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inkskinned · 1 year

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there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

#this is objectively bad advice #don't listen to it protect yourself and do real work on yourself find one of the good posts i've made about this #but also. u know. if u want to have fun while u do the work of setting boundaries #.... it IS fun #i will say that my fear of him went SO down after i just started. fucking with him.#bc i used to get SO fucking upset #i'd spend WEEKS arguing with him. tearing my hair out. sick with anxiety and dread and anger about all of it #and now i just LITERALLY do not engage #instead i'm like '' haha :) mole people" and get the HELL out of any tense conversation #i kind of think some of these people are literally addicted to drama as a form of connection #they like the rush they get from arguing #but those arguments are incredibly damaging for me #so like..... i am in the process of literally rehabilitating this person to figure out how to find connection thru #NORMAL CONVERSATION #he doesn't get it yet #i also do talk to them like they're preschool kids lmafo . ''are you using a safe and kind voice right now?''#'' do you need a snackie? you sound a little upset. let's have some hummus and come back to playtime when we feel ready''

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hajihiko · 1 month

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a long time ago I was like "I bet there are a lot of characters that are both touch-starved and touch-averse" so. Thinks

Impostor explanation: has been around the whole scale as various identities, has a hard time understanding themselves and their own true preference. Tends to just adjust to whoever they're around.

#not an art #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #I used to be that combination team! Not anymore. Now I'm just touch starved lol #Akane and Nekomaru are doing so good im proud. I think they both get affection from each other-#-and are also just healthy enough to seek out what they need. Akane had loving siblings and Nekomaru knows the benefits of human touch #Nagito is touch starved but some of it is his own fault. Refuses to seek a solution to this problem (same with Fuyuhiko)#Peko is more touch starved than she thinks but she's so used to pushing her wants aside that she doesn't realize it yet #Kaz actually gets a lot of physical affection because he seeks it out so often! He just also always needs more.#OK thats it bye

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buttercupshands · 6 days

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can you even call it a warm up if I'm going to bed without drawing anything big

and a sketch I made while sitting in the park today

#sketch #my art #bnha #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #all for one #midoriya izuku #bnha manga spoilers #only after I finished basically polishing this sketch did I notice how it's basically dark and light mode #also the first one is basically a redraw of illustration from vol 11 #I know that translation of Tenko's words is different in official but eh #fanart #I've kind of recovered from recent chapters #and I was analysing those chapters all morning #I'm still thinking but otherwise the chapters are so good #also did you notice that AFO actually talked about how his other him didn't use that 'last thing' yet and that was in ch 410 #and in ch 419 he did so it's real and it's still sad #but still AFO was never hiding it enough #from Tomura maybe but we as readers actually saw his plans play out #in any case I'm still just sitting with those two Izuku and Tenko interaction chapters #I waited long enough #and if you don't count AFO's return Izuku DID save Tenko and it's so interesting #since he now has to save his OTHER origin that was in ch 237 taught to kill whatever he wants #Tenko and Tomura both had 'origins' chapters and for now we only worked with 235 and 236 #and even if Izuku helped with the start of 237 there's still AFO #in any case it was a hard week #also the second thing actually had them holding hands #and then I was like 'but at that point Izuku's hands are gone oh no'#and it was just Tenko holding air where the hand was destroyed #in any case that scene.

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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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Lackadaisy Enrichment

#in our enclosures!!#video linked as source; which i'm glad to see already has a million views and is trending. That's Right #lackadaisy #WHICH i have been reading since at least '07 when i was thirteen my god b/c this animation is based on the ongoing webcomic #like does its influence show up Directly in some Discrete way i can point to in my art? not very easily probably. And Yet.#the inspiration....i wasn't able to be Regularly Only for at least another year / art done Nonprofessionally Online was novel to me #like wow ppl can make & post fanart of w/e they love huh....didn't know webcomics were a thing & i never really read that many since but.#good god the quality of Lackadaisy at its onset is like this is superb?? this person putting in all their talent and effort???#and Then you get years & years more art and i don't even know what superlatives to throw out abt its quality as it evolves. obsessed w/it..#if i see a new lackadaisy comic page i Will be acting out. obviously this animation is a delight & also stunning. and fascinating to also #juxtapose as a Translation / Interpretation of the comic in a different medium & standalone snippet of Story #and that we're not even quite there in the comic timeline; Taking Notes abt character info we get distilledly here....genuinely love like #take it back to '07 i'm like oh boy can't wait for the dream team to assemble. then a decade later when it did? Oh Boy. that is payoff lol #namely hooray for stitches and mudbug at the field office for every passing gangster. killing one marigold associate but not the other #which seems like a promising start to shootouts w/the other dream team triumvirate. i adore that in canon so far mordecai freckle & rocky #have met but only over a nice brunch. re: all intentions anyways. anyways i'm like Gifs Must Be Made while i'm also so riled afresh abt the #comic that i've been sooo hype for for over fifteen yrs now babeyyy Deservedly. i've done a couple of rereads & ought to do another....#For Interest it'd probably take a few sittings to catch up from the start but there is much to be engaged over....this ongoing story that's #historical fiction prohibition bootlegging cats with plenty of focus on characters & several Mysteries. which i'm better at parsing now lol #like one of the more recent rereads like Oh Of Course x (probably) accidentally killed his y & z took the fall & that's a binding secret...#Not [oh of course] abt the circumstances surrounding a's death & how b & c were involved. nor the ''what's marigold's damage'' mystery #which is great. love to not know things. love that we can readily follow all the emergent drama everyone's wading in nowadays. hell yeah #anyways admire my organized approach to gifs here. four shots each Expressions Atmosphere Action Groupshots #sure might've muddled through gifmaking for this anyways but fr being a huge lackadaisy comic enjoyer for now most of my life helps #and its very Overall Inspiration like. just really getting the [you can really just draw stuff out here] going. fr the art's detail & skill #and that enrichment like i'm gonna have a great time following this. And I Have #you don't expect a crowdfunded indie animation in the mix back then but hell yeah fellas #SIGH ok removing a 4th gif that's broken / not displayed despite reuploading then entirely remaking it. if it's a bug i'll try again later

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cerise-on-top · 2 months

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Hugging, Kissing and Cuddling HCs for König

I'm trying to see him in another light again after everything I've seen about him, so I decided I'd write something fluffy and nice for him. And then came the realization I never wrote some HCs like these for him in my original posts, so I decided I'd change that! He's Austrian, so naturally I have to love him!

When it comes to hugging someone, König is a bit hesitant. Considering he’s not the most physically affectionate person out there, it’s almost an honor to be receiving an unprompted hug from him. Whether his hugs are long or short depends on the occasion: If he’s proud of you for accomplishing something, then the hug will be rather short lived. Though, he might pick you up and spin you around until you’re dizzy. If you’re sad and need some comfort then his hugs could last a while. He’s not the best with words, he prefers to listen to other people, but if he knows a hug is what usually helps you then he’s willing to do so. Despite being a big and strong lad his hugs are surprisingly gentle, he’s worried about crushing you. He could put his all into them, but then you’d likely end up with a few broken ribs and he doesn’t want that to happen. König is also surprisingly warm, so receiving a hug from him is a rare, but nice experience. Although he does go rigid at the beginning, not knowing what to do, but relaxes into the hug eventually.

Again, he’s not a very physically affectionate person, but isn’t opposed to the occasional peck on the cheek or on your lips either. There is some anxiety whether you’d actually want a kiss from him or not, so he doesn’t kiss you very often, even if you do reassure him that it’s quite alright. He’s a bit tense at first when he presses a kiss to your lips, but calms down eventually. It’s especially bad during the beginning of your relationship, but he’s since gotten better at being calm about it. Since there’s a good chance he’s taller than you he loves giving you a kiss on the forehead. It’s a small but sweet gesture. He doesn’t need to bend down entirely to reach you but he still gets to be affectionate with you. However, if you’re on the taller side, or just as tall as he is, then he’d love to receive kisses to his temple from you. It makes him smile every time you do it. If he’s in the mood for receiving a kiss then he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and nudge you a bit. Or try to get his head in your closer vicinity. Kind of like that one bunny video where the bunny stretches to receive some kisses.

Cuddles with him are a bit more common than hugs actually. However, he refuses to lay down on top of you. If you’re shorter and weaker than him then there’s no chance he’ll put his weight on you, he’s just that afraid of hurting you. If you’re taller or just more muscular, then he might, but he’s still a rather heavy lad. Most he’ll do is put his head on your shoulder while you’re cuddling in bed and are both lying down. Although it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t want to be held. König is alright with being the one to hold you, but sometimes he would prefer to be the little spoon as well. That urge gets especially bad if you’re roughly the same size as him. Sometimes just nuzzling into your chest does the trick for him as well, though. Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair as he does so. Another thing he adores is you sleeping on his chest as he holds you. He gets to hold you close, he gets to protect you and he gets to doze off a bit himself, it’s bliss to him. Sometimes he leans down to press a kiss to your head and accidentally wakes you up like that. He feels bad about it and apologizes profusely, but does chuckle a bit when he sees your disheveled hair and your tired expression that shows you just woke up.

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #he actually kind of scares me these days even if I don't want that to happen in the slightest so I'm trying to desensitize myself again #I know people always joke about fanon könig vs canon könig but I think I will write him a bit softer with his s/o again #just to combat all those awful things I've seen about him that I don't want to be true and that I also want to forget about #könig is a big lad so I knew from the beginning I wanted him to be good at hugging because this is self indulgent #I feel like if it weren't for his anxiety he'd be much much cuddlier #because that's the case with me even if I have other things going on as well #and what is a funny character you write about if not another piece of yourself?#I've put so much of myself into some of these characters and yet people keep requesting them so I must be doing something right #it's more fun that way as well when you put your characters through something you've gone through. more relatable too #but I think that's something pretty much every writer does. that's why some requests are so difficult to write #I got one about marrying Laswell and Nikolai and that was a difficult request for me because the last wedding I went to #was my parents' and that was almost 18 years ago. man time flies I was 4 years old back then #so naturally I don't remember much either. But I tried and that's what's important!#either way please enjoy this piece of fluff I wrote today!

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hoofpeet · 3 months

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I'd probably have to read the printed version and web version back to back at some point to note all the differences but... ough

#sorry i'm going to be excited about this comic for the next month #nofna #okay having finished this now--#and sorry if this doesn't make sense to anyone who's completely unfamiliar with this comic in advance-#the 'popcorn ending' (printed version) is nice to see but i think the web version hits harder. if that makes sense #so i'm kinda tied on which ending i 'prefer'- i think both are good though #also considering i've read the web version a good 4-5 times and the printed version only once- i probably can't make that judgement yet #easy answer- i do like Nutsedge :] so it's nice to see the ending where nothing bad happens to her #but also- NT suddenly becoming a greenie-esque villain out of nowhere felt a little jarring #as well as SV suddenly turning a corner and becoming a 'good guy' (arguable)- considering the first three books are about #/him being too stubborn to change or accept any outside worldviews . Him suddenly coming to his senses felt out of place #<- probably biased because i like characters being bitter to the end and ultimately destroyed by their own hubris #the web version is probably‚ objectively‚ a bit better #but -#(spoilers- if you're planning to drop ~70 bucks on getting these books)#the conceit of SV actually perfecting his style‚ using it once‚ and then immediately getting tooth-brained- was pretty cool #assuming it's meant to parallel him spending months tormented by trying to perfect it while something's still missing-#and then dying before he can narrate it to the audience‚ so that we never know what he figured out.#hard to articulate these thoughts but tl;dr- popcorn ending also had a lot to think about

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uncanny-tranny · 5 months

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I just find it very interesting that all the labour classed as lesser (most often seen as "women's labour") becomes indispensable in moments of crisis. It's just interesting to see how quickly people turn to that labour and then discard it in moments of peace or prosperity, devaluing it until another crisis hits.

#politics #feminism #yes this is me reflecting upon the knitting and war video #it's interesting how a 'feminine' craft like knitting became recognized only in tangent to the violence of war #my feelings about this are complex but i think textile craft is a good example of what i mean #because textiles are revolutionary to humanity - just like the discovery of fire. and yet it is so often devalued #especially when it comes to profit over human welfare #look the textile artist to even stauncher hater of capitalism pipeline is real and i'm barreling down it faster than the speed of light #complex feelings on this but this is my general thesis i guess #(context: i was watching a video about knitting and how it supported war efforts in wwi and wwii)#(and while i did know a lot about the topic in that it was a huge part of war support propaganda it was still interesting)#i feel like that video encapsulated a lot of angst i have about crafting labour especially #and also by 'interesting' i actually mean infuriating and stupid

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kyouka-supremacy · 5 months

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I think we should just bring back Wungo Wednesday and start a fandom collective anime rewatch

#Because otherwise I can feel I won't last much longer #Because like. The last two hyperfixations of mine ended the moment I started feeling like there wasn't any new content #And two days ago in one day I started a new manga a new book and rewatching a favourite show #Whereas I hadn't started anything new in the two years ever since I got into bsd. Which makes it NOT a good sign #But the bsd anime has now ended for one month and 25 days and that's the last time the plot actually moved forward.#And if I counted right. The manga took 4 chapters (that is chapters 110-111) to adapt 6 minutes #That means it's going to take another 12 months (18 minutes left to adapt. that's 12 more chapters) to catch up with the anime #Yeah I'm not. sticking around this long with nothing new to see I'm sorry #Best case scenario I take a one year hiatus but that doesn't make it sound likely that I'll be back #And I know it's fresh news as early as this morning that author said they were introducing a new character but like.#They also said they finished writing this arc like. One year and half ago if I remember correctly?#And we still have yet to see the end of i t so...#That is to say. I'll probably be starting an anime rewatch starting next Wednesday. I've been meaning to do it for a while anyway #I don't want to leave the fandom I like the one chapter a month format #On the positive news I still have a queue of original posts that spans over ten months #And I was meaning to start the reblogs queue too in these days. So there's that #random rambles

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coern-art-very-cool-and-nice · 1 month

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sekai au 👊😔

#my post #hatsune loopku.....#isat #in stars and time #isat siffrin #isat loop #I was SUPPOSED to make a modern au but look. where that got me #prpject sekai.....#hsatsune miku......#woaw.........#I haven't planned this yet. I just wanted to draw loop with Miku's pigtails really badly because I came up with the shape idea and went lik #ogguuguuuuGUG #oh bell yeas #actually well I have a little #small group of college students who met via tutor group (by odile) that turned into a book club and maybe band?#they would all suck playing instruments honestly #I made it a sekai au because I needed loop to go SOMEWHERE and went insane trying to figure something out till I finally went fuck whatever #fine #siffrin made a sekai and loop is there. fine. whatever. fine. yeah. fine #I don't know how the timeloop will come in.#I cant have both a timeloop and a sekai at once.#I would forget the other exists #and focus all on one #or it would be too much at once #also its kind of hard to do a timeloop like the one in-game in a modern way?#there's no good rocks to be crushed by that aren't like a collapsing building anyway #OH OH also this might be the last project sekai related art you see for a WHILE #this game hit my brain worse than project sekai I'm so serious #I've burned through almost all of my sketchbook and there are three(3) drawings that aren't siffrin #THREE.

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abyssalhuntersnerd · 9 months

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Happy Birthday to the biggest little shit I know, I love you so much it hurts, seriously. Thank you for blessing us with your existence another year. <3 Lots of technical difficulties with this one but at least I can draw again. :')

#finished fish art #my art #arknights #specter #specter arknights #I would have loved to draw the doll too but alas my arm isn't fully recovered yet so I don't wanna force it too much #it's very simple I know but #what's having time nowadays #don't know her #I tried my best while having an injury and also my ink turning fucking SOLID cause of the heat which is great #I'm just happy that I made it to something this year and that I was able to draw a bit #cause it's been months since I was able to finish something like this and it felt awesome #it's not perfect but it's good enough for me I made sure to make the top the best part cause yeah lmao #so happy birthday specter #thank you for everything <3

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yeyinde · 1 year

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IN DREAMS | Price x GN!Reader

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown. He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know.

》 WARNINGS: 18+ – MATURE, SMUT | GN!Reader: no use of pronouns, gendered language or anatomy; very soft smut; soft John Price; established couple; gratuitous fluff (does this count as fluff????)

》 WORD COUNT: 4,6K

》 NOTES: Since there were no gender specifications, I kept everything as vague as possible for the descriptions of MC so this could (hopefully!) be easily read as Gen Neutral Reader, Fem Reader, Male Reader, or whatever you prefer. I did my best to exercise as much of the angst out of this as possible but still found myself having to slap my fingers from typing out legions of hurt. This is my BEST attempt at fluff. Sorry.

This is wholly dedicated to this anon!!! I hope you feel better! 🖤

Waking, he finds, is often easier than falling asleep.

It's a quick descent into cognisance, the dream he had—long forgotten, never remembered—fading into smoke in the back of his head. The popcorned wall of his ceiling takes its place. A water stain in the corner—coffee brown. A crack above his head. The hairline fracture is just a small river of black that cuts through off-white.

Falling asleep takes ages, aeons. Lying on his pillow for hours without feeling the talons of sleep dip into his temple.

Silence is consuming. Crushing. It makes the threads of his thoughts echo in the recess of his mind, bouncing off the walls until they bruise. It leaves its mark in the shape of burning eyes, restlessness.

Cureless insomnia.

It's easier with someone else. You.

Price isn't a man who needs much outside of a stiff drink or a rich cigar. Cures to an age-old conundrum in the form of vice—vices because Price was never a man who could just stop at one—but nothing batters the errant thoughts into quiet disinterest quite like you sleeping beside him.

The noises you make are loud enough to drown out the ghosts in his head. Soft snores, the rustle of sheets. Your arm draped over his broad chest keeps him locked to the mattress, forced to forego his usual nighttime ritual of rising after trying—and failing—to fall asleep after a few hours. You stop him when he'd normally pour himself another drink, light a cigar on the deck, and watch the ethereal gloom of midnight swell over this little part of Liverpool he calls home.

Keep him in check.

Though, sometimes, it doesn't work, and he lays awake all night staring at the damned ceiling while you curl up against his side, chasing lavender in your bare palm (a recurring dream, you tell him, and he tries to remember when he last slept long enough to truly have one. He comes up short each time.)

He rises before you, always. Doesn't have the heart to tell you he doesn't sleep. That he stares at the ageing canvass of the ceiling, mind stuck in an endless loop of inanities that are not worth losing sleep but still rake across his mind with a viciousness he knows won't go away until morning, when he wakes in a daze. A fog.

So, when you ask him how it was, running rheum from your eyes, he lies and says it was okay.

But he slept last night. Knows it because he dreamed.

Falling lavender. Knuckles warm, soft against his temple. A voice—susurrus, low; the sibilant echo of sweet dreams whispered against his ear.

Sweet dreams.

Sleep, as an insomniac, is always a double-edged sword. No matter how many hours he spends chasing REM, that fickle mistress, she always evades him in the end. Dancing just out of reach.

He wakes up feeling worse each time. Over-exhaustion. The paradoxical conundrum of being too tired to sleep.

He feels the same clutch of evanescent slumber tangles through his lashes, making his lids too heavy to open, but it's dulled. Lessened.

Price forces himself to keep his eyes open, staring at the blurry ceiling above. He wakes to this sight every morning. A familiar ritual. Three blinks. He watches the ceiling gradually grow clearer.

His hand threads across the sheets, and where he expects to find the warmth of your skin, he instead meets empty space. The sheets are already leaking the heat you left behind.

Price blinks, lashing clinging together from the sleep crystallising along the crease of his eyes. He has a headache needling behind his brow, a tension building from lack of sleep, and—

His tired eyes slide from the empty bed to the half-smoked cigar sitting in the ashtray. The empty glass of scotch beside it.

He's found a cure for woes in the form of a stiff drink—scotch, neat; and a side of spring water—and a perfectly rolled cigar. Vices, of course: the kind that rots his insides, and stains his teeth.

Cirrhosis. Emphysema. All the ugly little warnings on the back of a tobacco box.

But it numbs the ache in his bones, and the ghosts in his head, so he considers it an equivalent exchange.

(Just one that takes more than its fair share when he doesn't oblige by the rules.)

There is a respite from the steadily growing throb behind his left eye when he grinds the heel of his palm into his eyelids. A brief moment of fleeting pleasure. It rears when he pulls his hand away, letting them fall to the sheets.

Today feels a little off-kilter.

Without you grumbling about sleeping in beside him, peacefully chasing after lavender, and the same dream clotting behind his eyelids, he feels distinctly out of place.

His hand slides over to your spot, fingers curling around the cooling sheets. The blankets are tucked in around him.

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown.

He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know.

You're not hard to find. He can hear the rattle of the old pipes as you shower; the hiss of the water hitting the title.

Lured in like a beacon, a siren's call, he follows the breadcrumbs that lead him to you.

Your silhouette is a dark line against the old curtain he keeps meaning to replace, but even the shadow of you seems to dampen the maligned feeling curling in his gut.

A sight, he thinks, for sore, tired eyes.

He rasps on the doorframe, announcing his presence. You scare easily, he finds, and he'd rather not get a bottle of your shampoo tossed at his head for the trouble.

The curtain peels back. You greet him through the cracks, blinking owlishly through the rivulets running down your forehead.

"Room for one more?"

A wide grin stretches across your face as you nod eagerly before disappearing behind the curtain once more. The spray of the shower swallows the echo of your laughter.

"Thought you were gonna sleep all day, old man," you call, loud and exaggerated. He watches your arms lift over your head, fingers threading over your scalp.

You think you're funny. Charming.

(He does, too—he'll never admit it, of course, but he laughs the hardest when it's just you and him; when the world around you fades into the background, and all he can hear is your effervescent giggles over the words you uttered, the jokes that always come after the punchline. The ones that fall flat, that miss.

It's funnier, you say. When it isn't supposed to be, you know?)

You wander through life with ease in your gait, a sense of peace in your mien like the world and everything in it is your best friend. Comfortable in your own skin, content with your lot in life. Happy, he thinks, just to be included. To be a part of it.

Happy to have him in it.

"Might have," he mutters, affection blooming in the gnarled remains of his heart.

You bring a sense of chaos to his life that feels like watching a nasty storm brew in the distance from the sanctity of his window. Laughter that sounds like a whip of lightning striking the pavement, close enough to smell the ozone, to have his neck prickle with danger, but far enough to feel safe. A voice that echoes like a thunderclap. Pelting hail. A torrential rainfall. A gale.

(All his life he was told to run from storms, but you make him want to chase the calamity brewing in the distance; to feel the hazard against his skin.)

"But I couldn't sleep without you snorin' in my ear."

"I do not—!"

Your words of indignation taper off into a yelp when he pulls the curtain back fully, letting the chill of the mid-spring morning drift over your slick skin. Goosebumps ripple across your trembling flesh—no longer a tantalising tease behind plastic (ohh, you cooed when you first saw the simple navy and blue striped curtain. Very predictable, cap; very you) but bared to his eager, hungry eyes.

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight that greets him, a low rumble spreading through his chest. "Well, don't you look cosy?"

"It's my day off," you whine, shivering when he draws out getting into the water behind you. "Let me pamper myself a little bit."

"Don't you get pampered enough?"

"Do I?"

His hands settle on your waist, nose bushing against the wet space between your ear. When he breathes in, the familiar scent of you floods his lungs. Warm milk. Honey sweet. A touch of loam, something bitter. The acrid tang of your sweat still clinging to your hairline. It reminds him of sex. Of your dewy skin when he has you pressed into the mattress, head burrowed into his neck, he fucks into the tight clutch of your willing body.

He stirs. Want smouldering low and heavy in his belly. You feel it when he presses tight against your back, but there's no rush. He feels no urgency to seek release. To get off. He just—

Wants.

Always, really. There is this distant buzz of desire that sits low in his belly whenever you're around. A constant simmer.

Wanting you, he finds, is the same as craving a draw of nicotine behind his teeth.

"Always," he rasps, nose running down the length of your neck. The warm spray of the shower rouses him from the last tendrils of sleep, clearing the congealed rheum around his lash line. "You always get pampered, love."

When you hum, he feels it reverberate through his chest. "You're slacking today then, John."

His hands slide from their perch against your hips, your quivering stomach. Soft skin, slick from the water, flutters under his touch. He dips his hand down to cup your sex in the palm of his hand, feeling the heat of you bleed into his skin.

"How do you want to be pampered then, love?"

You lean back against his chest, tucking yourself into the fold of his body where you fit like a mismatched puzzle piece, bent and cut until it slides in. The gaps between your bodies are filled with the steam that curls off the hot water pulsing down around you.

"Just—fuck, John—," you gasp when his thumb rubs soft circles over your sensitive skin, arching into his embrace. "Just—ah, just this—"

"Want me to wash you?" He presses his hips into the plush softness of your ass cheeks. "Or want me to get you off?"

His question makes you mewl, thighs spreading to fit more of his hand between them. "A–anything—both—"

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

"Fuck, John—"

Your petulant whine disintegrates into a soft hum when he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tighter to his chest. His chin settles on the plinth of your shoulder, watching his fingers trail over your sateen flesh.

He's content to just feel you. The keen in your naked chest when his thumb brushes over a spot that makes you melt. The harsh pants; soft, languid little noises slipping through your wet lips—uh, uh, uh—interwoven with the hymn of his name. The shudders that wrack through your body when he presses the fat length of him against the plush seat of your ass. Your hips cant, rocking into his hold, as you greedily seek your release.

Your fingers curl around his thick wrist, thumb and forefinger barely able to lock in the middle, and it's the sight of you wholly in his grasp that ignites a childish sense of glee in his chest.

He's never been a particularly possessive man.

The transient lifestyle he led, the one he'd been primed for since he was young, and everyone around him just expected that he'd follow in his father's, his grandfather's footsteps, doesn't allow such luxury.

And he'd never been the type of man to take it. To want it, to pursue it. He was content with the ephemeral romance that came and went, a flickering flame that bloomed bright before eventually burning out. It was easier.

Lonelier, too.

You had been unexpected—a squall.

Your presence has ripped through his life like a violent tornado, leaving everything turned upside down in your wake.

You left him wanting.

It always seemed silly to run toward the thing that could kill you, but when you grinned at him—the recession of water before a tsunami hit—he finally understood why some people chase danger their whole lives.

He thought he'd have to adjust, to make room for you when there is no more space left.

But storms don't squeeze to fit.

They rip through.

He supposes, then, that there's no need to worry about making room when there are no walls left standing.

"Give you whatever you want, love," the words are a broken snarl in his throat, bleeding with the tangled remnants of his filthy desire; an aching sense of possession, and hunger. "Anythin' you want. Anythin'. Jus'—"

The empty bed flashes behind his eyes. Your side, now cold to the touch; the heat already fading out from the sheets. Whispered promises in the sleep-stained curl of his hair.

"Jus' stay—," the mangled plea is a faulty firecracker in his throat.

His arms tighten around you. Possession, he finds, is a silly thing. Ownership. Covetousness. All of it means substantially little to him when the only home he'd ever known is a duffle bag packed full of clothes he'd never wear.

And then he comes home to you. The space is saturated with your scent. Little markings around the flat that remind him of your presence. That scream out into the desolate stagnancy of a place that was always covered in a fine sheet of dust, and cobwebs, that you were here. Are here.

The fridge is stocked. The cupboards are full.

His bed slept in. Calendar marked with dates that mean something to you—meetings, negotiations, birthdays of people who matter in your life.

Scented candles run out the stench of disuse.

The days when your worlds don't overlap, and he comes home to an empty flat in a city he thinks he loves, he's never felt emptier.

It's harder to sleep those nights, too.

The whisper of an empty bed haunts him, echoes isolation and loneliness each time he reaches out and can't feel the warmth of your skin.

"Greedy," you mock, words a breathy mewl that are quickly swallowed by the hiss of the shower. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, clinging to him as he works you through the gentle waves of pleasure, slowly letting you drift toward the precipice of your release.

It's when the other reaches up behind you to thread through his damp locks, nails scratching across his temple, that he finds himself a little lost under the swell of you. Swept away by your breakneck pace.

Possession, he thinks, and finds himself drawn to the way your fingers curl around him. How you hold him tight, keeping him locked against you as you take. Syphon your pleasure from the feel of him against your skin.

Hard, wanting, he barely thinks of himself when he grinds his pelvis into your ass, cock slipping between the globes of your cheeks. Too enraptured by the way you fit in the palm of his hand (in his head, his bed, his house, his life—) to worry about anything else.

"Tha's it," he slurs the word into your neck, the scratch of his beard catching the droplets that run down the smooth column of your throat. "Jus' like that, love."

You writhe against his hand, strangled noises slipping from between the parted seam of your mouth. It's when his name falls, bitten in half when you snap your teeth together, lips curled, does he realise he's not even kissed you yet.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, craning your neck until your chin rests on your shoulder. He meets you with a kiss, and can't stop the groan that rumbles out when he feels the weight of your lips on his.

"You're extra touchy today," you breathe into his open mouth, words curling around his teeth. He tastes you when he swallows, and it soothes the burn in his joints; the ones that ache for nicotine. "What's got you in such a mood?"

"A mood?" He volleys, thumb rubbing the skin of your cheekbone, keeping you locked against him. He isn't ready to forfeit the taste of you, the feel of your lips moulding against his. "What kind'a mood do you think I'm in?"

"You're—," you gasp so prettily when he touches you in tandem with his peppered kisses; back arching in a way that makes him throb. "—clingy," you pant, breath warm and sweet when it ghosts over his tongue. "Needy."

You have this way of pulling truths out of him. Like you know how to crack his skull open, and rifle around inside until you find what you're looking for. A remarkable ability to galvanise his whims into words.

Price doesn't even try to bite them back when they slip out, syphoned into the air from your pull. A black hole. A vacuum. You consume.

(And he lets you.)

"Wakin' up," he starts, words trailing off when you buck, clumsily, into his palm.

He devours you, then, swallowing down each moan and grunt you make as he brings you close to the edge, desperately wanting to see you fall. Break apart in his hold.

"Tha's it, love." He murmurs, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the smooth column of your throat. His matted beard grazes your sensitive skin until you shiver, whimpering from the coarseness of it juxtaposed to the soft kisses, and teases of his teeth in small nips he plants over your slick flesh. "Come on—wanna see you cum for me."

It doesn't take much to bring you to the brink. Years of learning your body, of decoding the little places and tricks that make you howl for him, have given him the insight into how to work you to completion. He uses them all, a softer, muted descent up that wobbling precipice, and knows when your toes are dipping over the edge when your nails bite into his skin, and your hips buck into his palm.

You're a pretty little thing when your eyes snap shut, mouth dropping open as you dive down the vertiginous slope and into the maddening clutch of nirvana.

His pretty little thing.

He cups you in the palm of his hand, a fluttering little bird beating against his lifeline, and wonders if he can entice you to crawl back in bed with him, nestled tight under the covers while he spends the whole day worshipping every inch of precious flesh.

Might be able to, he thinks, when you go lax in his hold, chest shuddering with the shocks of pleasure the tips of his fingers bring.

"God, John—" you whine when he keeps it up,

stroking your sensitive, throbbing flesh until your knees threaten to give in. "Stop—I can't—"

You could. He knows your body by now. Knows he could get you off again and again until you were a weeping mess tangled in sex-soaked sheets, begging him for reprieve. He nudges against your mettle each time, rapacious to see how far he can push you until you're overstimulated, and barely conscious.

Greedy. Always.

His hunger for you is never satiated. No matter how many times he buries himself inside of you, it's never enough. A ceaseless wanting deep in his gnarled chest to have, to consume. Something in the polluted pit of what was once the heart of a man who didn't think he'd succumb to greed, to gluttony, now wants to devour you whole. Ingurgitate you into his marrow, into the rotted remains of his still-beating heart where you'll stay, safe and sound, forever.

His fingers itch, even now, to delve deep into your being. And so, he does.

Tries to, really. But there's a surprising dearth of strength hidden in your body, and he lets you go without a sound when you push against his wandering, hungry hands.

You twist in his hold, knees buckling as you try to slide down for him, but he stops you.

"No, love," he rasps, the words ungluing reluctantly from his throat. "Later. Jus' wanna take care'a you for a moment, mm?"

His arm winds around your waist, pulling you taut against him. His cock is trapped between your bodies, leaking prespend over your quivering stomach. Price thinks he could get off like this. Staring at you like this—eyes lidded, cresting in the aftershocks of your bliss; gazing up at him through heated skin, warmed from the molten spray of the shower pelting across your body; lips blistered and bruised from his kisses, and the abrasive scrape of his beard over your flesh—he doesn't think it'll take much to get him there, but he finds he likes the delay a little more than usual today.

Likes the lazy way you lean into him, fingers threading through the damp, matted hair on his chest before sliding your palms down to where he aches. His cock juts up between your soft belly, and trembling thighs—fleshed vermillion, and swollen. Your fingers dance across his weeping slit, catching the thick pre-spend gathering there. The feel of your flesh on him—hot, and softened from the water—sends tendrils of pleasure coiling through his loins.

He won't last. Not when you rest your chin against his sternum, staring up at him as you languidly work your hand over the head of his cock. Eyes heavy, drunk with the slow ebb of your bliss.

You paint a pretty picture. One he finds he could stare at all day—every day—if you'd let him.

Mauldin spools in his eyes. He knows this by the way your hands spasm around him, eyes catching the frisson that flickers across his face, mirrored in your liquid gaze.

"What were you saying earlier?" You murmur, pressing a kiss to his slick chest. "Waking up—?"

You're teasing him, of course. The impish twitch to your lips gives you away.

"Wakin' up alone—," he grumbles, hips canting into your grip. "Guess it made me miss you some."

The impact of the words on you is breathtaking. The sudden bashful dip of your chin, the flutter of your lashes as you drink in his words—it's a sight that tucks away in the fibrils of his heart, kept safe for later when he's all alone in his bed, or off in some corner of the world with bullets raining down on him.

(You don't have to worry much about bullets, you always quip, the barb in your voice, the teasing nonchalance, dulled by the quiver in your joints. You've fallen out of a helicopter more than you've been shot at.

He's never felt more drawn to you than when you're struggling through the fear gnarling in your eyes to joke about the many ways he'll die just to bring him some iota of comfort.)

His release bubbles quicker than he'd expected, aided when you press a soft, gentle kiss to his thundering heart. A wild storm on the horizon, one that leaves no wall left standing. You break him into pieces without even so much as a murmur.

Price falls apart in your hands, and he thinks, then, about the promise in his dream.

I'll catch them all for you, he'd said when you pointed to the whirling lavender petals falling down around you, eyes light with wonder. All of them. Jus' promise me you'll stay—

Your knuckles against his temple. The sun dawning in the curve of your smile. You breathe and he tastes wildflowers on his tongue.

Stay? You echo, teeth flashing. But—

"I'd never leave you, John."

He shudders in your grasp, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, slanting his mouth over yours in a clumsy, searing kiss.

Your name is drenched in benediction when he spills himself all over you, words a hushed gospel over the altar of your tongue.

You pull away from him, eyes gazing toward the field of yellow sprawled around the hazel boscage.

When he looks up, he finds thunderclouds on the horizon. A looming storm.

"It's gonna rain," you murmur.

He rumbles. "Doesn't it always?"

"Only when you're around."

He catches a petal in his palm. That shape of it reminds him of the curve of your smile. He tucks it in his breast pocket for safekeeping.

"Best keep me around for a while, then, mm, love?"

The sound of your laughter is swallowed by the crack of lightning.

In life, he finds there is nothing better than a cigar, and a finger of scotch after a round of sex.

(Or anything, really.)

He sparks the lightener, holding it to the end, and takes quick puffs from the stem. The sound of burning paper crackles as it burns in the flames.

Price stands on the balcony, eyes aimlessly drifting across the docks. The water is grey, nearly black; shaded by the approaching storm in the distance. A dark cloud on the gunmetal horizon. He tastes ozone in the air; the electric buzz of a gathering lightning strike.

The morning leaves him feeling off-kilter. The dream—dreaming, even—and the empty bed still sits in the pit of his guts. Uncomfortable, disquieted.

He's anxious, he notes, fingers trembling around the fat stem of his cigar. Each draw does little to quell it. Nicotine and scotch on little sleep and an empty stomach do nothing to calm his ruffled nerves. A state he hadn't fallen into since he watched Laswell grow smaller and smaller on the horizon.

He nearly smoked three cigars back to back before Gaz snatched his lighter.

("Don't think this is helping you much, cap.")

It does. Did.

But—

Your arms snake through the brackets of his elbows, curling around his waist. He's too tall for you to notch your chin on his shoulder, and so you settle for leaning over, and peaking out around the bulk of his broad back.

"Lovely morning for it," you murmur.

He catches your eye, teeth sinking into the stem of the cigar to hold it steady as his hands drop to your forearms. He catches the derision in your gaze. The pointed look you send him, sarcasm dropping from your eyes when they swing, pointedly, between the clock on the wall—barely noon hour—to the cigar in his mouth, and the glass of scotch on the patio table. Wordless disapproval of his mid-morning choices. His vices.

It makes his lip twitch up, pulling back from his teeth. It's hard to talk around the delicately balanced cigar clenched between his incisors, but years of practice lead him well.

"Ain't it jus'?"

He likes it when you're close to him.

Needy, you'd said. Clingy.

He feels it, too. There's a desperation inside of him, a clawing sense of affection woven with the threads of anxiousness, and it makes him unsettled when you're too far away from his greedy hands.

His fingers latch around your arms.

"You should stop smoking so much," you say in that tone he knows well—the one that, despite the subdued words murmured in a soft breath, actually means: stupid old man, you better listen or so help me God—

The same tone his mother had perfected when he was younger. Equal parts hedging, cautious, but firm enough to feel the blooming heat behind them. A caustic warning. One that, translated, means: there won't be another one.

No more chances when you speak to him like that. None.

And he gets it.

He's on the wrong side of forty, and you're tired of the ashes on the sheets, the cigar burns punched through the mattress you just bought (at a steal, you'd said, gleeful and bright, and—fuck).

So, he says, "sure, love."

(And really, giving up that extra cigar a day seems easy when you smile at him like that.)

You say nothing when he holds you a little bit tighter to his body, keeping you close; but he catches the soft sigh when he relaxes in your arms, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

You make a soft noise when he stubs the cigar in the ashtray, and then turns to you, eyes heavy.

Thunder cracks in the distance. The heavens split in two sending a deluge down that rips across the grey docks. Liverpool smells of ozone and wet pennies in the downpour.

Price pulls you in to his chest, hands heavy on your skin. Firm, rough. He's never been a gentle man, but you make him want to try. To be tender. Soft. Whatever you need, and more. Anything, he thinks. Anything.

You echo the call, and place your warm palm on his cheek, lids cresting in that sleepy desire that never fails to make his heart race.

He likes the way you make yourself fit against him - an imperfect puzzle piece - and draws you close when you lean up on the balls of your feet, eager to meet him in the middle. It's a searing kiss, the kind that instantly warms him against the sweeping winds howling through the wet streets below.

Nirvana in whispers. A soft tongue tracing the seam of his lips. He imagines this is the closest to peace a man like him will ever get, and it makes him hold on to you just a shade tigher. A bit more desperate. Unwilling - unable - to let go.

Thunder booms in the aether above, and echoes through his hollow bones. He feels the pulse of it thudding in his throat when it strikes again, and scents the livewire tang of a lightning strike when it cracks across the grey sky in a blinking, evanescent flash that makes you jump a little when it hits.

Price huffs into the kiss when you tremble in his arms, and holds you closer in the bracket of his chest.

"Jus' a storm, love," he whispers, the words a rough rasp pulled from his throat. "It'll pass."

"I know," you murmur, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt when another strikes scorches the pavement.

"Maybe I should distract you, mm?" He peppers kisses across your face, brows drawing together. "Could go for a nap after."

It makes you hum, a soft, honeyed coo. ", Take me to bed, John."

"Gladly, love."

He's never felt more at peace than in the middle of a terrible storm.

(But that should be a given considering they always seem to remind him of you.)

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listranz · 9 days

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Why I like the anime series Hellsing more than OVA Ultimate:

• Style design

• No betrayal of Walter in the finale

• A lighter detective-crime plot without going into the Nazi militarium

• Great opening and music

• The “Master of Monster” series played in a new way and the additional series “Red Rose Vertigo”

|| I know that Ultimate is the closest incarnation of canon. I love the manga and I love the OVA, they are beautiful and unique. However, initially I fell in love with the anime series, and not the manga and OVA, I liked the fact that it seemed to play out in (almost?) alternative events of the canon, it had its own charm and peculiarity.

Of course, the anime series is very different from the manga canon. Of course, the anime series gives us some kind of new take on the original Hellsing and I understand that people who love the manga canon may not like it. However, this is a matter of taste. I personally love all of these things, but my favorite will always be the anime series because it was the one that first introduced me to Hellsing.

#hellsing #anime #shit post #dark #vampire #alucard hellsing #sir integra #integra hellsing #2000s #vintage #archives #*no really the opening is very good; there's nice music there #perhaps I missed a few pros on this list?#ova and manga are also beautiful)#but this is a post about my first love #you may not agree with me;; ok that's normal;; I'm not indifferent to the anime series because I started my Hellsing with it #goth #**I know that when the anime series was airing the manga had not yet been completed #hellsing 2001

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basketobread · 3 months

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PLEASE i feel like i'm re-sharing more fan art than i am creating my own art HAHAHA thank you guys sooooo much for all your generosity!! seriously, i CANNOT thank you all enough!! 😭❤🙏

#i know im still inactive but please forgive me!!!#im a bit worn out with drawing so i'm using my remaining energy on comms + the silly lunara sketches i've been sharing!#that isnt to say that i dont enjoy drawing though HAHAHA #i love creating and im so grateful to be able to share all my art with you and to have such lovely ppl support me #whether it be via the comms ive gotten or just people liking/reblogging my work... THANK YOU!!!#i have tons of comic ideas so when i'm ready to get back into drawing at lightspeed... be prepared HAHAHAHA #much love and have a good night <33333 #(also might upload another lunara doodle tonight but IDK YET)#bob talks

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cerise-on-top · 19 days

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Eating Jausn with König

A Brettljausn is just about the best thing out there. I wrote this back in November when my classmates decided to talk about Easter and Osterjausn, so the formatting is different. However, I thought it would work well with the Easter post, so I decided to post it now.

“Honey, what is that?” You looked at the wrinkly, dark colored thing in front of you. It might have been a sausage, on closer inspection. The plate was well filled with all kinds of meat and cheese. On the side were horseradish, eggs and pepper of all colors. On a small plate in front of you were small, sliced cherry tomatoes, the basket next to it held bread.

“It’s a Brettljause, it’s what we eat on special occasions, such as easter. But you don’t always need one to eat it. Just enjoy the meat, dear. It’s all from regional farmers as well.” König seemed rather content while looking at the food. You knew that Austrians loved their meats and sausages, he had told you about that before and you made fun of him for it, but you didn’t think he’d take it upon himself to prepare something like that. It seemed like that must have taken a lot of work. Must have been fairly costly as well. There was bacon there, it looked fairly good.

You took a piece of bread and picked up some meat with a fork. “And what’s this?”

“That’s Geselchtes. I call it Gsöchts, though. It’s meat that you put in salt water before smoking for a few hours. Before eating, you normally cook it. Don’t worry, this one doesn’t have too much fat on it, you can just cut those pieces off.” He put some gray-ish meat on a slice of bread, adding some egg slices and topping it off with some of the grated horseradish. Its scent wafted through the air, stinging your nose a bit. You watch him take a bite out of the bread, he locks his eyes with yours once he notices. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, everything’s alright.” You looked at the pink meat on your fork, a bit hesitant to give it a try. König seemed to like this sort of food, he likely wouldn’t have prepared it otherwise. Besides, it was classic Austrian cuisine, apparently, it was only polite of you to try it, at the very least. Taking a bite out of the meat, you ran your tongue across it to give it a taste. You could definitely taste the salt, but it wasn’t too bad. It simply added to the flavor. The meat wasn’t very chewy, but you wouldn’t exactly call it the most tender meat either. It was actually surprisingly good. Instead of putting it on your bread, you simply ate the piece whole before picking up the same thing König had. “And what’s this?”

“Schweinsbratn.” He didn’t even hesitate to gobble up his bread, already on his second one. This time he put some bacon on it with cheese. Eggs and horseradish weren’t missing this time either. One of the tomato slices was lifted off the plate and put on his instead.

You followed his example and put two slices of the meat on your bread, topping it off the same way as him. That meat wasn’t too bad actually either, it was obvious that it was made of pork. With the horseradish being very fresh it was only natural for it to be spicy still. It didn’t disappoint, the taste somewhat reminding you of wasabi, even if your eyes started watering a bit. Your bread was gone soon enough and you opted for another one. There was no telling if König’s next one was his third or fourth one already.

“So, Schatzi.” He prepared another one. “Is it good? Do you like it?”

“Oh, it actually is. It’s pretty good.” Taking some of the red pepper, you put it on your bread with Geselchtem, gulping down a few of the tomatoes. You were sort of surprised this stuff didn’t come with a salad as well.

By the time you were on your third bread, the plate was already pretty empty, with König having eaten quite a lot. He’s always had a rather big appetite, and for that you were grateful, there was no way you could have eaten all of that on your own. You hadn’t tried the dark, cut up sausage yet. Of course, you had no idea what that was either. “What’s this? Sausage?”

König quickly chewed the food in his mouth before swallowing it down. “Yes, that’s Hoatwiastl. Hartwürstel, I suppose. As the name suggests, it’s a hard sausage. It’s very good, though, you have to try it.”

It was rather hard indeed, you were glad it was cut up into smaller slices. Biting into it whole would be another other ordeal. It was too small to put on bread, so you ate it along with it. Once done, you were completely full, incapable of eating another bite. There were still pieces of meat and cheese left on the plate, it was unbelievable. König didn’t seem affected at all, he simply got up and started putting everything away before returning with a bottle. If you had to take an educated guess then there’s a chance “Wein” might have been the German word for “wine”. “Would you like a Spritzer? It’s essentially wine mixed with soda.”

“Is that really necessary? Do we really need to drink too?”

He chuckled a bit. “It’s a big part of our culture. Alternatively, I can offer you some Gösser or Puntigamer.” With an amused expression, he watched you weigh your options. You didn’t know what either of those things were, probably some sort of beer, thus making you better off with the wine, probably. König even got the two of you some wine glasses. They were fancy looking, but you weren’t sure if you could actually take a sip of that.

He really just put mineral water into some wine, drinking it slowly. With a watchful eye, he almost expected you to take after him, which you did eventually. It tasted exactly the way you’d imagine, sparkly wine with a bit less flavor. Not the worst you’ve ever had. The things you did to make your man happy.

You continued to eat for another few minutes, this time in silence, for the most part. The plate was certainly full at the beginning, you couldn’t believe your eyes when most of it was gone. Still, despite the culture being rather meat heavy, you had to admit, it was pretty good. However, it was very filling. You couldn’t eat another slice of bread, opting for the meat and sausage instead, eating some slices of cheese along with them. Maybe some mayonnaise would have been good with it as well, but you didn’t want to make the suggestion in case König didn’t like it.

After wiping his mouth with a paper towel, he sat back, letting out a content sigh while holding his tummy. Even he seemed to be rather full after the copious amounts of meat he had eaten. Not like you weren’t, however. He took another sip of his Spritzer before putting the plates away, with you helping him out a bit, naturally.

“Thank you for trying some of my food, I do appreciate it. Did you like it?” Cleaning the plates with a sponge, his focus was on getting the last few crumbs off it so he could put it in the dishwasher. You popped one last cherry tomato in your mouth before handing him another plate, giving him a hum of approval.

“Yeah, it was pretty good, but could we maybe eat something less meaty next time? This was quite a lot.”

“Don’t worry, Schatzi, next time we can eat Kasnudeln. They’re also very delicious!”

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #I am so hyped for that Osterjause you guys have no idea #there's nothing better than horseradish with some meat #I am drooling just thinking about it #this has been queued so by the time this is being posted I've likely already eaten a delicious Osterjause #I had a Jause back in January I think but that wasn't enough. I need something like this every month or else I will combust #anyway! Happy Easter everyone!#I know it likely isn't Easter yet for a lot of you but it's Easter here at the time this is being posted!#I love writing for König when the stars align. I love putting him in nice situations like this #that's not a lie but I also just love sharing my culture online so naturally I had to write about a good old Jause #I don't even know what the next big holiday is in all honesty?#Maifeiertag? but we don't really “celebrate” that #Staatsfeiertag maybe? but only with a few beers and Spritzer #I think the next big thing would be Christmas?#well if I'm still into CoD by then I'll write something for it #might as well mess around and write something birthday related though #but that can wait until it's my birthday

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