, but you're built like a fireplug.

He’s so tired of this guy’s bullshit.

“Yeah, and I got stubby little legs that are gonna kick you right in the ass. You going somewhere with this, Modell?”

Yeah, it's just that it can't be healthy. And you look like maybe you're a smoker, you probably take a little drink now and then, eat greasy fried food... sausage, bacon, eggs-over-easy.

Frank’s stomach swirls as he thinks about the Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N Fruity he’d eaten that morning. Nearly cleaned the plate and then chased it with burger and fries and a large coffee for lunch.

“Frank.”

He breathes in, willing the food to stay in his gut. His skin feels too hot and his mouth feels too dry.

Onion rings that soak those dark stains through the cardboard. And I'm guessing you shake on that salt like a maraca.

“Frank…”

How about it? Am I packing it up on this?

“Frank, hang up the phone.”

He takes a deep breath, then another, but the air isn’t making it all the way in. His stomach feels full and there’s a sudden tightness in his chest, like an elephant is sitting on it. He remembers the asthma he’d outgrown from childhood, the pack of cigarettes he’d blown through that afternoon. He takes another deep breath but it barely helps.

“What are you talking about, Modell?” Frank asked, looking at the computer screen. “What's your point?”

Frank, you know what that's doing to your arteries.

Another number pops up on the screen, slow as a slug in tar. Just a little longer.

Terrible things, Frank. Terrible.

His breaths are only making it to the bottom of his throat and the tightness is turning into pain. He needs these numbers to fucking move faster.

“Frank.”

There’s a cold sweat on his face.

Waxy yellow chunks of plaque are tumbling through your bloodstream…

He can’t get air in. His whole body is clenched, the pain spreading from his chest to his arms.

Sticking like glue to your arterial walls…

A strangled sound escapes him as he squeezes the phone.

One more number.

“Hang up the phone, Frank!”

He feels Mulder near him.

Squeezing shut your aorta... can you feel it, Frank?

There’s nothing but pain and Modell’s voice. Breathing does nothing as the squeezing gets tighter, the elephant gets bigger, the pain gets sharper.

“Come on, man, hang up the phone.”

He can’t. He needs the number. Jesus, he needs oxygen.

But not as much as the number.

Can you feel your aorta...

He can and it’s fucking closed. His blood feels like burning hot molasses backed up in his body as his entire chest compresses on top of itself.

His knuckles scream in agony from his grip on the phone.

“Frank, hang up the phone!”

…closing shut?

“Back off!” He yells with every ounce of strength he has and pushes Mulder away.

He can live through the pain. He’s been shot. Twice. He’s had his appendix removed. He survived two divorces. This isn’t real.

All those miles of aorta…

“Frank, hang up the phone!”

“I said back off!”

That sonofabitch almost hung up on Modell, but Frank stays on the line. His whole body is on fire. His jaw clenches as the pain radiates up his neck.

“Hang up!”

The pressure…

“Finish the trace!”

His throat is tight. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth making every word a struggle.

Ever hear of pachyemia, Frank?

“Mulder?”

It’s Agent Scully, but Frank can’t focus on her. His whole world is knives and steel clamps. Ice picks stab down his left arm.

“Somebody hang up the phone!”

He squeezes his eyes tight. Need to hold on. That number. Need the number.

There’s this medical condition called pachyemia? It's when the blood thickens up in your veins like strawberry jam.

The room fills with commotion but he’s blinded by the pain. He presses the phone to his ear and focuses on getting the tiniest bit of air into his lungs. Sweat drips off his nose.

“Finish the trace!”

His hand is like lead as he points at the agent. His teeth grind together, the pain moving to his head and down into his legs.

“Frank! Hang it up! Hang up!”

Your heart flatlines.

He takes a breath, sweet stale air finding its way to his lungs for one blissful moment of relief, before everything stops. The knife in his chest digs in deeper, twisting with a white hot fire. His mouth drops open as he freezes in place, unable to do anything but exist in the most horrible anguish he could ever imagine.

Beeeeeeeeeep….

The floor is falling out from beneath him, pitching him forward into darkness.

“Frank!”

Darker and darker, numb and black.

You die, Frank.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3!

@fridaysat9

#all eyes lead to the truth #season 3 #s3 #pusher #3x17 #frank burst #mulder #scully #msr #x files #x files fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

light-imperfected · 9 months

Text

(22 July, 1:21pm.)

Gabriel comes home to a cat slinking around his legs, meowing, and the familiar full-body ache he associates with a trip to the Abyss.

He allows himself a small, undignified groan before forcing himself to get moving. Feed Curry. Clean the litter box. And so on. Then he goes to lie down on the sofa. His previous roommates have left the city, so he's free to collapse wherever he wants in here. Small blessings, or whatever.

...yea sounds good. @Gabriel are you back yet?

His phone's been yelling about texts from his coworkers since he left the museum, mostly making sure the soup kitchen for this weekend will still be happening despite the destruction. More people are expected because of it. The groupchat's been grousing over practicalities.

[text]: I'm back, yes. [text]: I'll be there.

Gabriel clicks the device back off, dropping it to the side, and stares at the ceiling. Curry demands his attention after his time away; he absently scritches her head.

Hurts. Hurts. But it's not terrible, more like a headache digging its way into his whole body than the sharp, cutting pain of bullets and blades. Not anything worse than what any husk in Hell had been sentenced to. So he endures it.

Get up.

(22 July, 2:12pm.)

He's staring into a pan of onions and garlic, dissociating slightly as he stirs them. Everything's turning golden-brown at the edges. Gabriel turns the fire down and sighs softly; no matter how often he does this, everything tends to come out a bit singed. Someone's grousing about what happened on Main Street: we're lucky we weren't hit by anything, she says. some of my friends were nearly caught in the destruction. fucking—'scuse my language—what was that? came outta nowhere.

And so on. Gabriel doesn't defend the younger angel. Doesn't talk about the pain and fear he saw on his face. He is not so brave. Also, it hurts to be upright.

Someone notices his increasingly white-knuckled grip on the spatula and how he's swaying in place and tells him to go home: you can tap out if you're not feeling well. Gabriel protests, feebly; he can handle it; he's fine. He doesn't know what feels worse, not being able to properly hide the pain he's in, or being chastised for it. But he's always rolled over to orders from higher-ups, and this is no exception.

(22 July, 5:25pm.)

The Virtue's gone. He'd forgotten about it. Not forgotten its existence—its chiming voice echoing at him whenever he comes home. But he hadn't given it much attention.

…why should he? He is no longer one of Heaven's host; the holy language should be stripped from his tongue along with his Light. But he'd still caught snatches of words. Hope, it had whispered to him, amidst garbled music.

For what?

For his return to Heaven—for the resurrection of a world long-dead—for some dream that what he did mattered, if even for a moment?

He cannot have it. It is mourned; it is put behind him; it is done. He fights for others now and he relishes that freedom. (so then why does it still feel so terrible?)

(22 July, 7:37pm.)

Hurts, though he can bear it. Repentance for the pain he's left in his wake over the millennia, his sentence for straying from the path set for him.

That's all this is.

He can't think about how he's in loooove without wincing, giddiness of that whole fiasco faded simply into anxiety and self-hatred. Can't think about the friends you've made here because angels weren't made for such a concept: weren't made for caring, for attachment to mortal deeds. He is empty, he is a vessel only for God's will, and yet.

And yet.

The Stars aren't kind, he'd told the young reporter. Locking in his betrayal of Heaven, if he'd even imagined that there was any sort of backtracking there. Perhaps, for some amount of time, he had—afraid that God was watching him, judging him, afraid of His vengeance. It's hard to commit to such a decision when your lifespan isn't limited to mere hours.

But he's been trying to care less, to learn how to pry away deep-seated paranoia. He's spent many long nights (near-every long night; he doesn't sleep, after all) going over each thing he's done of his own free will, wondering if it was right. He can't help feeling useless without a master, and disgusted even more by his desire to go back, undo decisions that can never be undone.

(22 July, 8:58pm.)

Geneva Catechism. Q274, C: …the holy angels, who are his celestial creatures, have it as their only object to obey him in all things, to be always obedient to his word, and prepared voluntarily to do him service…

(22 July, 10:01pm.)

His imperfection shouldn't shake him any longer, but—

Sometimes how little has changed over this year makes him want to peel off his own skin, dig out the markings embedded into his knuckles, try to destroy anything that might hint at divinity he no longer deserves—only that would be all of himself. He is a weapon and tool, someone else's Hand, created only to serve—doesn't matter if he'd wanted anything different. This body will never belong to him.

(23 July, 12:10am.)

…no.

No. Things have changed. Even if slowly—it's still something.

He sits cross-legged on the ground, very still, and counts his breaths. Eight on the inhale, eight on the exhale; it's an exercise a coworker showed him after they found him crouched between church pews at work, hyperventilating.

(It happens, okay?)

Fragments of memory and panicked thought pound dully through his brain. But there are text messages on his phone, there's a cat asleep on the bed behind him, and he's alive. Crawling his way through the horrible, humiliating fight to be real.

#drabble #closed #giant drabble #wc: 976 #....after one million years. ive been sitting on giant since down you go i think

5 notes · View notes

litgwritersroom · 2 years

Note

A moment of silence for the friendzoned S3 characters😢

Nicky and Seb were too fine not to be LIs

Man had me hooked when he saved a cat from a burning tree

Request: Sebastian smut fic🙈 that would have happened canonically were he a LI (so for example the tent scene etc.)

It’s aight if u write one that isn’t canon tho i just want an excuse to simp over my onion man

Please im running out of content😩

Tysm if u do!!!! <3

AN IN-TENTS NIGHT

Prompt: Some Seb love. NSFW 🍑🍆💕

Seb/MC - 2800+ words - i-boop-you

What a day it had been.

Ariel and Seb had been busy at it, building their tent up, having a laugh about it, but Ariel had really, really wanted to win. She had no idea what was on offer for the prize, but really, just spending the night alone, only her and Seb, in a beautifully decorated tent of their own making was enough for her, really.

Something, something, the real prize was all the sex we had along the way.

Well, Ariel and Seb hadn’t had sex. Yet. They’d barely held hands. Yet.

Call it their last minute coupling up, the fact that they hadn’t confessed they felt more than friends until the night of the latest recoupling. For Ariel, this was already it. It just felt … right. Everything did. From the moment she’d heard that story about him rescuing the kitten, she was gone, perhaps even smitten. From there, it was like a bulldozer had gone through her, completely hauling everyone else out the way, leaving her clear for one little onion man.

Now, the tent was up, and Ariel wanted something else to follow suit. The tent had been poled, and she was ready for something else to be poled, too. The tent was filled, and she was ready for -

“Whoa, you did a great job in here, A,” Seb said as he made his way in. The dozens of fairy lights strung across the tent glistened in his eye, lighting up a hundred more times.

“Thanks, babe, I wanted to make it really nice since we’ll be spending our first night alone here,” she replied, as a ball of nerves niggled so suddenly in her stomach.

“That’s really cute of you,” Seb said, not cracking a smile. ‘Cute’ wasn’t really his style, but he had always made an exception for her. It only made her want him more.

He wasn’t some hard edgelord by any means necessary, and Ariel always thought he was one of the biggest softies she knew, but he wasn’t a sunshine and rainbows type of guy. It made him and AJ the odd-ball pairing when they first arrived, and so Ariel hadn’t felt guilty in the slightest when Seb first caught her eye. He and AJ admitted themselves that they hadn’t been the best match, and were much better off as friends.

“Here,” she said, going for a bottle of champagne she’d found in the pantry earlier. “I swiped this.”

“Rebel,” he said, actually smiling now, letting it pull up into his rosy cheeks.

Seeing him smile made Ariel smile, too. Her heart went pitter-pattering for him in a way that it had never done for anyone before.

“What’s that look for?” He asked, eyeing her with his brows raised questioningly.

“Oh … nothing, I just … I really like you, Seb, you know that, right?”

His smile widened, his cheeks growing steadier pinker, like he couldn’t quite believe that he was hearing right; that she was talking about him; that she meant it.

But she did. She meant every word. Already, she was falling for him, falling hard.

Seb had the bottle in hand; condensation trickled down the smooth edges. He held it in front of him, placing it precariously over the rim of his shorts, creating … images … in her mind. He held it sturdy, gripping it by the neck with one hand as he unravelled the foil at the top.

She wanted to watch him shaking it, giving it a toss. Maybe not the bottle, but … mmm, something.

He held it with both hands now, needing them both to maintain sturdiness over the girthy bottle. Fuck, Ariel was so thirsty for this man…

She could see herself on her knees like she was now, him standing above her, like he was now. He’d take his vast champagne in hand, just a breath away from her puckered lips. There’d be a moment in the build-up, their eyes would lock, a desperate longing burning in their stares. And when the bottle popped it would shower her face with the sticky substance from within; she’d let the cool droplets caress her skin as he aimed for her open mouth.

God, how he would blush furiously if she ever told him that. God, how she’d blush if he ever found out.

Pop.

The bottle opened, a squirt burst out the tip, and Seb had to move fast to make sure not a drop more than necessary was wasted as he quickly poured into the awaiting glasses.

Ariel sat with her legs shut tight, near as tight as her mouth, trying to disguise the dirty thoughts she couldn’t help.

“Shall we make a toast or is that really cringy?” Seb asked.

“Yeah, let’s do it! It’s our first night alone together and all that … I want this to be right.”

“You keep saying that,” he says, eyeing her again. “Are you all right …? With us being alone?”

She blinked rapidly. “Of course I am … are you all right?”

He was in the middle of taking a drink and near choked on it.

“Am I all right? Ariel, of course I am. I-I love that we get this. I - I really want to make the most of tonight, but, honestly, just being with you would make me happy.”

“So, you’re saying you’d be up for bits?”

She expected him to blush, but he didn’t.

He breathed in deep, looking her dead in the eye, a heavy, hearty look there. “I would be up for bits. I would very much be up for bits.”

With a giggle and a grin, Ariel necked her glass of champagne. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

He grinned along with her, a chuckle escaping his lips. He necked back his own glass, then slammed it down, putting it out of his mind.

He crawled across the blanketed ground, like a tiger prowling. Ariel giggled with nerves and excitement, she wanted this so fucking badly. As he approached, coming up either side of her, she laid back, head resting against the array of cushions she’d stolen from inside the Villa. She tucked the stray strands of hairs sticking out of his bun behind his ears when he got closer, his hungry eyes roaming all over her.

Seb leant over her, lips a hair's-breadth from her own; the smell of champagne from his tongue was hot on her plump lips. The sound of his breathing, made heavy by her and all his own dirty thoughts, made her flush all over; leaving her hot everywhere.

He cocked one leg between hers, getting her to open up for him, allowing him to slot in, right between her open thighs.

She couldn’t help it; couldn’t help rolling her hips upwards, trying to make her wet bikini bottoms grind against the huge bulge in his swimming trunks. He was teasing her, though, and was just out of reach.

His mouth met hers and she longed to taste a different sort of champagne altogether. He was hot and sweet and fuck - fuck. This was it. She’d never been so turned on by a kiss, never had someone else’s tongue inside of her feeling so good, so right.

She thrust up again, the front of her bottoms grinding against the length of his erection. He was already so fucking hard, it just drove her even more crazy, knowing he was just as hot for her.

Seb pushed down, weighting her against the ground, grinding against her now. A groan escaped his mouth.

“Touch me, Seb,” she said, voice quaking, quiet, a ghost of a whisper just for them.

Ariel took his hand to her bikini top, made him take a feel of her as she ran her other hand up his back and into his hair, clutching his soft mane, feeling him between her fingers as he squeezed her between his.

He kissed her again, too overcome with passion to use his mouth for anything else.

His hand slipped under the material, cupping her fully, playing with her breasts freely; he palmed at her hardened nipple, taking great care, like the thought of her hard like he was made it all the more delicious.

His mouth fell from hers, trailing along her jawline. Ariel opened up, leaning out so he could continue down her neck, to her collarbone. He didn’t stop there, using both hands, he pulled her straps down off her shoulders, following the progress. When her breasts were fully bare before him, he allowed himself a look.

She balled the edges of the blankets in her fists, unable to stop herself; she could see the passion in his eyes, the longing in his stare, the absolute hunger he felt for her. It drove her crazy.

His lips came over her nipple, and he sucked her into his mouth, teeth grazing the soft, delicate skin, pinching her without pushing it. Ariel’s head fell back, a soft moan escaping her, nearly tearing the tassel's from the blanket.

Seb’s fingers moved to the ties of her bikini bottom’s, and with a deft hand, he managed to unknot them without ever taking her tits out his mouth. Why was everything Seb did so fucking amazingly hot?

He unlatched from her with a noise like a kiss, eyes flickering open and up, just to watch her keen face. He didn’t smile, leaving his lips hot on his trail of her body, but he kept his eyes on hers, mischief lighting up in them as he lowered himself over her smooth stomach.

The anticipation was killing her. She couldn’t keep still, but she wanted to; she wanted this moment so bad.

Seb finally looked away, eyes slowly shutting as he took in between her legs. Ariel let out a groan at the touch of his tongue, her thigh already shuddering just at the feel of him separating her, his tongue giving one single stroke between her.

His name was roped out of her mouth and he moaned into her, letting her know he liked that. He engulfed his whole mouth over her, giving her clit the gentlest of attention, the smallest of sucks, as he kept his main focus on her aching, wet slit. His tongue dove in, keeping her parted, his stroking set to teasing. Her legs shook, she loved it so much, but god she needed more. She needed so much fucking more.

“Seb…” she groaned, the muscles in her thighs flinched, flexing, begging him for more. Her fingers ran through his hair as he continued to tease her. She got to his bun and whipped it off, allowing his locks to cascade freely, splaying across her legs.

That was when he finally stopped the fast and got to the main course, flicking his tongue over her clit. She shuddered, hips rolling up, pleading for more.

The build was slow, going along with his previous teasing, but it built - and it built - and it built - and Ariel had her hands locked in his hair, holding him down, mouth open, parted, practically singing out his name, and then, it was no longer singing, no sweet song was coming out of her mouth - all that was coming was his name, over and over with the dozens of satisfied gasps to accompany it.

Fuck. Fuck.

Seb climbed back up, planting his wet lips on hers, letting her have a taste of what was glistening all over him. She hungrily snaked her tongue within his month, looking for his own, loving the taste of herself on him.

It was quick, but Seb had his shorts down in a second, kicking them off and out of mind. Ariel took him by the shoulders and pushed, thrusting him onto his back.

Ariel went down, hands on his thighs, and locked eyes with him as she licked up his hard shaft. Her mouth locked over the tip as she took one hand to his base; she pumped with her hand as she slowly took more and more of him in her mouth.

This time it was her name stealing from his lips, him so overcome he couldn’t control himself. It turned her on as much as it did when he was all over her, pleasing her. She didn’t want to push him too over the edge because she actually wanted to climb all over him and fuck him tonight, but she was enjoying hearing him use her name as a curse, loved the way he weaved his fingers in her hair as she sank her mouth further and further down his cock, feeling him at the back of her throat.

Slowly, Ariel gave one last, long suck upwards, letting him pop out of her ‘O’ shaped mouth. He was biting his lip to keep himself under control, so when Ariel gave him one last lick over his tip, his whole body twitched.

A grinning Ariel climbed her way back up his body, coming to sit her legs over his hips, straddling him. He stroked her thighs all the way up to her sides, needing to touch her, not getting enough.

Ariel reached behind, taking him in her hand again. She raised him to her slit, holding him until she felt his tip sliding in, opening her wide. Already she was gasping, Seb let out a low hiss, his grip on her hips tight.

Lowering herself onto him inch by inch, Ariel couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped her. As she sank further down, taking him all in, her head lolled back, her hair tickling down the back of her skin, just heightening how sensitive her whole body felt right now.

His fingers slid all over her, needing to touch her everywhere, just needing her. It left a trail on her skin so hot the flush went all the way to her cheeks. He took her breasts in hand again, squeezing them in his full hand as she took the last inch of him inside of her.

“Oh, fuck, Seb…”

He swallowed hard, his legs twitching at the feel of her adjusting.

His hands fell to her hips again, clutching her tightly, his grip ridgid. He held her in place, straddling him just an inch above him, his strong arms taut, not budging at all. Eyes on hers as she ran her smooth hands down his arms, stroking him as he held her, Seb thrust up.

Her soft grip turned hard, her nails digging into his flesh. The moan that came out of her was given freely, and he wanted more. He held her tighter, fucking up into her, and she gripped on tight, letting him have control. His thumbs pushed low into her soft stomach, making his cock inside of her hit even harder.

His name fell from her lips, falling up at the sky, her head rearing back again with the force of him fucking her. Oh fuck, oh God, she was going to cum already -

“Seb.”

It came out hard. It came out fast. It followed with a dozen other mutterings, the same word, just his name, on loop, to the point where she couldn’t even get all three letters out. One simple word, and she was so gone, couldn’t even think straight to get it all out. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, nails digging in so sharply that she’d be leaving her mark on him.

He didn’t stop.

The tighter she held on, the feel of her encasing him, watching her ride through an orgasm on his dick, it made him close, so fucking close, but he wanted to hold out, wanted to keep going for as long as possible. She was so beautiful, so gorgeous, and when she came on his dick like that, God she was perfect.

His name kept coming from her lips, getting louder as her thoughts returned to her, the conciseness returning, as she fully rode through the motions. She was pleading with him, begging, already so close to her next one.

Seb had to bite down on his lips, he had to hold out until he brought her there again. His thumb trailed down to her clit, and he rubbed in hard circles as he continued fucking deep inside of her.

“Fuck, Ariel, cum on me, cum on me again,” he said, realising he was the one begging this time.

Their eyes locked, and he knew it. She was going - gone - again. Her parted lips stretched once more, letting out a shuddering moan as she was thrown in the final climax.

He stiffened, watching her go again pushing him too far over the edge. His whole body was rigid as he held himself stiffly inside, emptying into her. Ariel ground up against him, riding out that last orgasm for as long as she could.

He hadn’t realised how rigid he’d been until he was released from his release. Seb slumped back, his whole body feeling suddenly stiff in a new way.

Ariel slumped over him, falling naked to his side.

“Well, that was one in-tents night,” she grinned at him. “Get it?”

Notes: Hi, hope you enjoyed! Not super familiar with S3 nor Seb, but thought I'd give this one a go. Hope the asker doesn't mind that i pulled some details out of their initial ask and added them into the prompt, like the reason they fell for Seb in the first place and the onion man thing (which will now forever and always be Seb's nickname to me).

#litg #litg fanfic #litg writers room #writers room #prompt #i-boop-you #litg season 3 #litg seb #ask #litg ask

62 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 1 year

Note

*Slides in in a paint me like one of your French girl poses*

Hello beloved Hana, tis I, your Frenchiest fry, Convert Anon💜

It has been a while since I have graced your inbox, but I return💜

Also not be rereading your Ramadan series like 🥺🥺🥺

I am aggressively grabbing and smooching their foreheads and hugging them

I also currently have a protesting cat with me because there was a boy who wouldn’t stop being naughty and is currently meowing into my armpit sadly(awkward but also hilarious in person) and licking my arm in an attempt to escape and cause more chaos

Also me rereading some of our old convos have me like 🥺🥺🥺��💜💜💜🥹🥹🥹

I am setting up camp in your inbox because I will always return, one way, or another, and yes you can imagine what the boys had to do in Vargas Camp is me currently, pitching up a tent and fishing and making a little fire so I can boil some water for some tea

Also surprisingly learned today that a half and half with regular Arizona tea is pretty good

Also learned that I have a favourite flavour of BBQ sauce when one of the other ones I like just didn’t hit right(It’s the Sweet Vidalia Onion flavour that is my fav)

Also looking back at our convos have me looking up baby names because gosh dang it do I love ship kids and also those posts where their kids come from the future and see their parents and it’s all cute and fluffy and dang it do I want to make my own posts like that

But alas I am too shy to not do it out of anon so if I do make it i’d really just be sending it to you

Also with book six and has me with a death grip with worms about the Idia ship kids but also with the Manhwa au and Yokai au have me some worms with Leona and ship kids on that end and just andkdkd

Fluffy cuteness

Also I am doing my not quite daily bullying to you to give Lilia daughter a name or at least think of one

Love,

Convert Anon💜

Hello Convert Anon 💙💞🌺

Welcome back to my inbox, I hope you’re okay with stick drawings because that’s the best I can do when drawing people 😂😂

Ahhh so happy you’re still enjoying my Ramadan series 🥹🙏 I had a plan to do another series, but more mini/shorter this year, but it has been so crazy for me. With school and then Ramadan, and other things. I did have a part of part 1 written…maybe I can finish that 🤔

Lolol awww kitty wants freedom but don’t let him escape. He might cause you as much trouble as grim 😂💕

I love visiting my old posts and rereading what was sent to me so you’re more than welcome always hit up my inbox 💕💕 and don’t worry I won’t dress up like a maniac like vargas and harass you 🤣🤣

I never had half and half with Arizona 👀 what does it taste like? I don’t think I had that kind of bbq sauce before either. I’ll have to check it out 💞🙌

OMG YES I LOVE LOVE LOVE SHIP KIDS ABD TIME TRAVEL TROPES SIGN ME UP WJSJDND and you’re more than welcome to always hit me up with those. Any aus are always wonderful with ship kids.

I was literally thinking about one with my Daughter with lilia and time travel the other day. Don’t worry she will get a name…eventually 😂😂

XOXOXO 💕💕

Hana

#hanas thoughts #answered #anonie ask #💜convert Anon

3 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

Note

AirLock Anon:

FREEDOM!!

anyways

Ranch SHINANIGANS

Yancy grumbled walking into the mossy OverGrowth where His Rancher said they would be. He walked in and followed the crumbs of their trace they left. He fixed his shirt slightly hearing their voice and making sure nothing was tucked in.

“AH!” He rushed in hearing his rancher scream suddenly and noticed another Humanoid but thankfully. NOT a Tarr. But a Hunter Slime, equally dangerous. He was gonna step in but noticed his rancher reach their arm up and start petting the slime in their human form.

“H-hey stop! Your supposed to be. Ahh what the hell.” The slime crumbled into His Rancher’s chest and the Cat like tail flicked around as His Rancher pet and scratched all the happy spots. “Youse need a hand?” He chuckled as his Rancher smiled, that damn smile that drug him here.

“Nope! Look at him! Total sweetie!” They cooed as he turned into a slime and accepted being taken to their home. “Youse taking him home? After he tried killin youse?” “Yeah!” They smiled not seeing any wrong and continued petting the Hunter Slime and leaning on Yancy.

“So Rancher, uh why youse taking us all home?” He mumbled barely above a whisper. “Because I’m lonely. All my friends are on another planet. And I’m alone here. Haha like moving to a new school.” His Rancher smiled as they walked on the teleporter and appeared on the ranch.

“Hey buddy. Welcome home!” His Rancher smiled taking him to the mimic Moss Blanket. Yancy hummed reminiscing on the first time he was here. And felt awfully Heroic.

“Rocky” The Tarr grinned holding His Rancher close. “MUDPIE!” He yelled snatching the human back. “Guys! Stop! Dark! Don’t,” “you KNOW this MUDPIE?!” He yelled almost dropping the Human.

“He’s not a MudPie! He’s just as human? Slime? As you and me? I have no clue. But he has no intention on hurting anyone!” His Rancher yelped feeling his grip Tighten. “Your way to forgivin, but I’ll protect you from this thing.” He seethed glaring daggers into the finely dressed Tarr who took the human from his grasp.

“Ah. Ah, ah! Don’t wanna bruise them. Do we Rocky?” “DARK! Behave yourself or I swear on the rainy sky’s above I will-“ “what? I’d love to know. Darling” He clenched his jaw and couldn’t stop the Crystals from producing on his back. “Dark!” His Human warned and Dark gently put them down and they walked over to him. “I’m so sorry about him. He’s not like this. I promise.”

He only brightened a little seeing the genuine feelings on the Human’s face. “I’s sorry too. Shouldn’t have snapped at youse.” He looked down only feeling his cheeks being squished. “Your alright! Let’s get you to a comfy home for ya? You can decorate too!” They smiled and grabbed his hand firmly but gently and led him to the empty cave.

But as he looked back he only saw the sly grin of the Tarr mouthing a “play nice” at him driving him mad. But he’ll try only for his Rancher.

-> ~I’m now using you/yours~<-

He snapped back to reality seeing his Rancher. “You good Yanc? Do you need water? Food?” You grabbed his face and checked for scratched and handed him a Odd Onion and a carrot just in case.

“I’m all good, youse alright?” “Yanc it was only a slight push I’ll be okay.” You smiled gently holding his hand. “I don’ts like youse gettin hurt and just taken em in like nothin’.” “Awe hon I’ll be alright. Promise.”

He sighed as you gently grabbed his face. “If you promise to play nice.” You smiled as he just nodded and you kissed his nose. “Good! Now time to go feed everyone!” You walked off smiling, leaving a flustered crystal slime.

aww this is adorable <33333

#clanask #airlock anon #slime rancher au

31 notes · View notes

ancient-cats-unite · 2 years

Text

Ototo's New Recruit

Elmo joins Ototo's development team.

Yoyo took him around the campus. There were many things littered about, you always were on your paws.

"This is our land! We usually have a cabin to ourselves where we dump our stuff."

"Should I go get my things then? Its kinda sitting in my car."

"Yeah! I'll set up your room!"

Yoyo walked off to the dorm cabin. It was an odd mix of metal and blue wood. A bunch of miscellanous things stuck out, like a laundry line and a TV signal pole. Its like a robot and a house merged together.

-----------------------------------------

Elmo went off to start his car. On the way, he saw Derp staring inside the fence.

"Derp! What are you doing here?"

Derp grabbed his backpack and started digging. A moai statue, his wanted poster, an uneaten onion.. aha! He slipped a note inside the fence. Elmo used his claw to open the envelope.

"Hello Elmo! We miss you a lot, hope you like Ototo Corps! Its scary at first, but maybe you'll meet a new friend. I love you so much!! Please write back!! -Peggy ♡

Awwww..

"Thank you, Derp."

Derp drooled a little before toddling off to go do Derp things. Elmo held the letter for awhile. He missed the crew too much. Especially Peggy. He'll write back soon when he gets the chance.

Elmo unlocked his car and got his stuff from the trunk. He held all his souvenirs in his bag and his other products in a duffel bag. Carrying everything back, he saw a bulky engineer playing with butterflies. He looks pretty content.

"Hello!"

"Hoi! Have you seen these butterflies?? Pretty!"

Elmo sat with this carefree cat, dropping his bags. He wants the butterflies, but doesn't want to injure them. He brings back memories of the summer, when kittens caught them in nets with beetles.

"I'm Elmo, by the way."

"I'm Hank!!"

The two shook hands with a big crunch. Hank's grip could crush a Le'Boin.

"OW!"

"Sorry.. Too hard?"

"Yeah.."

Elmo shook his hand out to relieve the pain.

"You remind me of my friend Rocky. We used to catch beetles in the summer. You want to see a drawing?"

"Ooh! Please!"

Elmo shuffled in his old hiking bag and took out a folded drawing.

"Pretty! Your friend drawing should be in books!!"

"Yeah, he's really good. You can have it for a bit if you want?"

"YES PLEASE!"

Hank took it with care. He folded into his overalls pocket.

"I need to get going. Bye Hank!"

"Byebye!"

Hank waved goodbye as Elmo started on his way. He had a good impression of Hank.

-------------------------------------

Elmo opened his cabin door open. It was nice and cozy. Some technical displays were up with many blueprints along the walls. There was barely any dust and the woodboards were polished. He marched down the hallway to the alignment of many rooms. Yoyo was finishing up preparations, trying to reach a box high up.

"Hey. What took you so long?"

"I got mail. That Hank guy is a real sweetheart."

"Hank's a good boy. What did you get sent?"

Yoyo snatched the letter from his hands. Suddenly he got really giggly.

"Elmo you have a GIRLFRIEND?"

"Whuh- no! Give that back!"

Elmo grabbed it back while Yoyo teased him.

"Elmo and Peggy, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Come on man.."

Yoyo made kissing noises, turning Elmo red. The both of them sobered up quickly.

"Okay but seriously, your room's here. The key's up in that box. Can you get it down?"

"I got a slingshot. A friend gave it."

Elmo threw it over to Yoyo. Using a gear as ammo, he launched it up and hit it down.

"Nice! I'll get the keys."

The two opened up the crate to acess the keys. Yoyo got them and unlocked his room door.

Elmo was met with a ocean blue painted bedroom. A comfortable bed with baby blue sheets and brown frame sat in the middle of the room. A nightstand with two drawers stood beside it with a lamp. The most interesting was a uniform layed on his bed.

"Man, this is pretty neat!"

Elmo held up the uniform bundle. Perfect to replace his camping one. He quickly changed into proper uniform, necktie and coat included.

"Dude, you're now a proper engineer!"

Elmo felt the same.

__________________

//Hank gets his intro! Also more Derp. I might stretch it out for one more part. Also I got my AO3 account so maybe I'll post there too. Stay tuned!//

#the battle cats #battle cats #tbc #feline fanfics

4 notes · View notes

treefory · 6 months

Text

The cat works. Btw this one has a lot of cursing lol

Working through the past

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 5

Chapter 1

A black void enveloped Cash as he floated in the abyss. The air was thick and humid yet he could still see puffs of his breath come from his nose. No matter where he looked he saw nothing, all he could see was his own body.

From out of the abyss huge stone paws reached out to him, pulling him in. Cash flailed as he tried to get away from it to no avail. He trembled as he shut his eyes awaiting its deadly touch.

It’s paws gently rested under his arms and pulled him in close. Cash dug his claws into them, they scratched uselessly against its skin. It rested cash in his arms like how you would with a baby.

Cash laid there, confused. It was soft and warm, like a mothers touch. Something he craved. Cash slowly leaned into its warmth

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Cash’s eyes shot open. The sound of his alarm filled his ears. He let go of the tight grip on his pillow and grumbled as he turned off the alarm. He sat on his bed, hunched over. He felt the back of his neck, mimicking the touch in his dream. His tail thrashed angrily.

It’s not the same.

Hot shower water rained on cash’s head. He let the water run off of him. He closed his eyes, appreciating its warmth. But soon he stepped out of the shower and dried himself with a towel, head to tail.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. Just like any other day, he put on his diner uniform. He made himself a bowl of cereal then put on his jacket and made his way out the door.

He sat at the bar, on his phone. The sound of the chef's knife hitting the cutting board as they prepared onions and peppers filled the diner. A gentle buzzing came from the old yellow lights. Out of his two jobs, this one was his favorite

He cheacked the time.

12:02 pm

No one even came today. No tip money, but I’m still getting paid.

Ring

Cash looked behind him. A family of foxes had walked in. two parents and two kids. The kids ran in and sat at a booth, the parents trailing behind. as usual cash greeted them as they sat at a booth. “Good morning, and welcome to Harry’s diner. My name is Cash and I will be your waiter today. Can I start you off with some drinks?”

He met the parents' gaze. Their eyes had bags under them and their eyelids lazily hung over them. They sat hunched over in their seats, seemingly like they were seconds away from falling asleep.

“Yeah! Can I have a milkshake?” said the boy

“Oh oh! Give me chocolate milk!” said the girl

This early in the morning?

Cash looked at the parents, in a way that said ‘is that okay?’

“Just give them what they want…” the mother sighed

Cash wrote in his notepad. “And for you two?”

The parents looked at each other “coffee.” they said in unison

“One milkshake, one chocolate milk, and two coffees. Is that right?” cash said.

“Uh huh! Yeah that's right!” yelled the boy

“I'll get that to you as soon as possible.” cash said as he handed all of them menus, then turned away.

He leaned into the window that led into the kitchen. “One milkshake, one chocolate milk, and two coffees.”

The chef stopped their cutting and washed their paws.

Ring

Two elderly sheep walked in and took a seat. “Good morning, and welcome to Harry’s diner. My name is Cash-”

“What? I can't hear you.” the sheep in an old floral hat said

“Uh, my name is Cash and I'll be your waiter today.” he said a little louder. “What would you like to drink?”

“Sonny, I can't hear you. You must speak up.” the sheep in an old dress said.

“He wants to know what drinks we want!” the floral hat yelled. “God, did you leave your hearing aid at home?” she whispered to herself

“Oh! May I have some tea?”

“Oh course.” cash wrote in his notepad. “how would you like it? Iced, unsweetened, swee-”

“What?’ old dress interrupted

Cash sighed. “How would you like your tea?” he said louder

“All I need is a couple of sugar cubes.”

“Mh hm, and you miss?”

“I'd appreciate a cup of tea too.”

“Thank you, I'll be back with you soon.” cash handed each of them a menu then walked behind the bar. On the window seal sat the foxes order. Cash rang the bell that sat at the window and left the sheep's order. He steadied the tray in his paws and carried it over to the table.

Cash laid the drinks out in order. The kids snatched their drinks up while the parents slowly took theirs into their paws.

Ring

A lone horse walked in. She wore a navy business suit with hooves clutching a briefcase. She sat at a booth, her back up against the seat with a stern look on her face.

Cash took out his notepad. “Now that you have your drinks, are you ready to order?” He said to the foxes

“I want a bajillion pancakes!” the boy yelled. “And my sister wants eggs!”

“Nuh uh! I want waffles!”

“No you don't, waffles are gross!”

“You're gross!”

“MOOOOOM!!!!” the boy cried

Cash looked at the parents. “Be nice to your brother…” the dad muttered

“We both just want omelets and some toast. ” the mom whispered.

Cash finished writing in his notepad and took back the menus. He started making his way over to the bar.

“WAITER! Excuse me, over here!” the horse yelled

“I'll be with you in a minute.” cash said dismissively.

He tossed the menus onto the bar then went to the window. “We have an order!” cash said while ripping out a page from his notepad. He lifted the sheeps order his paws.

“Here's your order, mam.” cash said loudly as he laid out their drinks.

The sheep in the floral hat squinted her eyes. “Sir, I think we asked for some sugar cubes.”

“Uh, we don't have any sugar cubes. but- ”

“WAITER!!!” the horse yelled again

“But we do have sugar packets on the table for you to use.” he said while gesturing towards the sugar packet holder, also trying to ignore the horse.

“Oh thank you. Eh, we still need some time to find out what we want.”

“That's okay, take all the time you need.” Cash smiled.

He forced himself to keep a smile on his face as he approached the horse. “Good morning, and welcome-”

“What took you so long to get here? don't you know how busy I am?” She demanded

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner, but as you can see you're not the only customer here.”

“Don’t you know who I am? I make more than everyone here combined! Especially you.”

“Uh huh. Yeah, what do you want to drink?”

“Cappuccino with a Caramel drizzle.”

“Anything else?”

“ I need a MENU before I can order anything else.”

With a blank stare and still with a smile on his face, cash walked over to the bar then handed her a menu. She snatched it from his paws.

“Leave me alone.” She grumbled

Cash's tail flicked back and forth as he sat down at the bar.

“Mom! She took my fork!”

“Dad! He bit my straw!”

“Mom!”

“Dad!”

Cash put his head in his paws.

Ugh. This is giving me a headache…

Ding

Cash’s head shot up. The foxes order sat at the window seal. With a groan, he got up and took the tray over to the foxes. And like it was nothing, he put on a smile and laid out their plates.

“YAY!!!” The kids yelled. Their high pitched voices hurt Cash's ears.

He sat back down at the bar.

Wait, no. I have to check on the sheep’s

He stood back up and made his way over to their table. “I’m back. Are you ready to order?”

“What?” The floral hat asked.

Cash superseded a groan. “Are you ready to order?” He said again.

“Nooo… here, what does this say sir?” The old dress said, pointing at something on the menu.

Cash leaned in close. “Swe…dish…capes. Swedish capes, mam.”

“And this one?” She pointed at another item

“Hic…Katy… no wait, uh… hickory… smoked… bacon… strips…. Hickory smoked bacon strips, mam.”

“You aren’t very good at reading, huh?” The floral hat said

Cash stood up tall, red in the face. “Are you ready to order, mam?” He said, trying to ignore her comment

“No, I need more time.”

“Mh hm.” Cash walked over to the horse.

“Mam, are you ready to order?”

“Yes.”

Cash stood there awkwardly, with his notepad in his paws

“W-what would you like-“

“I want three pancakes, drizzled In strawberry syrup. With cut up fruit, consisting of grapes, apples, kiwi, and NO strawberries.”

“Is that all?”

“Did I say anything else?”

“… your food will be ready soon.” Cash said as he walked off. “Fuckn’ bitch” he muttered under his breath.

He handed the note to the chef through the window then sat at the bar. Once again, he rested his head in his paws.

Kids talking loud

The obnoxious sipping of tea

Clack clack clack

God, Now the horse was on her laptop.

Cash felt his head throb. His tail swished back and forth.

“Mom! Look at the cat's tail!”

“Look at it! I wanna touch it!”

Cash hadn’t even noticed his tail was moving. He curled it around his leg. He ran his fingers through the fur on his head, trying to sooth his mind.

I should start carrying pills around. Why is everything so loud?

After resting for a second, he went back to work.

“Are you ready to order now?” Cash said loudly with a small smile

“Oh I was wondering when you’d be back. Yes, I am ready to order.” Said the sheep in the floral hat.

“So am I.” Said the sheep in the old dress.

“ what would you like?”

“I want the biscuits and gravy.”

“Wait, that’s what I’m getting. You can’t get what I’m getting.”

“No, You can’t get what I’m getting.”

The two stared at each other waiting for the other to cave.

Cash broke the silence. “Do you need more time to decide?”

“I suppose we do.” The old dress said, not looking away from the other.

With a gentle sigh, cash walked to the foxes table. Food was everywhere like there was a food fight. Syrup coated… everything, literally everything. Cash stared in awe as the kids took bites out of their soggy food.

“Is everything going okay?” Cash said looking the mess

The dad looked up at cash with eyes that looked like they haven’t slept in weeks. “More coffee…”

“Of course.”

“WAITER, WERE IS MY FOOD?!?!” The horse yelled as she hit her hoof on the table.

Cash’s eye twitched as he walked over to her. “Mam, your food isn’t ready yet.”

She looked him up and down. “God, you could at least smile. I’ll do you some good.”

Cash shot her a huge toothy grin, showing off his fangs. but it looked more like a snarl.

“Ugh, don’t ever do that again.”

Cash turned to walk away

“Did I SAY I was DONE talking to you???” She yelled

The notepad in cash’s paw crunched and wrinkled as he tightened his grip on it. “I’m sorry, what do you need?” He said with a sickening smile through gritted teeth

“Don’t you see that my cup is empty? I want a refill.”

He gently took the cup in his paws. “I’ll be with you shortly.” He smiled as he walked over to the bar. “I need a refill of that coffee Carmel shit that horse ordered.” Cash sighed “and two cups of coffee.” The chef laughed to themself as they prepared the brew

Cas checked his phone

12:50 pm

Cash let out a sigh of relief. Only ten more minutes…

Cash went over to the sheep “I’m sorry for interrupting your decision making, but I will be leaving soon and no one else will be able to serve you. So if you could, please order something and take it to go?” Cash said in a soft voice but loud enough for them to hear.

“Oh but we still need some time to find out what we want.” The old dress said.

“I understand that, but i'm about to leave. So what would you like-“

“Can’t you just stay later?” The floral hat asked

“No, I have things I’d like to do after my shift.”

“Like what? Play on that phone of yours? This generation has no class!”

“Do you want anything or not?” Cash said, patience wearing thin.

“Well, I don’t think we’d like to spend our time eating here. Check please.” The old dress said.

“Thank you for dining with us.” Cash said as he went to the cash register. Fifty minutes, and didn’t even order anything.

Ding

A plate of pancakes sat at the window. Thin red syrup coated the assortment of fruits. It looked so good. He picked up the tray in his paws and carried it over to the horse. “Your order, mam.”

“What the FUCK IS THIS?!?!” She yelled as she gestured towards the pancakes. Everyone looked over, even the chef poked their head through the window.

“STRAWBERRIES!!!! I hate STRAWBERRIES!!!” She screamed. “Your manager, I NEED YOUR MANAGER NOW!!!!”

The horse stood in front of Cash. She was only taller than him by a couple inches, but it felt like she was towering over him.

Cash stepped back. Shit, did I forget to say no strawberries?

A door in the back of the diner flew open. A small otter stomped out “who’s yelling about a manager?” She yelled. They wore the Same uniform as cash with a name tag that read manager- Buttons

“I did! Your scummy waiter put strawberries on my pancakes!” The horse yelled as she moved to stand in front of the otter.

Cash took another step back, he could feel himself shaking.

“Don’t you talk about my worker like that! And he don’t even make the food, Yah dumbass!”

“How DARE you talk to me like that! I want to know who put strawberries on my pancakes! Then I want you to fire them!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t bought strawberries in weeks!”

Manager Buttons climbed up on the table to get a better look at the pancakes. “You dumb bitch, THESE ARE RASPBERRIES!!!”

Cash’s fearful eyes laid in the pancakes. They were raspberries.

“What? No- I thought-'' the horse stammered.

“I don’t give two SHITS about what you thought! I want you out of my diner, NOW!” Manager Buttons yelled as she got into the horses face

The horse hastily pulled out a wallet and handed some cash to the otter and quickly left. The diner was silent for once. Cash stood there shaking uncontrollably.

“What a bitch…” Buttons looked over at cash. “Damn, you do’n okay?” She asked.

Cash’s breath hitched “uh, yeah. I-I’m okay.” he said, trying to stop shaking.

“Yeah sure, you look… bad. Look, I want you to cash this into the cash register." She handed Cash the money. “After that I want you to take care of the pancakes. I don't care how, just do it. I’ll finish serving the customers.”

She pulled out her phone. “Your shift is almost over, so you chill out.”

“...”

Cash took the money from her paws and put it into the cash register. He sat down at the table, pancakes in front of him. Buttons got the sheeps order and then yelled at the foxes for letting their kids make a mess. She was probably the reason this place didn’t get many customers

Cash went to pick up the fork when he noticed his paw was shaking. He grabbed it with his other paw then wrapped his arms around himself.

Deep breaths Cash, deep breaths… that horse… my mom… deep breaths…

It took him a second to stop shaking, And when he did he took a bite out of the pancakes.

“God, that chef can cook…” he mumbled with his mouth full.

#original writing #original work #writing with pictures #gay ocs #gay writing #gay romance #lgbtq #furry oc #trauma #therapy #hurt/comfort #angst #romance writing #romance #slow burn #oc story #oc stuff #furry writing

1 note · View note

actingdeep · 11 months

Text

[IP] Record Store

So there was Preston in the back storage room slash business office with his feet up on the desk reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles picturing Colin Farrell as Angel Clare right around the part where he's carrying Tess and the other milkmaids across the pond and tuning out easily at this point the steady rumbles of what's obviously Mary and Jer disintegrating into the void to 'Xtal' by Aphex Twin up front, the equally steady pot smoke creeping through the cracks, creases and that still unseemly hole in the door Tanner brought to perfect life Last Summer and he heard the bells jang as September came in with everyone's pick-up orders from El Borrego with her magic voice announcing "Buuur...iii...tooooo's" to the tune of Thus Sprake Zarathustra, sending the signal it was time to find a good place to leave off the novel and fall back into the fold. "Unda Prez-a," Jer was totally vibing. Preston carefully plucked out the grusomely funneling joint from Jer's outstretched arm struggling to grip the shabby and dessicated roastbone without burning his eyes or lips, only half-succeeding in getting a decent hit, mostly because of Jer's terrible joint-rolling skills but also partially because a portion of his focus was on currently fire-engine-red-haired Septy whisking by him with a definitely-something glance and a bag of smelly Mexican goodness. The EDM or IDM served well as an assuring mutual friend slash smoothing harbinger for the smoke and it's subsequent high. "No drink, Presty?" Preston heard September asking with a smile as she sat down on the register counter two massive bulging plastic bags, gently shooing away Andy, one of Mary's many in-store male cats. "Must be reading. What was it...? Tess of the Baskervilles, somethin?" "Yes but done for the day. Was about to grab a Yuengling, you want?" "Are you crazy, man? El Boreggo night calls for Modelo, no substitute. Drink Yuengling with like, a cheesesteak or somethin," said Jer, horizontally-compromised joint in mouth, coming over and grabbing his molettes and salsa verde. "No mo Modelo, ese. Yuengling, Hamm's, Michelob, or Redd's." "Don't touch my Redd's," said Mary jokingly and pointing with mock authority, seatting herself behind the register and struggling to unpack her huareches and tripe tostadas above and around Andy, all grey and meowing pathetically, circling round her lap and sniffing precariously with black nose the plastic bag handles. "Yuengling it is," Septy answered, holding out to Preston his classic steak tacos with cilantro, onions and lime wedges parallel to her other outstretched hand, indicating the trade. "Damn, man. That's major rough-goings," Jerry admitted, settling for a Michelob. "Verge? Redd's?" "You already know." Quiet munchage amidst the sonic fog of the Selected Ambient Works, Marvin, Andy, Cheech and Jupiter all in subtle greedy cat-orbit and Septy looks up and says: "Do you guys realize literally how many movies there are? For example." She set down her massive chicken-steak-carnitas burrito and wiped her hands. "How many Pink Panther movies do you think there are?" "Six." "Seven." "Eight." "Nine." Fucking nine? "And that's not including remakes. Technically, theres at least eleven that we know of," she added, reassuming her attack on the steaming rito. "Fuck. Killer." Jer. "And how many have you seen?" asked Mary while trying to convince a skeptical grey Andy into tasting a piece of tripe. "I've seen the first one." "Kinda buff are you?" Preston poked, knocking back a glug of beer with eye contact. "I know." "Don't blame you, Sep--that cartoon is fucked. That music is fucked. Major bad vibes," said Jerry, spilling salsa on his shirt. "Oh, come on, man..." "Thing is Jer they're not totally cartoons, that was a kids show based off the movies. It's got actors. Peter Sellers." Preston informed him. Mary was laughing at Andy's nervous nibble and traumatised flee. "So wait, is he in all nine?" "Basically. Maybe like, six or seven," September answered, glib as always about her obscure knowledge of the medium. "So why only the first, Septy? Wasn't a fan?" "Not that. Just far too many original films out there to be wasting time on sequels. I never watch a sequel." "Bullshit," accused Preston, closing the styrofoam box lid which just popped right back open. "Empire Strikes Back? Terminator 2?" "The Godfather 2?" Mary added, Preston pointing madly at her with reinforcement and going "mmm..! mmm..!" since his mouth was occupied with incoming beer. "Cheech and Chong's Next Movie?" Jer threw in. "Okay--Empire, yes--but only because I was a kid, and hadn't developed my own movie-watching proclivities yet. No Terminator. No Godfather. No Cheech and Chong. Sorry, Jer." "So you mean to tell me that assuming you've watched Star Wars as an adult, you decided not to catch Empire Strikes Back?" Preston. "Yes, because I already saw it as a kid! And before you ask, yes, same goes for Return of the Jedi." "So you didn't like Star Wars," Mary, attempting to clarify. "No no, I did. I liked all of them." Confused looks and incredulous upturned palms. "What I'm saying is, is, okay. That particular trilogy was made purposefully to be just that--a trilogy. The story of Luke and Leia and all of em was designed to spread over three films, correct? And since I have in fact seen all three, I have completed the experience of the the whole story. Thus, I have never felt the need to rewatch Empire or Return of the Jedi by themselves, because it's only part of the story. If I want to experience the story again, it would require that I watch all three, start to finish, or else it would seem too strange." "I get it, I think," Jer was nodding, basically following, throwing back what was left of the salsa verde like a shooter. "Fair enough, but here's my question," Mary continued. "So according to that logic--well, before I ask, I'm assuming you have indeed seen Godfather, willingly, as an adult, yes?" "Of course--a bit overrated, bad sound mixing, screaming babies and all that, seven-point-nine outta ten--but yes. I know where you're going with this, I think." "You watched all three Godfathers for the first time all in a row," Preston concluded aloud, this time Mary being the one mid-gulp with the excited hums and concurring pointing. September smiled, looking coy. Good detective work, buddies. Only one problem. Before she spoke up, Jerry, whom the other three friends just assumed was not really even listening, made clear the answer. "No, she didn't. Coppolla never wanted there to be sequels." "Eeex-act-ly. I'm impressed, dude," said Septy, giving Jer a proud slap o' the leg and head tilt. Mary was impressed, too--by Jerry's basically enigmatic success in his conclusion-drawing, yes--but mostly with Septy. Is she a little closed-minded? Sure. But, hey, no blatent hypocrisy as far as she could tell. Preston on the other hand was feeling something a little less satisfying, something in the realm of 'I gotta hand it to em' with just a splash of violent rage, because well of course there's that Nietzschian-level pride of his and can you fucking believe it that goddamn Jerry out of all people figured a thing out before he did, although virtually none of this could be detected on his face. "Gotta hand it to you, Jer." Preston raised his bottle to him--already back to happy normal--having in the last ten seconds recognized the sorrowful re-emergence of this contemptible pride, it's recent wound, it's subsequent patching and tending to, and finally his psycho-doctoral prescribing of something like concentrated ego-poisoning magnanimity for the allowance of it's recovery and subsequent re-dissappearance, now directly returning back into the fluid intangible abyss, if for nothing else but a necessary energetic reattuning if you will for both the short- and long-term betterment of his double-crossing, ever-wayward, fickle blackguard of a soul. "So you guys get it, right? If it's a truly worthwhile story, it must be enjoyed from the beginning. Preston. You know what I mean, right? Have you ever started reading a book for the second time, and just start in the middle somewhere?" "All the time." "Oh...okay. Well." "Still, you really ought to see Terminator 2. Whether Cameron planned it or not, I don't know. Same goes for Godfather 2. Not all sequels are a waste of time, you know," said Mary. "Wayne's World 2? Del Preston? You mean you haven't seen Del Preston telling the story about Ozzy and the brown M&M's? That's a fuckin' shame, Septy, really," added Jer. "Oh, shit! Del...Preston! Prez, I'm totally calling you Del from now on!" Preston smiled. "I had to beat them to death with their own shoes." Septy cupped her chin, considering. "I suppose films are films. I dunno. I'll think about it, I guess." Mary smiled, encouraging: "And all those horror movie sequels? I mean, come on." "Speaking of horror shows. Tanner will be back tomorrow for sure, right?" Preston asked Jerry. "Pretty sure. I mean, unless his Dad does somethin, which, I mean..." They all muttered in understanding. When Tan's Dad fell into that coma Last Summer it took weeks before he stepped foot back into the Store, and only then it was a quick in and out to pick up a small stack of records, CDs and an old player that, when accosted by his slightly concerned friends, he claimed were his Dad's favorites over the years. 'Soon enough,' the others figured. Just let him be. It wasn't until somewhere around the week before Thanksgiving that they had all agreed that no longer could they stand Zack Mixon being Tanner's replacement, the fact that he wasn't being paid nonwithstanding: the kid was just too fucking annoying. After catching Tanner one grey November day in the back, slumped down on the low sofa with half the lights off, two empty Olde English fortys at his feet with one also in-hand plus two more unopened ones laying next to him along with some small white dots of cocaine speckling the table in front of him, half-listening to Placebo's "Without You, I'm Nothing" and barely keeping in his mouth a mass of wet sunflower seeds, Mary and September had exchanged glances, sat on either side of him, decided this was not the real Tanner they loved at all and attempted to put together a soultion that would combine everybody's interests. Spending nearly every day at the hospital wasn't doing him any good at all at this point, they said, and not to mention that they're all seriously missing him at the Store and how him returning for at least a couple or three shifts minimum a week starting after Thansgiving would be the implementation to get Tan back to himself. After this plea from the girls, Tanner consented immediately, knowing in his brain already this was basically the thing to do: return to work, fall into routine, drop the worrying. Just needed to hear it from someone else. Everyone was finished eating. Mary was collecting the miscellaneous scraps of meat or cheese from everyone's styrofoam and putting them on four small plates used for teacups and spreading them around the floor, the cat's making a cute but rather obnoxious onrush of meowing all the while, the ones finishing first being greedy and moving to a different cat's plate. Preston grabbed another beer, took a swig, set it down and proceeded to clear from the tables everybody's trash: picking up napkins and wiping up salsa, collecting unopened plastic silverware, empty pico de gallo side cups and bits of chip and tomato, all with a certain you could say urgency. Septemeber was looking at him like boy oh boy look at the clean freak. Jerry, having finished and crushed his empty beer can handed it to Preston and said to Septy, noticing her gaze: "Like Jack Lemmon in The Odd Couple, eh, Septy?" "You're on a roll, today, Jerry."

***

Jerry was due at any moment to clock in. So far today there came in about ten people since opening, most of them twenty-something semi-regular browsers who stop in once or twice a month and usually head straight to the Newly Acquired section, having browsed the regular shelves pretty much to their full extent already. A middle-aged mom came in saying she was only killing time until her dentist's appointment around the corner. Is it me, or does something smell in here, I can't place it? Day off for Septy. At the register, Tanner was staring sideways out of the windows and noticed an older couple approaching the entrance. The husband carried a cane, and Tanner placed the both of them anywhere between seventy and eighty years old. His wife walked directly beside him with her arm through his, leading him forward with affection and staid dilligence.The old man had a countenance that revealed a steady resilience of mind. Tanner checked him out, and could tell this old man was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, despite the latent haze of tainted logic, begging for surrender. A look at the wife, and you could notice her admiring this quality in her husband, proving his air of steadiness not to be stubbornness and resenting, but humble, dilligent nobility. After a few seconds of watching the couple approaching the curb, Tanner noticed he had been spaced out for he didn't know how long, not really thinking, but not really content. His brain finally jostled itself loose when he noticed the white-haired wife bracing herself just a little in order to help get the husband up onto the curb. He hurried around the counter to pop outside and assist them to the door. The wife smiled with tender gratitude, and asked that Tanner first help herself onto the curb, at which point she would be able to help her husband up on her own. Once they got inside, Tanner holding wide the door for them, the wife sat her husband gently down into the nearest chair. Once her husband got comfortable, she turned, smiled, and asked Tanner politely if they sell here a CD copy of something by Waylon Jennings, anything would do, but preferably a greatest hits compilation. She talked briefly on how her husband sang in a country-western band back in the day that often covered Waylon songs. She went on, telling how they had a rather long drive out-of-state to attend a funeral for one of the husband's former band-mates. They were leaving the day after tomorrow, and it came into her head that maybe her husband would like to hear some of the songs they used to play as something to do for their car ride. Tanner found this very thoughtful of her, but did not smile. He checked the shelves and after a moment returned with a few different discs for the couple to choose from. He fanned out the handful of CDs for the two, and moved them over to directly in front of the sitting husband at the wife's request, so as to let him see better and choose. Tanner did so (speaking a little loudly, also requested by the wife) and pointed out the ones that were greatest hits. The husband looked them over carefully one at a time, and Tanner could see a flash in his eyes as they passed over 1967's Waylon Sings Ol' Harlan, at which Tanner loudly asked if he recognized that one. "Yeah. First one I bought from him. Wasn't forty-five, though. Big thirty-three. Do they have a thirty-three?" He turned to his wife. "This is for in the car, Richard. Them albums can't play in those. It's a CD, not a forty-five. Is that one a compilation, honey?" she asked Tanner. "No ma'am, I don't believe so. I know this one and this one is," Tanner pointed out 1979's Greatest Hits, and a 20th Century Masters comp. "But not this one?" She pointed to Waylon Sings. "I don't believe so. I can't be sure, because I actually haven't listened to this one yet." "Oh, you like this old music? Well do you know which one would be good?" Tanner, having never heard a Waylon Jennings song once in his life, decided to point out Greatest Hits as his favorite. "Okay. Richard. This one isn't a compilation, it's just a regular album. Do you want this one or do you want one of those others? Because these others he said are compilations." "Hm?" "This one right here? This one you said you liked? It's not a compilation. So you won't get as many songs. Is that okay, or would you rather have one of these here, with more poplar songs?" "Uh-huh. No, no." "So which one do you want, this one, or one of the compilations?" He looked from her back down to the fanned CDs, pulled an arm up and set a finger on Waylon Sings. "Yeah. I had that one. Big thirty-three." "Alright, we'll get this one," she was talking to her husband, slow and loud. "But I'm gonna get this one too, that he recommended, okay? Just in case this ain't as good." After a few seconds, the husband gave a gruff sound of consent. "We'll take these two, honey. Thank you so much. Can you ring them up for us while I'm bringing out my purse?" "No problem, ma'am. You guys can just stay right there, and I'll be right back to let you know how much it is." Tanner was a little loud saying this, in hopes that the husband would register that they would be done soon and wouldn't grow unnecessarily impatient. The husband did not display any outward sign at all that this would likely happen, but Tanner's acute empathy as always suggested he ought to pre-ameliorate and so he felt that possibly humoring him couldn't hurt. After allowing the wife a minute to pull her husband to his feet, he handed her the bag of CDs and brough her her change, quickly heading back and forth from the open register to the couple. He opened the door and was eager to help them all the way to the car, but detected that likely the two would rather be alone again quite quickly, so he simply took them to the curb before returning inside. There also came in before the older couple a father and his boy who were around thirty-five and thirteen, respectively. They had been coming in as a pair like clockwork, twice a month since around the new year. Their tradition was to find a good day when neither of them had any previous plans or obligations, usually a Saturday, and to go to breakfast together followed by a drive someplace else on town, so as to spend his (the son's) allowance. At breakfast, when the father asked his son where he would like to go after they'd finished, the son would always answer with "the record store." Upon their entrance, the father, who gave a friendly nod to Tanner and browsed at a leisurely pace, let the son take as much time as he wanted (well, to a point). Tanner didn't mind working weekends as some of the others and so it happened that almost every time the duo made their ritual appearance, Tanner was there, manning the register or going through boxes somewhere. He began to grow quite fond of spotting the boy, making his way with care up and down the aisles, full of enthusiasm at discovering a hard copy of his own nascent musical interests. He smiled at seeing the kid so excited, because Tanner could tell that this was and has been for a while the highlight of the kid's week. Tanner could tell the son was introverted, a bit neurotic for his age, but brightly open-hearted and just stewing in quiet passion. Once inside the Store, the kid would remove his hat and gloves with care, head for the closest shelf and slowly work his way toward the edges of the Store. He would deliberately look down one side of an aisle, then come back up the aisle scanning the opposite side, doing this down every aisle, in order, usually twice. Suddenly, something would grab his attention, an album or sometimes DVD that he recognized, and if he was interested in buying it, he would give it a thorough look-over and leave it sitting on top of the section to go find it later, so as to have free hands throughout this whole blessed experience. If he saw something he recognized and approved of, but didn't want to buy, he would show it to his father, smiling. He would always get get a manly and approving "Yeah" or "Nice" and would put it back right where it was to continue on. Sometimes he would browse for over thirty minutes, at which point Tanner or whoever was there could tell his father was understandably growing a little impatient. With this, the son would return to whatever items he had left out of place and either collect them or put them back, head up to the counter with pride and shyness, check out calmly, but giddy on the inside, grab his bag of goods and tear them open as soon as the two were back and sitting in the car. In back, Mary and Preston going through shit and bopping their heads or singing along to the last chorus of 'Before They Make Me Run' by The Stones, from their Some Girls album, smoking a vape pen with a high-content THC cartridge. They could hear the bells jang and a muffled Jerry's voice greeting Tanner with over-the-top clownish vocal inflections. "Heeey, Mr. tambourine man!" "What's up dude. Having a jingle-jangle morning, I see." "It's tight, I guess." Jerry sniffed. "So, affirmative?" "I got you, man." Jer handed Tanner his baggie and headed towards the back room and the music. "Get outta here. Be up there in a minute." Jerry approached the door and tapped speedily on the wood with both index fingers like a drum roll before entering the back office slash storage space, Tanner hearing the music heighten and lower again as he went in. Once he was alone, Tanner pulled out his keys and pressed Unlock twice. After a side-to-side look, he drove one of the keys into the baggie and took a bump. He continued staring out the front windows, spacing out once again rather than auto-starting the car. "What's up, sluts?" "Well, well. The actual beast of burden. Uncanny," said Mare as Jer shut the door. "Where we at?" Mary cleared some albums off her lap and pushed herself up and out of the Indian stance with unexpected grace. "So this box needs dusted, and these still need tested, both sides." Preston was also standing up and stretching, pointing at the work they had left and handing Jer the vape pen. "As far as the testees go, You got a Kings of Leon, a Linkin Park or two, some other shit and still about a thousand Cat Stevens in the back, if, you know. I dunno what else. But I saved you a Prodigy. You're welcome. I'm outta here." "What! No shit, which one? Mare? Who the fuck brought a Prodigy?" "I, don't..." "The other day, I forgot to tell you. Just some old dude with a dopeass Killswitch shirt, had lots of nineties and aughts stuff," said Mary, throwing on a jacket and pulling out shoes. "He brought everything there. Besides the Yusef, obviously." Jer went up to the box of testees Preston had indicated and the two headed out the back door for smokes and Jer rifling through, going "Jilted, not Fat...Jilted, not Faaat..." The dorky-but-somewhat-likeable eighteen-year-old Zack Mixon single-handedly brings in an average of eleven percent of the Store's revenue from the past year, September found out one day. He also came in today. Usually it's around four p.m. every other day for him, but it was indeed Saturday, so he showed in the morning, before the middle-aged mom, and the older couple and the father and son. Once dressed for outside, Mary squeezed a tube of purply brown soft cat food onto a plate, set it down on the floor and clicked her tongue. "Preston's out, I'm just going to smoke. Bee arr bee."

***

Return To Sender: Dive into Remembrance. Bathe in Everlasting. Dissolve and be Whole. TONIGHT: Stylings of Hakim Papoola. Nervous Muskrat Lounge. 9PM. Drinks tonight at the Muskrat. Mary had a plus-one: that being Reggie, or, Rigaud, Lagnier, Blandois. Preston had met dark-eyed Reggie outside the Pump and Dollop a couple months back, well after all the hubbub from Last Summer had burned out; lanky, shirtless and looking like a blackguard playing loosely on an oversized acoustic guitar various Latin and raggae-ish melodies to passer-bys and singing with open guitar case at his feet. He looked to Preston rather vivacious and forward-looking for a bum, around his age, billy goatee, newly homeless he could tell--possibly by choice; decent clothes, no smell, no loitering bags of any kind: plastic, trash, or sleeping. Total Dharma. In the late morning light he moved in a way that, to Preston, made him come off as replete with a strangely drawing blend of dissonant and primordial energies. Pres was walking in to grab javas when he spotted Reggie singing powerfully and playing with almost dubious fervor; like he might have been planted and had grown instantaneously to create some impromptu and natural distraction. Anyway, Preston dug him. Coming out from P&D he gave a hallo in Reg's direction, and after introductions the two agreed that Reg aught to come by the Store, address here on this business card, to set up and do his thing sometime this weekend, maybe. These days Reggie sets up out front about twice a week, typically Thursday and Friday night, playing for passer-bys usually when Mary or September is working, because the men often grow tired of the music he plays. When that happens, Preston will tell him to take a break or put on his headphones; Jerry will put on a record and drown out the sound, sometimes inviting Reggie in; Tanner will run out there and tell him to fuck off for a while, sometimes smiling. During her smoke break, Preston and Mary headed down the street a couple blocks toward the Nervous Muskrat Lounge to see if anything good was going on that night, talking along the way and stepping to avoid puddles of melted snow. "Chu gonna do all day?" "Would love to get some writing done." "Well that goes without saying. What else?" "Hmm. Space Golf on PlayBox." "Gotta get that eagle," said Mary, hitting her cigarette and looking up at the Walk/Don't Walk sign. "I'm also rewatching Cosmos on VHS. Carl Sagan. O.G." "I've always wondered if he was pronouncing Uranus correctly." "Got that turtleneck and chain." "Sagan got a a chain? Ayy." "How much my chain cost? Billions and billions." "He never really said that." "That book made me cry." The pair had only to walk a couple blocks down and take one turn before they could see caddy-corner from them the familiar brown bricks and triangled corner building with the long vertical sign of tubey lettering reading MUSKRAT when you looked up to down, all dead and dark and not yet the neon. Posted in the leftmost window near the street was plastered a Hendrix-y colored poster with classic hippie-inspired and the-most-impossible-to-read-font-until-death-metal-came-along lettering that moved in circular spiral-like directions that normal sentences aren't usually supposed to go, enveloping the image of Gustav Dore's depiction of Satan from Paradise Lost, but modified so that in this depiction, the fallen angel is wearing eight-bit sunglasses and smoking a joint. Mare read out the title, struggling through the acid font. "In this window?" Preston pointed, looking over at Mare. "Yeah." "I'm gonna invite Septy. This might be good." "Is she not working tonight?" "I dunno." "Maybe I'll ask Reggie." "Girl, if Blandois saw this sign, I'm pretty sure he's already goin." "Oh my god, stop calling him that." "Did you see this one? 'Bathe In Everlasting.' 'Scuse me?" "Yeah bro. Should be a trip. I'm headin back." "I'll hit you up later. Enjoy the Prodigy." "I will!" The thwack of Preston's deadbolt, and inside he went. Flipping every light switch from front to back, he sat down a grocery bag on the island between the kitchen and living room, making sure not to set it on top of his copy of Tao Te Ching he likes to leave out from the bookshelf for easy access before carefully untying his shoes. After putting away sundries, he flipped on his console and television; not to play or watch anything, but so as to have an aesthetic background screen rather than a blank, black mirror. He changed into pajama pants and opened a beer, pouring it out into a glass down the side proper. He thought about September. He grabbed another cigarette and went out to his balcony with Lao Tzu. Mary was balancing herself against the wall as she pulled off her shoes; her bottom half being rather disproportionate once it hit below the small waist. She could hear the muffled glitches and grinds of 'Voodoo People' from out front. She pulled her coat off and walked over to a lounging Cheech to rub his belly, and gave a general hallo to all her cats that were appearing out of corners and under shelves with nap-end back arches and toothy yawns. She slid into her foam sliders which she always wore at work rather than her regular street shoes before going to the front where Jerry was obviously going ape or ham on the vape pen. "Hiroyuki Sakai!" Jer yelled with a beckoning gesture. "Chen Kenichi!" Mare pulled out the barstool next to him, the one Tanner occupied at day shift. "The ever-explorative Verge, the Redd queen of the highway. What's good?" "Just a-swingin." "With those thighs, I reckon so." Jer leaned over and turned down the Prodigy a bit, not noticing an older male customer on the upstairs-landing Jazz section giving off a sidelong stink eye like "finally" and upward appeal of passive-aggressive kind of "Thank God" relief. "Talk shit, get hit." "Middle school cool kid." "That's me, alright." "Really? Cuz I coulda sworn you were Roksaburo Michiba!?" "Only on off-days, Fukui-san." "Speaking of being off, you got plans tonight?" "Dude, me and Preston saw the wildest poster at Muskrat just now." "Oh, shit, you went down there? How long you been gone? Damn." "Preston wants to go pretty bad, so we were thinking me, him, September and Reggie if I can find him." "What kinda music?" "I don't know if it even is music, it just had a guy's name, Hakim something. If it is, probably psychedelic doom type shit from what the poster looked like." "Oh, shit. I'll be there." "I could be totally wrong though. Didn't feel like a band poster. It said 'stylings.'" "Ah, you shoulda said that before. Poetry--not my thing. Anything else? Ryot Gear perhaps?" The back wall of Stewey's was where they kept all the clear liquors, which is where Preston had been shifting from foot to foot for about three minutes now. At checkout, he ended up with a three seven five of Tanqueray, a picollo of moscato, three plastic waters, and a single plastic shooter of New Amsterdam peach vodka. He was twisting the cap of the gin once he got outside and across the street; but just as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he felt the vibrations in his pocket and saw the confirmation text from Septy that she'd be off at eight, and would be able to get there by nine thirty. He smiled, replied, and put away the gin and instead chugged the moscato, and tossed the empty mini bottle in a sidewalk hedge with a flourish of inspired artistry as he made his way downtown toward the Muskrat.

***

"Love letter leaf Are you just Passing through Or are you Waiting for me?

"Gust of rose Covers up dust Sense so bright It hides in light All where it goes.

(light applause)

"Emerge from the Earth. Immerse me in mirth. Your cruel love questions What wonder is worth.

"Fall below best. Rise above rest. Your body feels free, Fair, unbound and blessed.

(light whistle)

"Jesus died for you. Jesus lied, it's true. Death will be barren. Heaven shall fall through.

(light applause. Preston whistles with pinky fingers. September smiles. Reggie crushes beer can and whoops).

"I just came down with a case of the rhymes from the attic. Never a witness. Dust off the table and unroll the art. Here comes the illness. Put it on my chart. I must insist.

("Okay." Light whistles)

"I just came up for a quick kiss to boost your self-esteem. You need to taste yourself in a way not so profound. You don't need to waste yourself in a way that won't astound.

("Damn!")

"After all, I'm the one who's supposed to go down.

("Maybe." "I can dig it." Loud whistle. "Okay.")

"Takes time for other minds-- The ones that I wish were mine. On days like these, I make myself obsolete.

("Oh!" Applause. "Go there." "Okay." "I see it.")

Well there's this, at least. The brilliance is earthshaking-- So effortless, it's painstaking-- Even my failures are groundbreaking."

(Large applause. Many whistling. Mary shouts: "Gat-damn, that's whassup!")

"I'm faded so far away from anything relatably debatable. I'm unstable and unable to remain in the same stable."

("No." "Yes.")

"Table tennis of the mind.

("Yup.")

"Take a tip from passing time ("Stop.")

"To say when, And stay bent. Same place and mind As a stint in an insane asylum, Ay."

(loud, long applause. Long whistles. Many shouts and cheers. Reggie barking like a hound. Jerry flashing ironically. September and Preston making crazy-eyed glances of surprise).

The stage of the Mukrat was adjacent to the three-by-ninestool bar, and covered only a small pocket of the north-east corner of the main drag of the inside of the building; giving a band of five or more members a nice opportunity to reach out and platonically touch fingers, whenever they so desired (as if the practice room weren't enough). Hakim was alone; just him and an ambient background score he put on via laptop and connector cable. Some scrappy notepad papers in his left hand, and he performed the final leg of his act, bringing forth a healthy final applaud. Behind the bar was Voodoo Mama, as always. She bartends any night the Rat is open for business. Off hours, over half the crowd will stay for a majority of the nights of the week well past closing. Mama never cared. She'd always just sit at that table on the second floor landing and count money. She never had a security system. Just her peeled eye, peering like a lion behind the grassy green gen-pop income. It was around ten forty five when Hakim left the stage, and the house band returned; re-dressed, and well smoked, and well doped. It was of course Reggie, with his beach bum energy and Bob Ross-esque inviting type of tone that lured the lone poet forward, not ten steps from the stage. "You halal, mah brotha?" Reggie sounded off, ripping the skinny Hakim into Mary's empty chair; her having went out for a smoke with Septy, but just now returning. Preston noticed the layer of sweat and pushed over an unopened water bottle over to the wide-eyed performer (Preston kept plastic bottles of water well on-hand when out in public--to save money, he claimed). "Anyone smell sushi omelette? Conger fishmeat?" Jer. "Voodoo Mama?" "Don't be rude." Hakim laughs sorta. "You ever been someplace between a greem chili gizzard shad and a Japanese horseradish ice cream?" "You'll have to forgive Mary and Jerry, here. They have their own language that for some reason revolves around phrases most commonly found on Iron Chef," Preston informed. "You people are odd." "Seven Eleven." "I can't argue that," Papoola replied to Blandois. "Wer' nut always doin' business, but wer' alllways open." Septy, downing a bluey Cuervo shooter Preston snagged 5DD). "Yo, but that poetry was straight wrong." Jer. "Forreal, what are you on, man?" Preston inquires. "Mamas milk brutha. My shit don't come from nowhere that ain't purific." "Shame." "Forreal." "Still though." Mary grabs Jer's vape pen. Septy pounds back well shots like a commercial interruption. She keeps on going. Preston keeps on giving languid looks to poor ol' Jer with his attachable interest. Mary watches. "You ever feel less than, hoople-head?" Septy slurs at HP. "No. Not really. I do my thing." "Ain't that the purest form of nigger logic." "Yo, Sept. That ain't cool. Sup wit chu?" "Why did she call me 'nigger'?" Preston wonders. Am I a nimrod, or is this hard-on genuine? Reggie asks: "Are you from here?" Mary eyebrows lift. "Egypt." "No shit?" "How bout that water erosion?" "What? What do you mean?" "I nose the truth! Can I get an Amen for pussy?" "Seriously, Sept. stoppit." "Eat my ass, Presley. I'm all shoo-kup." Mary looks at Preston, then September. "Hey Septy." Mar. "Y-yyyes, ma'am?" "Enough is enough." Mary looks at Jer. ( Oh no. Here it comes, the Russian sleeper code). "Enough is enough! I have had it with these muthafuckin snakes on this muthafuckin plane!" Septy shifts to feet to declare, overpowering the round little table. Preston rolls his eyes. Hakim chuckles. "Unboud and blessed." Voodoo Mama lightly encourages the audience to give it up as the house band--one drummer, one guitar, one standup bass and one pianoman--finishes their set, coming back in twinny. Joint press, no doubt. Preston kisses her cheek as he goes to the main for a refill like any used mechanical vehicle. Mary and Rigaud make nice. Jer laughs hysterically at Hakim struggling to be polite to a drunken September he did not expect and puffing lightly on that same vape pen. He tries to pass it to Preston for a minute straight before realizing his chair is empty. "He's outside, Jer. Give it to me." Mary. Mary hits the vape, turns it to Reggie for his for-the-roader as they both stand and head after Preston and the band for the back alley via the band entrance. The couple lean against a shadowy wall along the widespread flannel-tearing cement with red and white make-out fury for a brief hop and spell out of time except for that squeaky-ass metal frame door that squawls each and every set change. Down the line a bit, and Preston is grabbing a three-point-five from the band's guitarist, which Preston figures probably came from the vocalist. "Perfect, man. I'm gonna head back." "Woah, woah, woah. Forget somethin?" "..." "The bread, ese." "Right. Yes. I knew I was forgetting somethin." "Ight, we good. Thanks, mano." "Great set last weekend. With the black chick...?" "Thanks, mano." Preston comes in the band entrance, right between the stage's edge and bars end. He spots September and Jer at the bar right under that one working overhead light, and they're both very into whatever topic they're into along with Voodoo Mama on their opposite. He was about to head straight for them with the good news, with the intention of bringing them right back outside to smoke, but decided to wait, as he noticed Hakim looking like he was preparing to go back on for another set (you know--all focused and staring forward; wrapping a scarf without looking down; drip of spit.) "Round 2?" "Yes. Wish me luck." "Who needs it?" "Exactly, my friend. Exactly." "Did I strike a nerve? Whadduyu mean?" "To be honest, tat is the truest thing anyone in this whole town has said tonight to me. Luck is not real. Trust me, man, I know. What I have been through? What I thought was right, and what I was told would be honest, humble, and brave? Everything we are, everything we think we see and know? It is all nothing but history, energy, and circumstance. We are animals. Yet, we are also conscious. My promise to you, Presty. Take it easy. Anything else would be overkill."

***

"It's so cool that we're all here." "Hey, Mar. Should i put on Yumeji's Theme?" It's 10:36 AM, at the Rcord Store. The next day. "No Septy. We are not in the mood for love." "Ohmygod. Nothin tingles my pringles like a reference understood!" "You made us endure a full viewing of that one, if'n you don't recall." "What? In the Mood For Love?" please. You could never do that live." "Yeah, but hey man, at least it wasn't as bad as Salo." "Oomph. Hard times." Mar. "Or Human Centipede 2." "That was a rough one." "I'm starting to feel really glad I never went to those." Tanner. "You're a horse with no name." "If that were true, there'd be ain't no one else for to give me no pain." La laaa, laa...la-uh le-luh luh..." The playlist turns to California Dreamin' (Single Version). (Silence, until Jer kicks in singing after the panpipe solo.) "I've been for a wa-aaalk..." "On a winters' day..." "[Got down on my knees...]" "You're all like..so gay," says Tanner. "Hey, you guys. What if I told you I have invented an idea for one of the most profitable apps to ever exist?" Jerry inquires. "I'd say where's the stock?" Mar. "What's the app?" "Okay. I call it QuickHook. Say you're on Instagram, and you see that your ex is at Starbucks. Okay. So. You show up there, and pretend you're just getting a coffee and minding your own business. But then, you get on QuickHook, and you connect with a hot chick thats only 1 mile away! You have her show up, make out with you for 20 minutes, and then leave!" "Why?" "Why?" Because a hot chick is in to you, of course! Think about it. What sells? Anything that lasts forever. And what lasts forever? Jealousy. And that's what QuickHook is about! Shallow green leads to deep green." "It's like Grandeur Grindr!" Septy. "It's like insecurity insurance." Tanner. "It's like beta bait!" Preston. "Cuz I'm good, yeah I'm feelin alright..." Jerry grabs the phone with audio connnection. He checks for a second. "Oh L'Amour." "App would never work, Jer. Not enough folk out there quite that level of petty." Preston. "And plus besides who even uses Instagram anymore? Specially pins," September mumbles from under her heaped-over dozy carcass. Voo-teevah, mon," Jer yells from the aux station. "Ya'll don't know. It's a wild world." "Don't bring Yusef into this." Mary, petting Jupiter in her lap. "Hey ya'll, I think I need to drive her home," Tanner feels, indicating September. And look at that. Tanner brings September back to her apartment. Nothing too crazy there: a tiny dog, some Xmas lights, a few dozen modern paintings and a wok. Loose hairties, wadded up toilet paper, smudged Whitney Houston lines of white dirt here and there, conter-wise, a pot and dirty pan. "What is she?" he asks. Tanner stays a few steps away. "What is she, really?" "Can we please? Please, Tan. I need you." He undresses her, in that drunken friend way to prepare her for bed. But. That rack looks back at him from a certain past. He can't resist. In he goes. She says "Yes." But that's just a response here. What it really means is more than can be explained. "What even happened to you?" "Protect me." He rolls her into bed. "Tanner, why can't you be with me? Why...cuz I miss you and stuff." "Because." "No because. Because yer dad." "Yeah." "B-cuz yer dad...is dyyy-iiiing! And you don't like that." "Pretty much, Septy. You're too much right now." "Right now...or right nooow now?" "Just now." "So what am I now now?" "Now now, you're just a fuckin' fuckin drunk Tom Hanks bullshit baby." "HA! Yaaaaay, Wils-ooon! But that's not yer dad. your dad is FELD-son. Right?" "Yeah. Martin Feldson." "His name sounds plaid. Like if plaid color had a name. ALso, he's dead. HAAA." "He was a good man, Sept." "Sure, suuure, sure. Yes. Yep. I bet he was. I love you." "I wish he could have met you." "HE HAS! I went nd saw him?" "Yeah. But. I dunno." "Tan." "Sept." "....." Outside is hot. Bugs fucking everywhere. Tanner slams the door and slams they key but doesn't know what to slam when it comes to the window, his wondow into her heart. There she ism basically fucking Preston at this point, blacking out every weekend, talking about such random shit and leaving me back for the rats, the roaches. Where is her mind? I'm sorry, but seriously. We used to work. We used to fuck like crazy. What even is this?" I need to see Dad." Tanner is 25, and his mom has health insurance, and she knows this whatever kind of stuff. September coughs blood. "This is weird." "Hello, September." "Yes. Hi, weird. Why are you the weirdy weirding weird?" "It's been eleven hours since you've been anesthetized. Are you feeling this way still, truly?" "Tcherr-tr-trueee. Trueee. Blue as true is blue is you. And me. And pee. And poop. Ha-ha-ha...poop. Poop the scoop. Scoopy doop. Scoops for me, Scoops for doop, and choc and choc and chocolate chip and rocky road, yo, gimme a goad...toad...Frodo froad..." "September you need to listen." "Skoad, chode, listen." "Yes, I'm Doctor McNamara and you need to listen to me." "To me...tooo me. Toomee. Toomee. Yes. Listen to Mac Na-Romalds." "September? September? Please. THis is important. Very, very important. I need you to listen." "Neeeeeeed...ta listen-eeen. Nee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeeeeeeeeed. ta liss-eh-heeeeeen." "Okay. Sir. Are you the next of kin? A friend?" "Just a friend, yeah. I'm real sorry, Doctor. SHe is usually chill, but last night was..." "I don't care in the slightest what happened last night, son. It's whats going on now. September is sick. You need to realize that, even if she cannot." "Sick. Okay, can you be a little more fucking specific dude?" "SHe has cancer. In her stomach. Not to mention a couple of ulcers. It's bad, son." "Tanner. " "It's not looking good, Tanner." "So is this from drinking? The ulcers? I mean I know cancer runs in the family. Her dad had it." "Tanner, cancer does not run in the family. It's not congenial. SHe just spent too much time drinking, yes; but much more of this is from smoking, It's a problem we must deal with. Now, I'm afraid." Do you know of any immediate family I could contact?" It's a matter of legal procedure, Tanner. I know your support alone might suffice just fine. But as I've said, this is serious. So please cooperate, and stay positive." "Dude..."

0 notes

sugar-petals · 3 years

Text

:: random things about boyfriend yoongi

↳ ♡ NOTE I saw this format floating around the fandom and thought it was cool and sweet (just like our honey boy so here it goes) 😊 includes an sfw and nsfw bit, both can be read independently.

words. 3k

SFW

First off, Yoongi is laid-back and casually sexy the way we know him. But he also has spikes of energy where he actually gets a little clingy. Any opportunity he will use to hold hands or jump around like a madman with his gummy smile because he got excited about something that you never could predict would make him so happy. He truly is an epiphany.

He’s your most eager personal chef but funnily enough a little unsettled by onions so you end up helping him. Yoongi hates to be crying in the kitchen because of some evil little vegetable but hey, perfect time and place to spend half an hour huddled together cooking or baking. And Yoongi is secretly longing for a cheesy scene, he finds it romantic when you wipe the tears from his face.

His way of speaking to you is a mix of mumbly Korean, high-pitched pouty cat speak, and old-school English slang phrases that he learned somewhere on social media or award shows back in 2018. Most of the time he takes things seriously but is up for some joking anyway. He is sure to giggle every now and then which is really adorable of him. Yoongi is also the person who gets every nuance of your humor and reacts to it.

After being single, you really have to get used to someone waddling around the house. Like— oh, he’s there! And it’s none other than him! Since Yoongi isn’t noisy when he concentrates on his laptop, it really stands out when he morphs from his unmovable rock-like being to a slow rolling stone headed towards the kitchen from time to time. You have to blink every time. And how could you not look up, he’s walking by with his cutest oversized sweaters and striped fluffy socks.

He cannot hide things that normal people would try to keep secret — because of their own discomfort, but he is good at blocking out things that serve your comfort. I’ll explain what I mean. If you have been keeping up with Yoongi postponing the reveal of his surgery until it was successful, you know what I mean. In short, Yoongi is pretty much an automatic filter for things that disturb you. Knowing the right time and place to inform you is the key. As is disregarding things that don’t concern you as a couple, unnecessary drama and opinions. He’s really good at that without ever trying to sugar-coat the important things because he remains a frank and honest soul.

Yoongi has an easier time giving random presents for simple occasions rather than making a big deal out of traditional festivities. So, big celebrations are often kept simple — unless the rest of BTS is there advocating their ‘a little party never killed nobody’ motto — while Yoongi focuses on getting you something attentive or useful every other day pretty much. He’s still a frugal type, you know him. It’s more about inexpensive things that catch his eye because he heard you likes this or that type of snack or want this or that sofa cushion.

There’s always something new and surprising in the fridge and it’s hardly ever empty because Yoongs takes care of the groceries, really thinking it through. Just personal chef things. Being Yoongi’s partner must be the most destressing thing. He takes responsibility for the worldly things, the ironing clothes and the trash cans. He himself thinks that’s the easiest shit ever and is ready to put time into it (he sees the merit, it drives him) while thinking your side — the sheer act of being in love with him, being there for him — must be hard. Which it isn’t.

Yoongi thinks emotions and relationships are tough and complicated while daily life runs smoothly at the snap of a finger. You think maintenance is a drudgery while love is not the maze your boyfriend assumes it is. Deep down Yoongi thinks he’s unlovable and a bad person, that’s why he believes he doesn’t have the burden but you have. That your affection then blazes past the barriers in Yoongi’s esteem is something that he finds incredible. It catches him off guard there, you burst the bubbles of the flaws he falsely imagines he has.

You bet your ARMY bomb you’re watching cat videos together.

Guess who’s the first person to hear all of Yoongi’s upcoming hit tracks? Even Namjoon gets the first sample ten minutes later. You gotta be really advanced at keeping secrets and avoiding accidental leaks with your phone or something.

Yoongi hesitates with the analogy because it’s a little funny and you’re evidently not a steaming liquid made of beans, but he claims you really are like his daily americano. Makes his every morning better.

Now, in all seriousness. What means the most to him is that you take him how he is and are stable company. Yoongi is afraid of betrayal and stupid games so he has to be sure to have a safe bet going. I think that’s why he fancies marriage, it’s a sign of commitment and some degree of permanence to him. And yes, he is a bit jealous in nature since he’s easily invested in someone with a purity of feeling, almost in a naive way. Yoongi easily idolizes his partner and puts a lot of energy into a bond. He wants to protect that, take the risk, and he has watched for someone who radiates genuine trust and faith. He is sure to have found it in you without any illusions and he is right. Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty.

Playing the piano for dinner or date night is a must, he practices constantly to advance to a great standard. He secretly finds a lot of satisfaction in you cooing at his skills and melodies. Those ten bony fingers gliding over the keys with such a technicality and focus, and a passion that makes you hold your breath, it’s great to watch.

Did you see that one coming? He will compose and produce a designated mixtape only for you personally. Yes, with a little self-filmed, self-cut music video for the title track.

Now those things never see the light of day, they’re all for you. But what about your couple life once it touches the social realm? As one might expect, Yoongi is very ‘eyes turn narrow’ with people who bring disharmony to your dynamic and the relationship in general. In fact, he is grumpy and disappointed, and should someone give him a reason, distinctly brutal. If someone even attempts to test you or plays manipulative games, Yoongi is relentlessly turning them from the inside out with his words that never miss the mark. They’re efficient. As I said, he hates playing annoying games, he’ll do any shortcut and be Yoongi.

I guarantee you can lean back and will never the fazed by stupid people and time wasters again. No need to lose face. Yoongi does the dirty work and is the best possible defender to have on your side. He handles that. Invasive opinions and useless phrases he will shove right up some trashtalker’s ass and leave. Let’s squarely say he is unafraid to be a armchair critic of your and his haters and doesn’t want any of that nuisance to disturb what you have together. He cuts very quick and makes sure not to get tangled up in trouble.

Yoongi will also debunk a whole bunch of weirdos on weverse asking about your private love while he’s at it. Prepare for some very entertaining snide remarks. Oh my god, so many entitled people will be pissed off. Many will also celebrate him for stepping up. What’s actually important to Yoongi is that nobody taints what is like a treasure to him.

It won’t be hard to overlook that Yoongi is very proud of you as well. He looks confident and revering when he hangs out with the group and you’re somewhere close by, even just doing something trivial.

He’s also pretty touchy, sometimes publically to demonstrate something, but mostly in the relative calm and safety of a hotel room. When the lights are out, all barriers crash, the utter romantic takes over. His favorite types of kisses besides those onto his hands are when you kiss his lashes. And yep. Yoongs is such a cozy little spoon. A very curled up one with cute shooky pajamas on most likely.

Talk about clothes. Believe it or not, Yoongi’s fashion goes through a significant change due to the relationship. He knows that you are touchy and thinks about what kinds of flannels are the biggest cuddle magnet, after all. And oh wonder, he will also show some level of skin when he accidentally hears your praises for his arms and legs and collar bones and glowy skin while talking to a close friend of yours. So, look forward to that in summer (he still dislikes the winter cold and wraps himself into scarves twice his size, mind you) though it’s still for your eyes only, he covers up when going out. Truth be told, he enjoys when you casually touch his skin. Especially the arms. Which hold up the firmament to you, and your world, too, and guard it.

BTS will know about how excited he is about you because he often boasts about for how long you’ve been living together by now. We all know this is Yoongi’s favorite way of bragging and it further shows that loyalty, dedication and longevity is the spice to his every meal.

Yoongi is probably going to quit the bottle because you naturally make him feel at ease and upbeat. In fact, he simply forgets about his wine. I don’t have to convince you that Yoongi will be very immersed in any interaction with you whether that be watching movies or discussing his latest tracks.

Those discussions come with extra back massages for him because he spends a lot of hours in his chair. Especially around the neck, it’s no secret that this is in every cat’s top 3 favorite massaging areas. Yoongi is gonna make some really raspy, sleepy sounds and just melt in your hands. He’s gonna sleep like a baby afterwards every time. Sometimes, he says funny and cute things while he dozes. He looks very content.

Say goodbye to the 21st century adulting annoyances in your life because Yoongi has a grip on those without a word. Those six specific chores that always plague you take him only a dozen minutes and he is eager, the forms to fill out are already sent off, the list of people to e-mail is weeded through. The taxes are paid, the bank account is full, the meals are on the table, garnished to perfection. Roof over the head, and it’s a sturdy one, Yoongi bought a sound haven house to inhabit a lot of happiness for two.

He’s probably the only person who doesn’t see it as a loss of dignity if you want to hold on tight to him during a dentist visit as a grown ass mf. Why all of this? Yoongi cannot not strive to feel needed in his actions. He wouldn’t like himself if he couldn’t contribute something reliable and useful. That you find things worthy of your time is priority. You complement each other, what you think is a waste of energy makes him work and strive and vice versa. That way, in the end all things are taken care of.

Giving is more important than taking in Yoongi’s world. He thinks of everything because he considers it an offense to have you in a pile of duties, that is, if you don’t like ‘em. It’s his form of dedicating his efforts and showing respect. He doesn’t need much in return. The things he expects if at all don’t feel like a duty: Much like he doesn’t consider doing those acts of services for you likewise.

Work horse he is, he needs something on his daily to-do plan. Which includes making you feel unbothered by the occasions of an incoming strict world when it’s getting to you. You’re supposed to do what you feel like doing just like him and not slave away at fifty deeds. That you torture yourself with daily life hassle is the thing he dislikes seeing the most. He enjoys doing these things so he’s happy to get going.

What’s not a daily life hassle: Holly is a big fan of yours. Instant friendship. Just wanted you to know.

He always knows how to preoccupy himself and finds something to improve. Getting on your nerves, and that’s no surprise, is the last thing Yoongi will ever do. In fact, you sometimes have to search for his napping spot because he got lost somewhere in the house.

He either sleeps or works, his philosophy is simple. If you need him, he does appear seemingly out of nowhere. And, he spends as much time with you as you enjoy, not always prioritizing his producing unless it’s urgent or he’s on an inspiration streak. Which is great anyway, you can sit next to him listening. It’s the right balance of work and play.

Yoongi is not above blatantly showing off. Actually, he goes for an act of stunning pretty often. You know how cats parade around whatever they just caught. He wants to impress you with assets and accolades and appraisals, the boy can’t help it. That you only lightly nod at most of it with a little smile will confuse him but he will get the point later on. You wanna signal Yoongi that you anchor your love for him not in shifting numbers and chunky metal pieces.

That you don’t confuse his signs of outward worth and fame with the core of the guy you find the sweetest in the world is very important to him. He will take some time to see through that because he’s used to being loved through status and its symbols by people close and afar.

The way you throw yourself at him to give a big smooch in random situations — especially when he doesn’t feel great about himself— rather than only when he say gets a new car is sending him a message. Again, he has to grow into that. He will retreat at the beginning because he feels worthless of your affection on days where he doesn’t feel big and bold and successful. But since he sees you jumping on him because you need only his kind and squishy presence and see him as no different than usual because he’s always Yoongi underneath, your boyfriend will change his mind about it sooner or later. He learns that your presence makes him feel like a billion dollars yourself.

You don’t wallow in the regrets of other people missing the point of Yoongi and instead focus on always understanding him rather than enabling Yoongi into wrong directions. And there are many of those, his mental health can tell you a thing or two about it. He begins to get that you really know what you’re doing and are in it for the real him which makes him feel really loved far underneath all surfaces and images. You accept his fame and admire his work with music which is what he’s truly doing it for but also don’t forget that the most vulnerable Yoongi is the one that you’re there for and not a facade.

NSFW

I know you’re curious. That Yoongi’s sexual style is more than just interesting goes without saying. To give you an idea. Anything steamy with Yoongi means him taking his time. You know, for making it quality. Yoongi wants to grow into the right balance of activity and staying relaxed. He is good at keeping cool and bringing some focus to the madness. He wants to figure out how to be more casual instead of tense and overly preoccupied which he’ll be at the start of the relationship. But the fast learner he is, his nervousness fades way faster than you think.

Yoongi is extremely afraid that he can’t please you or starts to become awkward slash clueless so he darts to the opposite of the spectrum and overperforms, even plays a character. You have enough cool yourself to tell him what to do in the pace that works best. That he stays centered in his body is important for you to teach him. When he gets grounded and juggling his confidence is out of the equation, he fucks the best.

His favorite position besides giving oral — with you on your back — will be doggy style. Man, we gotta talk about that. Slow to upper moderate pace, nothing too all over the place. Yoongi moans very slowly, too, all drawn out. Get ready for a frequent session of some anal to unwind. You heard that right. First, Yoongi will get the two of you into the right rhythm with his hands at the sides of your waist, then, ride it out in slow mo with his right hand properly stimulating you from the front.

By habit, he will add some lube here and there but not use insanely dripping amounts so everything gets messy or he can’t touch you without sliding off anymore. Just enough to slide well. Yoongi is so good at this I swear, it’ll be your favorite thing to relax. He has the restraint and technique to pull it off rather than pulling out, huh. Yoongi is gonna stay inside you for ages. It feels like he’s massaging every spot for some extra time. It’s amazing to slack off your muscles, cool off, and get many a gentle but fulfilling orgasm.

He’s not gonna put you through the hassle of dealing with an anal creampie cleanup so he keeps it wrapped, and mostly focuses on your movements altogether while keeping his own climax smooth and more relieving rather than something that relentlessly knocks him out in one go. Yoongi is good at observing and doesn’t feel the need to chase a violent high which is why he is so great at sex. Fucking with Yoongi leaves a wholesome feeling and you never feel ashamed or guilty, or a sense of being dirty and ruined.

He enjoys having sex to make you feel really good and works his hands on you very respectfully. His goal is to have you wet and pulsing after a long while of getting you there, and putting you to a good night’s sleep. He’d feel terrible if he left you sore or disturbed. He is really passionate, especially with his kisses or when you ask him to slide into very deeply, but Yoongi being brash and controlling is an image out of sight.

Besides giving you the number one heavenly assfucks, Yoongi also likes to work his tongue as we know, and he’ll work it all over. Few body parts of yours have not made contact with that glorious mouth and I say that in the best of ways. You can instruct him to do whatever, Yoongi obliges with radiant joy. And here again, he takes minutes upon minutes. Kissing and kissing and licking and maybe even teasing once or twice to make you smile. You know, a little signature wink. Honoring your skin and every shape is not something that Yoongi has to talk about, he will physically show it and I swear it’ll finally get into your head with every little move, Yoongi has totally surrendered his tongue to your body and worships it.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts #yoongi x reader #boyfriend yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #bts x reader #boyfriend bts #bts bullet points #bangtan

769 notes · View notes