#also the feeling of dirt underneath my fingernails

[altruistic-meme]

an incomplete list of very nice feelings:

the cold of the earth when you dig deep enough to where the summer sunshine hasn't warmed it

#please add to this actually #mostly i was just got with the visceral memory of helping my mother in the garden #and feeling the cold of the dirt when you got deep enough in the ground #and the contest of that to the warm summer air #and that in contrast to the hot summer air #also the feeling of dirt underneath my fingernails #ough #anyways yes share with me your deep and visceral memories #shh ac

[qierxing]

Farewell to Thee?

A/N: (checks last post time stamp) Oopsie. (drops this in front of yall like a bag of groceries and fades into the distance)

Yan! Twst Isekai AU

CW/TW: the Mouse is Real™, graphic descriptions of bodily fluids/injuries, assault and kidnapping Pt. 3 Oh Woe is Me... | Pt. 4

◇ Continue

[Loading…]

“..llo?"

"Hello?" 

"Hellooo?”

Out of the wispy fog comes a familiar voice. It echoes on and on, fading into a whisper. The tenure worms into your brain as you struggle back into consciousness. And as your eyes open and focus, your brain finally recognizes who is calling out.

“...Mickey?” You respond quietly in disbelief. “Mickey!”

“[First]!” The reunion, however unexpected, is still relieving. You never thought you would be so happy to see the cartoony mouse again. But…

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, huh?” He chirps, walking up to your side. “I’ve been trying all sorts of things to get here, even trying to change my pajamas before sleeping too, heh…”

“So…this is a dream?” You ask hesitantly. Mickey smiles up at you, unaware of your inner turmoil. 

“Must be! This is quite unexpected, I usually only see your head and shoulders, not your whole body.” 

That makes sense, in a way. Only white nothingness surrounds you. Although you two are striding forward in a sense of strolling, you can’t make heads or tails on whether you’re actually walking somewhere.

“Normally I’d ask to take your picture but I don’t have my special camera.” You wryly smile in response. Did you succeed with your plan? Interactions with Mickey was usually out of the player’s hands…did you force a connection when you caused a game over?

“That’s a right shame. I was so looking forward to it since you mentioned it last visit.” Mickey sighs with a playful pout. It then changes to something more somber as he gazes up at you.

“[First], I’m glad to have met you again, but be careful.” You stop in your tracks at the warning.

“I sensed some dark aura around you when we first met. It’s gotten even stronger this time.” Mickey explains, worried eyes examining you. “Please be careful.”

“Wh-what do you mean…?” Your mouth runs dry. Something prickles in the back of your head, and to your panic, the vision of Mickey starts fading away, images blurring. 

“M…time….up….watch…” his last words hover in the air as you frantically reach out to him.

“M-Mickey?!” You fumble around, trying to reach out to him, but come up with air. 

“Damn it!” You scream, impatient rage blinding your sight. 

Just when you’re so close to getting an answer out of this damn game! You just wanted to go home! Was that such a sin?

The prickling in your head grows stronger and you grow lightheaded, collapsing in on yourself. You look up to see a bright glowing menu.

[True Ending has not been unlocked]

>⬛⬛⬛⬛ Key has not been obtained. 

>Continue?

–

[Loading…]

Your cheeks feel sticky.

It feels so gross. The smell of iron and rust floods your nose and makes your eyes fly open. Your fingernails scrape the substance as you push yourself off the cold floor. When you hold it up to your bleary eyes, you can see blood and dirt flaking under your nails. Your entire front is also soaked in blood and saliva. The disgusting sight makes you cringe. 

The ground underneath your body shakes. You regard the pool of blood, tears, and snot underneath you with a gaze not fully aware. You’re… in Twisted Wonderland?

Screaming? There’s people yelling somewhere, and it’s making your head hurt. You groan, raising your dirtied hand to steady your forehead.

What happened…?

"Easy, Trickster." A warm voice envelopes your ear. Suddenly, the scent of mint and petrichor overtakes your senses. Verdant green eyes peer down at you with relief.

“R…Rook?” The voice that comes out of you doesn’t feel like you. Someone else speaking in your body, like a ventriloquist. “H-How…?”

“[First]!” Grim flings himself into your face, adding to the pool of snot and mucus. It’s okay though. You hug him tightly, curling in on yourself, trying to absorb the warmth Grim gives. 

The others come and swarm you; trying to check in on you, but you don’t respond to their numerous worried inquiries, drained of all your energy. Something catches your ear though.

“Oh, we were so worried! When Neige told us you got accidentally poisoned, we couldn’t take you to the infirmary right away–thank Seven Rook was there!” Kalim clasps your hands tenderly, not minding the gross slew of fluids getting on his hands. 

Poisoned? How was I poisoned…?

A knife sharp pain slices through your brain when you try to recall what happened. You were with Neige…and then? Everything after that was all coming out as static noise.

“Prefect.”

You know who it is without looking. What a sight. How could Vil Schoenheit look this disheveled? Blonde greasy hair that is out of place, skin hollowed and pale with scratches, and bloodshot lavender eyes. He looks worse than you on death’s door.

"Vil…?" You gaze at him with empty confusion, unsure of why your heart drops at the sight of him. "Did…did something happen?"

Vil's eyes narrow but then close in resignation. Epel takes over, eyes wide in earnest. "Vil had an overblot, so we had to wrangle him back to normal."

Overblot…right…that's what supposed to happen, right?

Why…was that supposed to happen?

"Forgive me, Trickster. If only I had reached there faster with Monsieur Al-Asim…" Rook hums, surprisingly sincere. "Roi du Poison's madness and obsession…even when he had overblotted…how wonderfully beautiful it all was. The ink swirling around him, his stature…"

You shiver as his gaze rakes into yours.

"But, mon amour, you must not do that again, oui?" He leans in, lips ghosting over your ear and your blood freezes. What does he…?

"What a fine mess this is. What are we going to do now?" Ace drawls, eyes scanning behind him. Your eyes follow where he's looking and wince at the now destroyed colosseum. Debris and rocks flung everywhere, banners ripped to shreds, and electronics fried beyond repair.

For some reason, you feel calm despite the scene before you. As if…

"Well, well, if this isn't a sight."

Malleus.

Nothing registers until his gaze falls on you, and you swear his eyes glow for a fraction of a second.

"What have we here?" The question echoes and everyone looks nervously around at each other. “I arrive early to find not a single person and a stage laid to waste.”

You can only muster a sheepish grin in response. That's right. Malleus could fix this all up in a flash, no problem.

“Hornton, thank goodness you’re here!” Dried blood cracks on the edges of your smiling lips. “We could really use some help-”

“HORNTON?” You wince at the cacophonous pitch of everyone yelling. Rook is tactful enough to shield your ears but it only did so much to keep your eardrums from ringing. While Grim realizes who Hornton is, everyone else is flustered, attempting to explain the weight of his identity to the two of you.

You don’t need it though. His magic is enough of a demonstration as he winds back time and repairs the stage in moments. With that, the NRC group’s spirit and morale is renewed and once again, they’re raring to prove themselves to RSA.

The only thing that didn’t change is you.

Malleus gingerly carries you in his arms while Grim worriedly looks up at you. While they were reluctant to continue without you, even they were not foolish enough to let you go without urgent medical treatment.

You managed to stay conscious long enough to hear Malleus talking with the school medics and Grim muttering about stones before the dull ache in your throat and stomach forced you into an uneasy slumber.

–

The vestiges of a strange dream about mice and keys linger in your mind as you blink away the sleep in your eyes. 

Evening has fallen, the only light coming from the dim lanterns the office has set up for patients. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can make out silhouettes of curtains and several items on the table near you. 

Snacks from Ace and Deuce, herbal medicine from Vil, and colorful flowers by Kalim (you’re sure Jamil was the reason why it was not mountains of flower bouquets). The gestures are enough to make you weakly smile before it drops into a frown.

You turn to scan the room, and find no signs of life.

Did Grim leave?

An uneasiness begins to settle in your chest and you try to quash it. Maybe he just went to use the bathroom. Or if the staff made him leave, maybe he returned to Ramshackle. Anxiety begins to creep through your mind as the seconds tick by on the clock above the doorway. 

 Screw it.

You slip off the duvet covers and although the feeling of cold tiles on your bare feet is almost enough to make you give up, you push through and leave the room in the direction of Ramshackle. 

Soon, the familiar sight of the Seven’s statues come into the horizon and cobblestones turn into granite tiles underneath your feet. Something makes you pause, however. Like a feeling of deja vu, you wonder why you feel like you’ve been in this situation before.

A growl shakes through the underbrush and you whirl to see the devil tips of a tail thrashing through leaves. Your heart jumps to your throat.

Grim!

The next thing you see is glowing blue eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth and dripping black saliva. You stumble back partially in disgust at the sight and partially from fear. What happened to your friend?! 

“Grrr…mine…you can’t…” His words are hardly decipherable, making you furrow your eyebrows in concern.

“Grim!” 

He’s already descended into a rabid, feral monster. Your calls only anger him, and his eyes thin into needle thin slits. He bares his teeth again and you steel yourself. 

Letting out a guttural roar, he pounces and you narrowly dodge and avoid getting shredded by jagged claws. 

You will not lose your friend here. You can’t. Not when–

A fleeting vision flashed in your mind: pitch black ink surrounding your feet, before finally flowing away and hardening into a condensed mass. Your head immediately is wracked in red hot spasms, causing you to keel over in pain. What is…

Unfortunately, this leaves you open to Grim’s next strike, and his attack throws both of you off balance. The impact sends you into the grass and it’s only when your back hits a tree trunk that you shriek out loud. Your fragile medical gown is torn through by his claws, leaving bloody gashes upon your midsection. 

The excruciating pain is enough for feverish tears to run down your cheeks and your vision to start blurring as Grim growls again, no doubt readying to finish what he started.

“G-Grim…” 

Your vision darkens, and your world goes silent.

–

A heart wrenching scream rouses you awake.

“[FIRST]!!”

The sound of whistling wind blows in your ears and instinctively you shiver. As your eyes blearily crack open, a gray figure comes into focus.

Grim is hunched over you, shaking your body with tears in his eyes. The both of you seem to be…flying? What?

“Subject F and Y secured. Waiting for other units’ reports.” A cold robotic voice drones above you. You force your head up and see a tall robot donning armor and wielding a formidable looking oar like weapon. As your eyes adjusted against the strong breeze, you realized you and Grim were trapped in a steel cage. 

In the distance, your ears faintly pick up explosions and deep rumbling. 

“[FIRST]?!”

Both you and Grim turn to see Ace and Deuce gaping up at you from the forest floor below. You open your mouth, but your voice doesn’t come out. 

“All targets have been secured. All units fall back and return.”

“No!” Grim yowls. “My henchman, they’re hurt! Someone, help–!!” 

But his screeching goes unheeded by your stoney captors. And although you swear you hear familiar voices calling back, the robots are undeterred and whisk you both away easily. 

The last thing you see is the shattered ruins of a barrier and a school left in burned pieces.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #my works

[wintersongstress]

— mornings ;

In the time of spring when the bark of trees and the flat of pavements were washed with rain, Simon liked to visit the farmer’s market after his morning run. He had left you today in your shared bed, doubtlessly still dreaming as the sun dithered behind the veil of clouds, and shrugged on a hoodie, getting his trainers out from a rack in the closet. His route was dewy with a gentle mist, not enough to keep people from going about their day, but it was the good kind that cleaned the city air and sweetened the long brooms of blossoms hanging over the sidewalks.

The canopy over a flower stall dripped onto his hood as Simon stepped underneath it. Bundles of flowers were arranged in buckets with chalkboard plates sticking out, the signs advertising 3 for £10, and he browsed for a bit, thinking of you.

There was a time when all Simon knew about flowers was the memory of a window box in his childhood kitchen. Long gone, he remembers his mother potting red and pink flowers and relishing the process—the fulfilling feeling of dirt beneath her fingernails and the satisfaction of roots tenderly planted. One day a hummingbird flitted to the window while he ate his toast before school, and it was a still moment of wonder as the tiny bird prodded the ruby petals before zipping on, quick as light.

Now he was in love with his own hummingbird. A love rare and fleeting, one that, when you don’t catch it in your hands and earn every moment of keeping it, would flutter away and never return. Love could speak in flowers, he decided, when he first began to visit your flat and admire the fresh bouquet you kept on your table every time he came. I like them, you had said simply, and he smoothed a petal between his two fingers. And though he saw himself as a brute with hands better suited for violence than caresses, he wanted to learn about the gentler things in life he once thought could never be part of his.

Simon frees his nose from his face mask to smell a strange spire of green, bell-shaped flowers he had never seen before.

“Those are called Bells of Ireland,” the aproned shop lady pipes up from behind her booth. He glances over and finds she isn’t put off by his tall, dark, and out-of-place presence in the least.

“I’ll take them,” he replies. Their scent was light and earthy, like mint and lavender mingled, and their bells resemble leaves with their vein-like texture. Rare and exquisite, and perfectly you. He also picks out a cluster of mauve roses and peachy ranunculus, thinking about the way you smiled with your eyes closed when you smell his bouquets, your lips still curved when you kiss him afterwards, and lays them all on the counter.

“What a lucky girl,” the woman comments, gathering his selections and bundling them in wax paper secured with a rubber band. Simon wasn’t so sure. He always thought you could do better than him, but you would never let him catch himself thinking like that out loud. No matter what he believed of his nature, he vowed to fight like hell to be the kind of man you did deserve. So he pays the woman and bids her good day, heading on to the next stall with you on his mind as he picks out fresh strawberries and bread for the beginning ingredients of a wholesome breakfast. 

At home, Simon fills a vase with the tap and trims the flower stems, arranging each fragrant bloom in harmony with the other. He brews one of your favorite teas and sets out the honey, tending to a sizzling pan in between, then decides to open your bedroom window to gently wake you.

A warm and pleasant wind sways the curtains. Amidst their wispy movements you lay on your back, breathing deep and slow, until the song of church bells and finches twittering from the chimney tops flutters your lashes to take in the tranquil morning. Simon draws his knuckles across your forehead and follows your cheek. With sleep soft in your pretty eyes, this was his favorite view of you.

“There she is, my everything,” he murmurs.

“Hmm. I was dreaming.” With a brush of his thumb over your smiling lips, you open your eyes and gaze at him warmly, happily, holding his hand there.

Funny…he muses.

You kiss his caressing hand. “You smell like oranges.”

“I made breakfast.”

And with that you’re throwing the comforter back, springing to your feet and wrapping a sweater around your nightgown-clad form.

“It’s not going anywhere, love,” he chuckles. These mornings were you had the whole day together were his favorite. You sat out on the balcony, taking in the trees with their sprouting green tips and cutting into your French toast, planning your day together with your bare foot resting over his socked one. The sunshine of your presence fills the depths of his chest to the brim with contentment, and he wants it to last forever.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #*my writing

[duckduckgoosebutitsinatrench]

Déjà Rěvè

Chapter 1: This Fucking Cat

The door shut behind ace with a soft click as he looked about the room where detentions for the day were held. More specifically, he looked at the people in said room. More specifically, he looked at the two only two faces in the room that he recognized. Honing in on a certain choppy haircut that looked to be cut with a kitchen knife, probably cause it was cut with a kitchen knife. Ace would know. He’s the one who cut it.

“ok”, he began. “I can probably guess why he’s here”, ace pointed at Deuce, who looked a bit guilty for getting into trouble yet again, but more peeved that Ace was the one calling him out on it, “but why are you?”, his finger turned to Yuu, who seemed very determined to look anywhere but at him.

Ace watches Yuu as they fiddle with the bracelets on their wrists, probably the most expensive thing they have on them at the moment, judging from the torn and dirtied jeans, old flannel, and worn-out denim bomber jacket, all the way down to their beat up sneakers. And of course, the atrocity that was their haircut, which was actually starting to look halfway decent now that it had time to grow out a little. Surprisingly.  

It was quickly becoming apparent that Yuu was just pretending to not have heard him, but when ace, now annoyed, was about to repeat his question, he found he didn’t have to. He was answered in the form of a, somehow, equally as annoyed sounding meow, as Grim came out from behind Yuus’ desk.

All annoyance immediately vanishes as Aces’ shoulders dropped and he hunched over in disbelief. No way. He looked from Yuu to their little shit, and back again.

There was no way.

“You brought your cat?”

Yuus’ eyes shot towards him in a deadpan stare.

“No Ace. I brought Leona”, they pointed behind them with their thumb, gaze still trained on him as he craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes to look behind the desks and- Yep! There was Leona! In all his glory, passed out on the floor behind a few desks. The perfect blind spot.

Ace stood back normally to face Yuu, shoving his hands in the pockets of his varsity jacket and accepting his friends’ stupidity with a nod. “You brought your cat.”

Yuu leaned back in their seat and glared, defensive of their oh so beloved cat.

“I had to bring him! He wouldn’t let me go this morning! Just kept followin’ me around everywhere!”

“I still feel like there’d be a way to make him stay home though”, Deuce chimed in, his head in his hands as he lazily rubbed at his eyes, obviously tired, and also kind of beat up now that ace looked at him.

Welp. Now he knows why Deuce was in detention. Ace smirked. He had a point though.

“Yeah, listen to Juice, you could’a just slammed the door in his face or something”, Ace leaned down to be on a lower level and match Grims lower intelligence as he said this, something the cat seemed to take instant offense to as he jumped on Yuus’ desk and hissed. Ace moved to sit on a desk that was vaguely in between Yuu and Deuce. He’s pretty sure that Deuce had glared at him for messing up his name, but judging from the defeated sigh that came shortly after, Ace thinks he might just be accepting that he has two names now and one of them just happens to be a drink.

Yuu relaxes a bit, crossing their arms and looking at their fingernails, trying to pick the dirt out from underneath them while speaking in an obvious tone, “…Yeah, I think we all know that something like a door wouldn’t stop Grim from following me to hell, much less school.”

Deuce stretched in his desk, legs extending out from underneath it and himself leaned back in his seat, sort of sinking into it as he watched a grown teenager argue with a cat. “…Rember when we went downtown that one time? Like a few months ago? You left Grim at home and-“

“- and we get to the restaurant, we’re halfway through eating, and then in walks this fucker. My point exactly”, Yuu says with affection as they give Grim a few pets. Grim turns to Yuu and gives them a single soft meow that bleeds into a purr before turning around to raise a paw and hiss at Ace. Yuu lets him, contend to twist and play with the ring that they stole from deuce that was currently on their index finger.

Ace, seemingly satisfied with his daily spit with Grim, joined back into the conversation.

“How did he even know where we were? Forget that! How did he get there? That restaurant was far. I had to drive us there”, Ace shot a suspicious look at Grim, it wasn’t very serious, Ace was mostly just weirded out. That cat was weird in the first place though, so Ace let it slide.

Grim could clearly care less about what Ace thought of him at the moment, too busy trying to get more of Yuus’ attention now that he was no longer pre-occupied with Ace.

“I know right? I didn’t even know it was Grim at first. Just thought it was a random stray that had gotten into the restaurant… At least, I thought it was a stray until it started scratching at Ace”, Deuces voice turned smug towards the end, clearly happy to be reliving the memory of his friend not passing the divine judgement given by his other friends’ pet cat.

Ace make a noise that was somewhere between embarrassed and offended, protests and comebacks at the ready, which were all ignored by Yuu happily continuing the conversation, “Right? I’m just glad he had his tags on. I would’ve left his there if he didn’t”, they smiled as they listened to the purrs, enjoying the peace for once. Grim had always been an odd cat: being instantly protective over Yuu when they found him last year, and having almost human like reactions to everything that was done and said when he was around. Yuu was just happy that their cat got to just act like a cat sometimes.

The mood instantly changes into a panicked one as the door clicks open once again and the unfortunate teacher who had had detention duty this evening walks in. Ace slipped off the desktop into his chair, Grim slipped off yuus lap to hide behind their desk, and deuce instantly straitens up. The other students, which Ace had either never seen or never bothered to remember, straightened up in a similar fashion. It was like clockwork.

The only one who didn’t seem to react was Leona, who, as if on cue, rolled over onto his back and let out a loud snore, seemingly just to spite any present authority. Deuce took a deep breath and Ace made a face trying to keep his laughter in while Yuu gripped the edge of their desk as hard as they could.

This was going to be a long evening.

---

When everyone was finally dismissed, Ace had sprinted out of that building like a man on a mission, with Yuu and Deuce not too far behind. The three of them trying to race each other to random street signs and traffic lights, with one of them always changing the finish line to something else whenever someone else was about to win. Becoming out of breath with their running and their shared laughter.

Now, the street lights had come on and the sun was setting. Everything has calmed down a bit, and the three were walking in the middle of a rarely driven street, kicking rocks and dragging their feet as they walked to Yuus’ house.

Ace let out a big sigh, likely one he’d kept in all day. Before deciding that wasn’t dramatic enough and throwing his head back with a groan, “Man that suuccckkkeddd!”

Deuce scoffed, “you were the one who kept trying to do trick shots into the trashcan in history, Ace. Trying”

Ace glared at Deuce before Yuu spoke up “No yeah, getting detention was your own fault this time Ace- and don’t try to blame it on Floyd! He skipped today to chase Riddle around…”

Deuce winced, “poor Riddle.”

“yeah, poor Riddle-”

Ace threw his hands up and sped up so he was a few steps ahead, turning around and walking backwards to look at them, “Jeez, why are you both ganging up on me all the sudden? Ok! Sure! But you know what I didn’t do?”, Ace pointed at Yuu, who was carrying a sleeping grim in their arms, “bring that menace to school cause he wanted to act a little clingy, and I definitely didn’t get into a brawl with two seniors!”, He looked pointedly at deuce, who looked away at the ground.

“it wasn’t a brawl”, deuce muttered.

Yuu rolled their eyes, “ok. Sure, but you’re the only one whining and complaining about it. Honestly Ace, with how often you’ve been getting into trouble lately, I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose…”, Yuu trailed off, before their eyes snapped towards Ace.

Ace was saying nothing. He had turned back around and slowed to match his friends paces and was quietly fiddling with his necklace. The necklace that he had gotten from his girlfriend for his birthday…

Yuu stared at him as they walked on, and a few steps later, Deuce seemed to catch up, and groaned.

“your girlfriend? Is it your girlfriend? Seriously? Are you avoiding your girlfriend again?”

Aces’ head snapped towards Deuce, rushing to defend himself, “hey man, you can’t blame me for not wanting to be around her!”, Yuu, having looked away at this point, shot him a side eye, “she doesn’t have any hobbies! Or taste! Not in music, sports, nothing! I even asked her what her favorite class was, nothing!”

Deuce sighed, “still. I don’t see how avoiding her is doing you any favors…”

Yuu listened to Ace and Deuce bicker and watched them push each other around. The sun was almost set now, and the street lights seemed to be getting brighter. Yuu watched as the road in front of them slowly gained more and more plot hole. Small breezes work their ways through their hair, a contrast from the warm, sleeping cat in their arms. Yuu smiled and sighed. They were getting tired of walking.

They were also getting really tired of the feeling that they were being watched all day. It had gone away during the early afternoon, but now it was back full force, and Yuu felt a shiver go down their spine.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. It’ll go away soon.

“Ok but guess what I caught Sebek with!”

“I swear if you’re making a big deal out of nothing…”

Yuu smiled. They could ignore this. They would be fine.

“You’re always so suspicious! But no, so I was following him around cause our lockers are like. Right next to each other and…”, yuus hearing slowly went out. Slowly being replaced with ringing. Everything felt off kilter now. Everything felt weird.

And someone was behind them.

They turned on their heel and stares at the desolate road full of potholes and decrepit houses. They distantly realized that their hearing had returned, and that Ace and Deuce had stopped and were looking back at them.

There was nothing there.

“…uhhh. Yuu? You good?”, it was just Ace. It was just Ace and Deuce. Just Ace and Deuce.

Yuu took a deep breath.

“…Yeah…. Yeah, I just thought…”, they looked back at the other two, who were looking at them with familiar concern.

They shook their head. “Never mind”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“…ok”

They kept walking, Yuus’ house was getting closer, and the quite and the weird atmosphere between the three of them didn’t last long at all, with Deuce telling Ace about how Epel was trying to learn parkour to avoid Vil and Rook better. Yuu said that even Floyd “climbs everything” Leech couldn’t avoid Rook, so it might all be for not. Ace laughed at Epel’s misfortune. Yuu smiled.

---

By the time Yuus’ house was in sight, Yuu themself was exhausted.

“Why did we walk to school today”, all they wanted to do was collapse in the middle of the road and just lay there.

“well”, Ace sure did have a lot of attitude for someone who looked just as done with this trek as they did, “it was because a certain someone wanted to “get some fresh air for a change”, and “enjoy the weather a little””

They groaned. “Ace”, it’s honestly a miracle they weren’t panting at this point. Distances seem a lot shorter when you weren’t walking them. “never let me make a decision before 10 am ever again. Ever. Please.”

Ace giggled with a mock salute, “Aye Aye Captain! Now come on! The faster we get to Ramshackle the faster I can finish telling you about what I found in Sebek’s locker!”

“oh yeah I forgot about that”, Deuce muttered as Yuu shook Grim awake and let him jump out of their arms hen he saw they were home.

Yuu squinted. “why were you in Sebeks’- you know what? Don’t answer that. The less I know, the better”, They tugged their shirt forward and took out a necklace that had an old skeleton key attached to it. With the key they unlock a mildly rusted padlock gate and push it open, all of them cringing as it creaked and shrieked open.

Grim and Ace seem to spontaneously gain all their former energy back as they race each other inside the rickety old house. Deuce and Yuu were content to walk.

Yuu was tired. Deuce tapped their hand and leaned in when he had their attention, “you good”, Yuu was grateful that deuce had a softer voice. Usually. They wordlessly smiled and nodded.

Deuce nodded back at them, satisfied, and he too ran into Ramshackle. Oh. He was just walking with them to make sure they were alright how nice of him. Yuu cursed their lack of stamina, only walking a bit faster despite themselves.

Ramshackle was the name given to the house by Yuu. It was old and falling apart and most definitely not up to any sort of safety code, but it was all they had. Plus, it was still more stable than being bounced around homes who only wanted you for the money.

The lounge had seen better days. The whole house had, for that matter, of course. Yuu made it work though. There wasn’t electricity, but there was a fireplace, and they cleaned up what they could, fixing furniture, not very well, but enough. They could mend what old clothes they could find, they themselves never really wore them, but Yuu very quickly found that that thing about trash and treasure was more than true.  

The lounge was probably their favorite, besides their own room of course. There were two couches that they had attempted, somewhat successfully, to fix and restuff. Jack had given them a minifridge that was now stocked with drinks, and there was a box full of almost every type of comic book you can imagine.

Deuce was cracking open a can of soda when Yuu walked in, “you found a what in his locker?”

Ace was already splayed out on the couch, drinking a can of coke, “a sword. I found a fucking sword! He just. Has a sword.”

“In his locker?”, said Yuu, no quite in disbelief.

Ace grabbed the unopened water bottle that Yuu now realized he had beside him, and tossed it to Yuu, who gratefully took it and chugged a little less than half of it immediately. “In his locker”, Ace confirmed.

Deuce combed his hair back with his fingers, he squatted down to the box of comic books and was now idly flipping through them, “I’m not even surprised at this point. I don’t even think it could faze me if he had an entire medieval armor collection in his closet.”

Ace nearly did a spit take. Yuu was really glad that he didn’t. He let out a shocked sounding “Oh my God!”

“what?”

“Juice! You know what the medieval period is? Oh look how far you’ve come! Why I never thought I’d see-“, Ace was hit square in the face with an Amazing Spider-Man comic, causing him to spill a bit of coke on himself. Yuu giggled.

“Dude!”, Another comic to the face, Deuce truly had amazing aim. Yuu full on laughed, this time with deuce joining in.

Grim jumped into their lap, and just like that the moment was perfect.

It’s really too bad that everything went downhill from here.

________________________________

Taglist:

@yuri-is-online

#ace trappola #deuce spade #twst yuu #twisted wonderland #ace trappola x deuce spade #ace trappola x yuu #deuce spade x yuu #adeuyuu #ace x deuce #disney twst #classica horror #i guess? #we'll get there in later chapters dw #ill think of a title later #twst wonderland #twst ace #twst deuce #ace x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce x reader #deuce spade x reader #Déjà Rêvé

[moothecowgirl]

as a born muslim who left islam completely and converted back, but also is very active in islamic and dawah work,

i was just wondering if you ever feel a sense of .. imposter syndrome? and if that ever detered you as you were building your iman again if that makes sense.

ive been keeping up with your posts for a while and ever since you answered my last ask about this, i was just curious to see if you ever felt frustrated by this or what sort of emotions it may cause

i am so sorry if these are insensitive things to ask, its just i haven't met someone before with your story

Assalaamu-A'laykum Anon! Hmm okay Bismillah:

Yes..Very much so heh. I felt like an imposter amongst the righteous.

At the very beginning it was like my tongue spoke lessons of the sunnah but my heart could not catch up.

It also felt internally wrong to me, even after returning to islam, to be standing in front of hundreds of people preaching the words of Allah SWT but I myself not even a year ago did not believe them. It was like there was dirt stuck underneath my fingernails and no matter how hard I scrubbed, or how much soap I used, I could never quite get every bit out. It was guilt I think, looking back.

And so there was such a gap in my Ilm because of how many years of learning I missed out on. And this gap was a stark contrast to my peers whose Ilm far surpassed mine. It caused me to have really bad imposter syndrome. It also did not help that there were a few people in my environment who would make it known that there was this gap between me and the rest of them.

HOWEVER! I do not think it ever deterred me this time around, if anything it only pushed me further. I was so determined to grow my knowledge and to rectify and strengthen my relationship with Allah SWT, with salah, the Quran, and the religion all together. My mentor told me a few weeks I think actually that it was like I was sponge soaking up every drop of ilm and tarbiya I could find, which made me laugh a little lol.

#also #I don't find them insensitive! I believe you mean well and have good intentions with these asks #plus they are not rude questions to me! #I however am sorry for the length of this I edited it four times trying to cut it down to be shorter #it was a lot longer at the start lol #but yeah i don't think it deterred me no #i was very blessed and lucky alhumdillah to be surrounded by such a good support system to #i had so many mentors helping me along the way until my foundation was strong enough for me to stand on my own #and i think everything that has happened has only strengthened my iman not weaken it #and it could have very easily gone the other way and so for that i say alhumdillah with tears in my eyes lol #but yeah! #asks #reconnecting with Allah

[itzpris15634]

All Around the World (ft. The Main 7 and Blythe)

"Look what I got!" Penny excitedly called out to her friends in the room

Everyone turned away from their own activities to pay attention to Penny. In her hand was a huge paper scroll.

"Hm? Is that a poster?" Vinnie questioned.

"You invited us here for a poster?" Pepper tilted her head in wonder.

"Well, it's a special poster! Before I stick it to the wall, let's check it out on the table first. I'm gonna need some of you guys to help me unroll it. Anyone?"

Vinnie and Minka immediately volunteered. They took the big scroll to the big coffe table in the middle of the room, using several objects to weigh down each of its corners. Everyone crowded around the table to get a better look at the item.

"A… map," Russell stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but it's not just any map!" Penny pointed her finger to the paper- the area of the United States- using her nail to scratch at it. Underneath the scratched off layer, a little bit of gold shimmered.

"Oh, it's one of those scratch-off maps!" Blythe exclaimed with excitement.

"Exactly! We can scratch off all the countries we've been to," Penny smiled.

"So… I am assuming that this is a collective thing between us? This is your poster, after all." Sunil asked.

"Go ahead! And it doesn't have to be countries we've all visited together, by the way. It can also be the ones you've been to by yourself. Feel free to call and come over if you wanna scratch off any new countries off the map!"

"Ooh, can I go first?" Blythe raised a hand.

"Sure!"

Blythe finished what Penny started scratching off the United States.

"Alright, there we go. That's the first one down. I'll leave the rest of it to you guys."

"I think I'll just sit and watch," Russell shrugged, "Haven't done much traveling outside of Downtown- other than with you guys. So if any of you scratch China or Brazil, then I'm good there."

"Yeah, same," Pepper leaned back on the couch, arms behind her head, legs hanging off the arm rest.

"Let's get to scratching!"

First were Sunil, Minka, and Penny. India, China, and Brazil were scratched into a shining gold.

The underside of their fingernails, however, wasn't as shiny.

"Eugh- I did not anticipate that scratching this map off would be so messy…!" Sunil complained, wincing at the sight of all that dirt under his nails.

Penny blew off some of the dust from the surface of the map, sighing, "Yeah, I guess so. We'll go wash off. You guys keep going at the map. Come on, Sunil!"

Penny and Sunil moved on to the kitchen to wash their hands in the sink.

"Minka? Are you not gonna?" Russell raised an eyebrow at Minka.

"Ehhh… I'm used to stuff under my nails. I paint! And I paint with all sorts of wacky stuff! So I'll get it out later, or whatever."

Russell pointed a finger up, about to suggest to Minka that she clean up anyway. He put the finger back down when he decided against it.

"Anywho- anyone next on the map?" Blythe asked.

"Ooh, me, me!" Vinnie raised his hand.

"All yours, Vincent!" Minka bowed in a dramatic matter, making way so Vinnie could get to the table.

"Don't call me that. That's a Sunil privilege."

-

"Woah, Vinnie. You've really made your way around Europe, huh?" Russell said, noting that the majority of what Vinnie scratched was in the aforementioned continent.

Vinnie picked at the dirt under his fingers from all the scratching he'd done, "I mean, yeah? I guess. When countries are literally smoshed together like how they are in Europe, your next vacation could just be a really long car drive away. So from Italy, I've been to Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Poland, Belgium, on and on and on… and France, but I think I'll give Zoe the honor of scratching off that one."

"Good choice. I go there quite frequently! Ah, so nice of Pomela to let me stay with her whenever I visit," Zoe smiled. "Now uh, does anyone have anything suitable for scratching the thing?"

"Uh…" Minka dug into the front pocket of her pink, paint-stained jumper, before bringing out a tool and handing it to Zoe, "I use this little palette knife whenever I'm painting, but it should work for this too!"

"Really?" Pepper deadpanned, "You're not gonna use your nails, Trent? Where's the fun in that?"

"Ah! Well excuse me for not wanting to ruin my manicure, I just got it done yesterday!"

As Zoe scratched away at France, Vinnie continued talking.

"So, yeah. A lot of Europe! But I've also been to China, just like Penny. My mom's side of the family lives there, so she takes us to visit sometimes."

"Your mom is Chinese?"

"Yeah! And my dad's Italian. So that's make me Chinese Italian?"

"Neat."

"…And, that's France scratched off," Zoe smiled in satisfaction at her work. Not a single speck of the original color left- just the shimmering gold, shining

"I'm surprised you aren't scratching off more, Zoe," Blythe said. "You're the rich one here, I would've thought you'd have gone on more vacations than all of us combined."

"Oh, true!" Zoe nodded in agreement, "Well, you know- the others have already scratched off places they've visited, and I've been there too. But there are a few I could still scratch off. Let me just go ahead and do some of those…"

A few more countries were scratched off. Egypt, Peru, Japan, the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, Russia, South Korea, Finland, Iceland, Denmark, Norway, Greece…

"…Yeah, I take it back. You've been pretty much everywhere." Blythe stared in awe at the map.

"Well, not everywhere everywhere. Certain restrictions and all," Zoe mentioned, "But I'm not done yet. Give me more time!"

"You're not done yet?!"

They’d… be here for a while.

===

Day 14: island

The world is just a bunch of islands, right? Some are just way bigger than others.

update: nvm i looked it up. kinda, and not really. but island nations were mentioned here anyway so i’ll count it

Yet another headcanon I've decided to borrow from Leffee. Italian Vinnie! Partially.

#lps 2012 #vinnie terrio #sunil nevla #zoe trent #pepper clark #penny ling #russell ferguson #minka mark #blythe baxter

[theladycarpathia]

The Ballad of Starcourt

Hellcheer AU prompt: In space

“Are you taking passengers?”

Chrissy jerks her head up. She wasn’t expecting anyone to ask her anything, not when Robin is the one to the front of the ship, twirling her parasol, and chatting to anyone who might be wandering by looking for safe passage. They’ve been left behind to watch the ship and pull in anyone able to pay a fee to go as far as Auburn. They’d been hired on Persephone to transport some medical goods to one of the outer rim planets and everyone else went off on the buggy to make the delivery. An actual honest job that will get them paid without being shot at. A rarity for the crew of Starcourt.

“We are,” she says, taking in the long, lean gentleman in front of her, guitar case strapped to his back. His trousers are dusty at the hems, practically standard for the outskirts of Hess. It’s not the worst of the outer rim planets but it’s far from the civilized Alliance ruled planet of Obsidian where Chrissy was born. He’s not from one of the inner rim planets, she’d bet money on it. He has dirt underneath his fingernails, thick silver rings on every long finger. His boots are hefty and black, the solid kind that you can walk an entire planet in. They’re unattractive as hell but they last. His long, dark coat looks like a cheaper version of the one Steve favors. There’s patches sewn into it, careful stitching where there were once rips. All of this says someone without any consistent income who takes care of what they have.

“Do you charge much?” he asks anxiously, taking in the dark mass of Starcourt behind her. Chrissy wonders if he just sees a clunky and outdated transport ship, like everyone else.

She remembers standing in front of the ship, clutching her suitcase, and wondering if answering an ad on the cortex was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Judging by the ship’s appearance, she was about to be kidnapped and fed to Reavers.

She’d been wrong, thankfully. In the five months since she joined their crew, the chaotic and noisy ship has become her home. She knows the hiss of the kettle in the morning, the best seat at the dining table, every inch of the shuttle that is now her’s. She appreciates that Steve offered it to her, instead of one of the crew bunks. It offers her a bit of space and quiet from everyone else when she needs it. She’s new to the ship and the rest of the crew have such a tight bond that occasionally she feels a little like she’s intruding. Nancy and Jonathan are a couple, and Steve and Robin have been best friends since forever. They even all come from the same planet and her limited time aboard just doesn't feel like they can compare.

“We’re reasonably priced,” she says, because she’s already seen the fraying of his clothes, the angles of his cheekbones. “And my captain might be amenable if you can offer other payment. We had someone fix our microwave for us once so he could get to Crow.”

“I’m good at wiring and stuff,” the man says, looking hopeful. “If that helps.”

Chrissy thinks wryly to the flickering lights in the galley, the hissing of the radio and that their video occasionally flickers green. Somehow she thinks that Steve won’t mind. Robin spends so long making sure that the engine keeps running that she doesn’t have time for the smaller issues.

“It helps,” she says, and watches the dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh. That also helps.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, offering her a hand. “I need to get to Sierra and I’m kind of broke.”

“We’re so broke that we take payment in baked bread and menial labor,” Chrissy says frankly. Their life aboard Starcourt is far from plush. They eat cheap noodles more often than not, and take illegal jobs because they pay. Some times are better than others, and all the crew do get paid, but the past few months have been tough. Too many parts that needed fixing in one go and if they get grounded, they’re done for. So the parts had to be fixed and they all just made do. “I’m Chrissy. I’m the medic here.” To her interest, he doesn’t do that usual thing people do when they find out that she’s the medic – which is flick their eyes doubtfully up and down her tiny frame. But she was trained at the best school on Obsidian, under Dr Kelly herself and she’s more than capable.

She could have had a glittering career on Obsidian. Everyone said so.

Right up until they didn’t. When the possibility of passage off the planet - and a paying job - presented itself, she’d taken it. And Steve had merely offered her a shuttle to have as her own space, and a fairly well stocked med-bay, and asked no questions about her former life. She’s so grateful for that, and she’ll patch up the crew until the time that someone asks her to leave.

“Nice to meet you, Chrissy,” he says, and his fingers linger a little on hers. “How is a medic required on a transport ship?”

“You’d be surprised,” Robin interrupts, and Chrissy looks past Eddie’s shoulder to see the small group of people standing behind their engineer.

Robin never looks like an engineer, not with her freckled face and wavy brown hair. But Chrissy learned very quickly that Robin does three things very well - talk very fast, make the best stew out of not many ingredients, and fix any spaceship you could mention.

“We have more guests,” Robin says, catching the direction of Chrissy’s eyes. If she thinks that Chrissy found an odd outsider, then Robin’s group is full of the strangest individuals she’s ever seen. There’s two guys about Chrissy’s age: one with brown hair and a smirk that she doesn’t like. The other one with long dark hair is wearing a strange green jacket and a baseball cap. Next to him is an older gentleman, with glasses and a curious expression as he stares up at the very top of Starcourt. He has curls and a friendly face, a backpack dangling from one wrist.

Behind them is another man her own age with a black leather jacket and the most piercing blue eyes that Chrissy’s ever seen. There are two girls standing with him, one with red pigtails and a furious expression and a dark-haired girl with wide, dark eyes.

“Right,” Chrissy says, thrown. “That’s a lot. How did you manage that?”

“I can talk to people,” Robin says, which is true so long as they’re not cute girls. It certainly explains how they ended up with these random guys and two kids. “People can be persuaded if they’re looking for cheap passage.”

“Can they be persuaded to not murder us in our beds?” Chrissy asks, because she has doubts about that. The blonde definitely looks like he might rob you without any issues, and even the two girls look like they might be capable of stabbing someone, given the right circumstances.

There’s a distant familiar rumble and the bright yellow buggy they use for short journeys appears, weaving its way through the crowds of people. Jonathan sits at the front, Steve and Nancy perched behind.

“Thank God,” Robin sighs, raising an arm to wave at them. “I hate doing the welcome speech.”

When the buggy pulls to a halt, Chrissy can see Steve’s eyes flick over their strange assortment of potential customers. None of them look like much but Steve is usually flexible so long as they can pay. And they obey his strict rules. Starcourt is his ship and he doesn’t make exceptions.

“Morning,” Steve says easily, climbing down from the buggy. He looks impressive, in his waistcoat and dramatic coat, hair swept back from his face by the wind. Chrissy sees both of the teen girls look a little stunned, because Steve has that effect on people. No one carries off ‘daring ship captain’ like Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t know much about their illustrious leader, only what she’s been told or can infer. He comes from money - fact. A lot of money - also fact. He has a bad relationship with his parents - hinted at by the stiff way he mentions his home world and upbringing. He’s been a playboy and used to bed a lot of people - she’s been told this by just about everyone.

What she doesn’t know is what causes the only son and heir of one of the richest families in the whole ‘verse to buy a hunk of junk like Starcourt, hire a crew, and disappear into the stars.

Given her own secrets, she’s not about to ask.

“I’m the captain and I have a few rules if you wish to use my ship to get where you need to go,” Steve says frankly to the group. “You obey the crew if they tell you something, you do not wander around the ship, you stay in the communal areas unless told otherwise and I do not accept anything illegal, explosive, or generally hallucinogenic aboard. Understood?”

There’s a general mumbling but the guy with the long hair looks a little sheepish. He raises a hand and Steve sighs.

“Nancy will check anything you may have, just in case,” he says, waving a hand and Nancy hops off the back of the buggy. Jonathan shoots off, hitting the ramp and climbing back onto Starcourt. Chrissy doesn’t miss the fact that there are new boxes on the back. They must have gotten another job while they were out.

“What is it now?” Chrissy asks quietly, once Nancy has commanded the attention of the passengers, fully intent on peering into their bags. Steve follows the line of her eyes to the vanishing buggy as it disappears into the depths of Starcourt.

“Oh,” he says flatly, running a hand through his hair. He looks stressed more and more these days, trying to keep them all afloat. Times are hard and sometimes Chrissy worries how long they can keep flying. She’s not sure what she’ll do if they get stranded on some planet and have to go their separate ways.

“Potato vodka,” Steve explains. “From Murray. We don’t get paid much to deliver it but I figure it helps.”

“Are we in trouble again?” Chrissy asks, because she thought maybe they were through the worst. With Starcourt having had a flurry of emergency fixes, they’d all hoped that they’d finally be able to stop spending every spare coin they had on keeping them going.

“Robin said we need a new…I don’t know, some doodad or we’ll break down in the middle of space,” Steve continues, a worried line appearing in his brow. No one ever doubts Robin when it comes to the workings of Starcourt. “Which I don’t really want and the only way to afford it is to take on passengers.”

“Which you hate doing,” Nancy chimes in as she passes by, intent on following her boyfriend back to the ship. Steve’s first mate, and his oldest friend, doesn’t look like much but Chrissy has learned that appearances are deceptive. She can take down men twice her size, wield just about any gun and hides more knives on her person than you’d expect of someone who’s five foot six.

“Which I hate doing because it involves babysitting a bunch of strangers aboard my ship,” Steve says in frustration. “Is that everything?”

Chrissy spins around to find that the boxes and all of their new guests have disappeared. Robin is folding up the umbrella and deckchair she uses when they’re docked, and just Chrissy and Steve remain on the dusty floor of Hess market.

“That’s it,” she sighs and slides her arm through Steve’s so they can wander up the ramp together.

“That’s a strange bunch you managed to find,” Steve comments, as Robin bounds ahead of them. They step over the threshold to find a flurry of activity, Jonathan and Nancy loading up the storage unit, their guests piling their belongings in the designated lockers. Robin skips between all of them, nearly whacking the blonde guy on the head with her umbrella. He glares at her, having only just missed the collision with his head, and goes back to putting his stuff away. She wonders if the two girls with him are his sisters, even though she’s not sure of any resemblance between the three. Unlike the others, their little group keeps to themselves, nervously eyeing the people around them.

Chrissy spots Eddie across the room, piling just about everything into another locker except for his guitar. He starts to smile at her when he sees her but it freezes on his face when he sees how she’s linked with Steve.

“Something wrong?” Steve asks, as he hits the button that will close up the ship. Chrissy watches Eddie turn away, a flicker of disappointment in her gut. No matter. They have five days until they reach Eddie’s desired port and that’s plenty of time for him to know that it’s just a misunderstanding.

“Just that there’s a lot of interesting people this time around,” Chrissy says instead. Because this does worry her - she’s not sure that they’ve ever had such a strange collection of passengers. Anything could happen with the ship this full. After all, it’s hard to have secrets when you live so close together. And Chrissy would know.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, squeezing her hand. “Who knows how this could turn out?”

#hellcheer #edissy #hellcheer au week #hellcheer bingo #background jancy #harringrove if you squint #prompt: in space #firefly au #captain steve #medic chrissy #mechanic robin #pilot jonathan #mercenary nancy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #billly hargrove

[brothersonahotelbed]

im feeling particularly brave this evening so here's the little story i wrote yesterday !!!! **tw for death (getting shot) and mentions of alcohol** also horribly rusty writing </3

basically my sister and i were bored so she sent me 3 emojis and i had to write anything i wanted based off of them. the emojis were: ♠️🤬🤠

story begins under the break thx for reading :)

The legs of the wooden table at the back of the saloon were uneven, causing the whole table as well as the intense game of poker occurring between a gang of cowboys to shift and slide around. Between the three men there were several empty shotglasses which used to hold the strongest whiskey on this side of town, a few pints of beer not yet finished, and peanut shells scattered all over the surface of both the table and the floor. 

The players wore their hats proudly and shared the same concentrated demeanor which altered the expressions on their scraggly, whiskered faces. They could not, however, be any more different from one another. The man with the dirt-caked fingernails tapped his foot rapidly underneath the table, causing the spur on the heel of his boot to rattle. He needed a new pair of boots badly — he was hoping that he would use the winnings of tonight’s poker game to purchase a pair of the local cobbler’s newest boots. Exhaling sharply through his nose, he ground his teeth together and pondered the cards placed on the table by the man sitting in front of him. 

This man sported a mighty mustache which not only fed his inflated ego the longer it grew, but also became a topic of conversation between him and his gang whenever he got the chance — for while all his pals began noticing silver streaks in their manes and beards, this man had not grown a single gray hair. The mud-brown hairs on both his head and face had begun to lose vibrancy, though, but he would never admit it. He glanced at his pal’s dirty fingernails that tapped irritatedly on the table before smirking at his partner. He had the money in the bag, and the brothel next door was already calling his name. 

With hair so gray it was almost white, the oldest man at the table showed no emotion, body language and facial expression remaining completely neutral. That was his trick, yet he was no magician. Magicians were fools, men who tried too hard to make an audience believe he is something he’s not. Though he might have been older, he was wiser by far and knew that the men in this town would take any chance they got to exploit both their friends and foes. Gripping his cards with steady, calloused fingers, he noticed the fading spade on the corner of his ace. These cards were worn and beaten up, yellowing at the edges. He had gotten this set from his Pa who was an avid poker player and arguably one of the most famous men in this town. He drank but never got drunk, played but never boasted, and took nothing from no one. Tracing his tongue on the inside of his cheek, the older man waited until his partners had set down their cards before glancing one last time at his hand and finally laying the cards down on the table with a silent finality.

Curses rang throughout the saloon. Meaty fists banged on the table and the other men in the bar looked over with distaste. Sore losers, all of them, while the man with his Pa’s deck leaned back in his chair and smirked under the shadow of his cowboy hat.

“Well done, gentlemen,” cooed the older man. “I’ll take my earnin’s now.”

Mustache looked at Fingernails and an understanding passed between them through the meeting of their eyes and the twitching of their mouths. In one swift movement, both men ripped their guns from their holsters and pointed them at the seated man who didn’t even bother to look up. He was not alarmed. In fact, he was amused.

“Brawn’ll get you nowhere if you don’t know howt’a think for yourselves.” He proceeded to gather his Pa’s deck of cards and silently thanked his spurs for that lucky ace. After slipping the cards into the pocket of his jeans, he stood up slowly and bent his knees, one after the other, to stop the aching of his old joints.

The gun-wielding cowboys regarded their elder partner with confusion, not understanding how he showed no sign of fear. Any rational man would be scared out of his boots, or angry at least. As if his partners weren’t there, the old man gathered his earnings from the middle of the table, stashed it in his bag, and tipped his hat at the two men. 

The cowboys, still brandishing their guns, made the mistake of blinking. They didn’t see him shoot and they didn’t hear any weapon fire, but somehow they were propelled backward by some unseen force, holes in their head that spilled blood onto the wood planks of the floor. 

The men lounging at the saloon were no strangers to barfights and standoffs, but they looked over at the table anyway. They didn’t see the old man fire and they didn’t see him leave. But his partners were dead as doormice and bleeding through the floor, with the third man nowhere to be seen.

On the table in the back of the run-down saloon lay a single card from the cowboy’s deck. The ace of spades, face up, emitting an ominous aura as shadows from the saloon’s poor lighting cast shapes over the face of the card. 

There was no trace of the cowboy with the white-gray hair. Plainly, he was gone.

***

@certifiedcuntconnoiseur if you wanted to read it no pressure :)

#loquitur

[nihaojen]

8/1/18 Price tag stickers

I was peeling a sticker off a book today when I realized it. The price tag covered the original barcode with the ISBN I needed to catalog it and I had forgotten to remove it for over a year until today. There seems to be a skill in removing stickers, I have torn and scraped at them incessantly, shredding the stubborn adhesive as it separated from the paper. I have also gently peeled it back, digging underneath with the edge of my fingernails and then slowly, slowly in one clean motion watched as it released the book cover leaving only the smooth trace of untarnished surface. Preserved and perfect.

Many metaphors came rushing in at that moment. How a price tag like sin marks the payment for ransom, how Jesus Christ paid for us. How like adhesive how stubborn sin can be, how the removal of it can be experienced in so many ways. Because sin feels sticky doesn’t it? Especially if one’s whole life has been encased in it from birth. But even after new life, it gets on us, clings to us, and yet how does God go about removing it?

Sometimes maybe it’s that smooth and slow gentle all at once peeling back motion. The digging underneath skin and feeling and rationale and thought down to where your soul is and as it is bared open it seems both liberating and unbearable. Where it seems to happen slowly and painfully without relief we muddle through, we beg for it to come faster. It seems like we are caught under it entirely up until the last corner is lifted and then sudden freedom. Sudden and clean and whole like a bright spot in an otherwise dirty life maybe.

Sometimes it’s in pieces and shreds. Without being lifted all at once but scratched and rubbed and attacked on every corner. There are some easy victories and some hard ones, and just when you thought it was all over and done the clear adhesive that clings fiercely to the surface turns black with dirt and dust reminding you it’s still there, sometimes it takes off pieces of what was there, sometimes it doesn’t feel all that easy to take out. Sometimes it feels like fighting the same old demons again and again and wondering when or if it will end or if it will leave a nasty scar.

There is something to be said though of this life, that speed and time are not the precedent measure of God’s faithfulness although we speak of faithfulness in those terms. Perhaps the precedent measure is gentleness and patience which says take all of the time you need, you are made whole to me.

[gurdeepksaluja]

I hope you fall in love with being alive. I hope you pick flowers and read books and understand that life is so much more than a Snapchat from a boy you won't remember in a couple of years. I hope you feel pursued.

I hope you have the best of friends, and I even hope you get in trouble together. I hope you make fun memories and take too many pictures and scream at the top of your lungs on roller coasters. I hope you swim in the depths of the oceans, and feel the dirt underneath your fingernails when you climb mountains. I hope you know the joys of genuine laughter, and I hope you know the difference between wisdom and test scores. I hope you understand that you can be anything you want to be, but you have to work hard to get it. I hope you do more than sit around and complain about the things that could change- because I hope you are the change. I hope you journal and write every thought down. I hope you learn how to skate, and eat your fruits and vegetables. I hope you treat your body well, and respect your reputation. But I also hope you have fun. In fact, I hope you have unapologetic fun.

Because my love,

I hope you fall in love with being alive.

[monomaniacmetropolitan]

EXCERPT #1 FROM ABATTOIR

Clenched teeth fingernails humming, I tear off a piece of charred dead-skin from the heel of my naked foot and plaster it onto the rocks below me. I mark my spot. Blood residue and skin flakes seep into the Crag and hug themselves from underneath, bringing both ends together like an ouroboros. The wailing man to my left, William Blake, curses himself and holds his clenched fists skyward. Flecks of dirt like little children cling dearly to his skin. Naked, he convulses—as does the muddy child in front of me clinging to the hairy thigh of Marva who is forty-something and also naked. Her eyes are hollow. Her breasts sag like the peeling skin on my back and unshaven cock. I am naked on all sides. Naked, not only because my skin is uncovered, but nakedly mirrored as well, in every direction, endlessly. Kneeling peeling, I am one amongst a sea of unclothed eruptions of meat and flesh and wails. We are all hairy and dirt-plastered here; without razors, which is a shame since I would, if given the chance, slice rings into my eyes with a razor’s rusty edges and gouge my life.

The Crag is us and we are the Crag. Oblong, composed of mostly pegmatite, and rising toward a sharp central peak, the Crag sits atop rough waters. I imagine it is one massive, jagged raft: a flotsam which just barely breaks the static of endless waves and storm. This carnival of meat is a mere necessity of the meager land left afloat. We were not the first on this rock, though we may be the last. Underneath my feet lies hundreds of conjoined histories—unknown corpses crushed and danced upon at all hours by the wretched few outliving them. The weak fell and sowed the seeds for this garden of flesh and bodies. Perhaps when I die, my organs will fuel the harvest of an even hungrier age, an even more wretched bunch of survivors. Perhaps my skin flakes will be plucked from the ground and used to salt the desperate masses. Oh, how I wish the hand of a smiling irrigator would reach down from the clouds and pull me out of this garden by the roots. But the sky remains forever unresponsive, even to my throat—worn down from constant screaming.

Schroder, to my right, exhales for the last time. I miss the sound of his death rattle over the wailing all around me. Like all of us, he is naked. It is a shame to die unwatched, unaccounted for. The exact moment of his death remains a mystery to me. I imagine it exists somewhere alongside hordes of hourglasses languidly draining their sand. Some would say death resembles the moment when the last grain of sand in an hourglass falls from its upper chamber.

Watching Schroder’s corpse leak fluids, I would rather liken death to the moment when the amount of sand left in an hourglass changes from a ‘mound’ to a ‘grain’. I feel that if I could reach out and point to that moment, I could understand Schroder’s unseen predicament; I could eulogize him better. But we are all unseen here. All naked and invisible. I have yet to witness a set of eyes peeking out from above the storm-ridden clouds. How I long for that sight. “What is there to leave behind?” he asked me twelve-hours before death. I had no answer. I felt a pang of sadness anyway. Such is loss.

Waves splash relentlessly against my ankles, creating small rivulets of water which seep into holes in the rock. When we are not scratching each other's bodies into sacks of striped meat and flesh, our hands are held aloft, our eyes cast to an unresponsive sky. Nights are filled with blindness; only unanswered shouts break the static. We are packed together like rats—shoulder to shoulder, arm-in-arm, head-locked and hopelessly entwined. If it is not William Blake who blindly curses God or Demon or mother or child, it is another poor soul, distantly clawing their eyes out, shoving rubble into their ears and mouth. We are not the ecstatic stragglers of a failed e; our minds are not turned toward the transcendent, toward what might lie beyond. Every moment of our waning days is spent in physical agony, in constant sensations of pain and affliction.

My body is decaying. The callouses on my feet have become green and pus-filled. Every half-minute I raise my foot into the air and pick at its underside with untrimmed fingernails. My scratches leave red marks, frequently tearing the skin in a burst of blood and pus. This repeated self-mutilation is the only relief I have left. The hoodie and sweatpants I wore many years ago have melted into thin strips of bloodied fabric, fused into my skin forever like guinea worms. My emaciated muscles sport layers of scratches and scabs, all crusted over one another, breaking the surface of my skin into personalized peaks and valleys. In this bookless world, the scars and deformities of our bodies are the only physical records we keep. We count the days and weeks in ruptured pustules, healed scabs, and menstrual cycles. Even this written record you are reading; I carved it into the flesh of my thigh with a rusty pin. Its words and sentences lack the Roman lettering of English. Instead, I composed it as a system of non-repetitive signs, each corresponding to an instantaneous sensation immediately forgotten after it passes; ‘gibberish,’ some would call this system. I call it a testament to this punishment which I have never quite wrapped my head around. I suspect in 1000 years if somehow, I were still alive, the reasons for this punishment would yet evade me.

If I were to dive out only a few yards into the sharply deepening waterline, I would be thrust underwater and pinned against protruding rock faces. All who jump in, even for a moment’s swim, are drowned. There is no freshwater here; the process of drowning is doubly long and painful. I have seen hopeful seafarers impaled through the limbs and chest by shards of wooden rafts. Most have come to terms with the fact that the ocean is absolute and unyielding.

Some of us here—the more superstitious wailers—condemn the idea of anything existing beyond the Crag. “The universe is a rock and the biting waters beyond are a human personification of death”—as if the stormy horizon encroaching on all sides is a visual illusion, a kind of metaphor collectively realized by our hunger-worn minds. Some theorize that if, instead of humans, bats had been restricted to this desolate crag of rock, the impassable barrier surrounding the rock would manifest not as an eternal ocean but a storm of aural frequencies. Endlessly confusing drones of unintelligible, ear-splitting noise. Sounds which would drive any venturesome bat to madness or death. I have seen shapes drifting across the horizon which resemble birds, even exotic varieties: fruit-colored quetzals and massive albatrosses—but never any bats.

#short story #writing #short fiction #writers on tumblr #horror fiction #short excerpt

[crazycalendergirl]

I Hope..

"I hope you fall in love with being alive. I hope you pick flowers and read books and understand that life is so much more than a Snapchat from a boy you won't remember in a couple of years. I hope you feel pursued. I hope you have the best of friends and I even hope you get in trouble together. I hope you make fun memories and take too many pictures and scream at the top of your lungs on roller coasters. I hope you swim in the depths of the oceans, and feel the dirt underneath your fingernails when you climb mountains, I hope you feel the joys of genuine laughter, and hope you know the difference between wisdom and test scores. I hope you understand that you can be anything you want to be, but you have to work hard to get it. I hope you do more than sit around and complain about the things that could change; I hope you are the change. I hope you journal and write every thought down. I hope you learn how to skate, and eat you fruits & vegetables. I hope you treat your body well, and respect your reputation. But I also hope you have fun. In fact, I hope you have unapologetic fun.

Because my love,

I hope you fall in love with being alive."

#qouteoftheday #quotes #life quote #life #life quotes #i'm alive #poetry is alive

[chickenooodlehope]

i was tagged by besties sharika @rosebowl helena @bibillyhillsbaby t @blueandtaes anj @taejinnies & em @jinbestboy (hi angels 💚💚) to take this quiz, which tells you what btscore aesthetic you are!

ur jooncore ! u remind me of nature specifically pretty blue skies and greenery ! ur a serene person and ur favourite season is probably fall or summer

i cannot lie… this made me very happy ☺️ those probably ARE my favorite seasons, and i certainly do love me some greenery!!

tagging @dinamitae @bluengrey @rosebowl @gimbapchefs @stardustyoongi @ccypher3 @kithtaehyung @joppng if you want! ofc no pressure!!

#whoever made this quiz…. *chef’s kiss* #every single result i’ve seen is so aesthetically pleasing #💞💞 #also i feel so vaidated by this result considering i am currently digging dirt out from underneath my fingernails from being in my garden #LOL #i have so many mosquito bites but idc #ANYWAY hi everyone i hope you’re having a good night/day!! #tag games #moots #**validated lmao

[buoyant-breeze]

hello!

this is my first time requesting but your hand hc's are so wholesome i'm literally crying 🙏

could you please do them with childe, itto and thoma too?

thank you!

hand hcs [ pt. 3 ]

authors note ⊱  i love this hc set so yeah here u go <3 i added scara cuz im a simp

part one (albedo, diluc, kaeya)

part two (kazuha, venti, xiao, zhongli)

characters ⊱ childe, itto, thoma, scaramouche

warnings ⊱ none

rating ⊱ sfw

childe

his hands are veiny; thick enough with muscle to show his hand strength, but slim enough to show his dexterity and precision

quick reflexes

fingers are thicker, especially at the end; he keeps his fingernails clipped as far down as they can, because they can get unruly, chipped, and broken from his busy and combative lifestyle

skin gets dry very easily, but he forgets to moisturize tbh

lots of freckles. l o t s

this image

soft amounts of ginger hair on his arms

has a few nearly-invisible scars all across his hands and wrists

however, has a nasty and very visible scar down his elbow and towards his wrist on his right arm

loves handholding

will grip your hand pretty tightly, likes to intertwine your fingers with his own (he also squeezes hard)

has a thing for sucking your fingers in his mouth (sorry)

a few stray ginger hairs can be found hiding near the freckled, pale skin of his knuckles

double-jointed (especially his thumbs)

cracks his hands a lot

inside of his palms are tough and thicker than the back of his hand; not quite calloused, but just enough where you can sense the skill and age and use to them

heavy-handed, he puts all of his weight into what he does; can lead to a few clumsy incidents

itto

thicker than a snickers (id apologize but i dont want to)

knuckles protrude to the extreme

his veins practically pop out, and you can visibly see his wrist and knuckles shift each time he moves or flexes any part of his hand

fingers are wide, thick, and struggle to hold tiny things like the back of your earrings, needles, or flower petals

always keeps his nails painted dark to hide the grit that gets underneath (and also he feels like it makes him edgy)

his tattoos, obviously

also very muscular, obviously

extremely, unfathomably warm to the touch; he feels like a furnace

gets a lot of dirt on his hands

handholding is not so much holding but more like him engulfing your entire hand in his own, to the point you fear you might not have one anymore

nips your fingertips playfully

likes leather or iron braces for his wrists; no practical usage, just looks and feels nice

there are indentations in his skin from said braces being on pretty much all the time

long fingernails

thoma

pretty average hands, with fingers just a little longer than usual

not particularly veiny, or portruding, or bony, or calloused, or even muscular; literally, just very plain, if a bit dainty

takes good care of his hands! he’s very good about hygiene, and he also puts on lotion, especially after using harsh cleaning products

generally wears gloves to help protect the skin, as well

he actually hates callouses, so on the off chance he actually developed any, he would end up removing them with deep exfoliation and scrubbing; he feels like they are a little unsightly, and it makes it uncomfortable when he rubs his hands together out of habit

dexterous with his fingers; can easily catch and maneuver things in his hands (i.e. coin from opening scene of meeting thoma)

wrists have a very visible vein line that goes down, other than that there is hardly anything

intertwines his fingers with yours and likes to swing your hands together

fingertips are a little colder, but his palms radiate heat

scaramouche

the palest hands you’ve ever seen i stg

extremely bony, his veins are very blue and very purple, and are visible mainly on the inside of his wrist (pulsepoint) and on the center of his backhand

long and dainty, rather small, but they look elegant and graceful

either paints his nails the darkest color he can find or bites all of his nails off, sometimes both

lots of scars on his fingers, very silvery and very pale, like lightning

these also exist on his wrists

prefers to hide the wrist scars, doesnt give a shit about the hand ones

his hands are not very strong at all

vein pops out a little on the inside of his arm/elbow

very expressive with his hands, he gestures a lot, especially when he talks; likes to rest them on his hips, or rub them along his temples when he has a headache

if you hold his hand, he’s holding them tight and he will not let go; you are letting go on his terms

his hands are nearly freezing everytime you touch them (his body temperature in general is pretty cold; he probably has poor circulation)

that said will leech ur body heat, and this often includes stuffing ur connected hands into his pockets when walking with you, or just holding them while cuddilng with you

#wisteria moon #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact #hands #hand hcs #scaramouche x gn reader #thoma x reader #thoma fluff #thoma x gn reader #itto fluff #itto x reader #itto x gn reader #childe x reader #childe fluff #childe x gn reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff

[hwangsify]

L.MH. — THE EIGHT STAGES OF FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM.

pairing. lee know x gn reader

genre. angst

warnings. strong allusions to abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, mild cursing, alcohol, blood (non-graphic), one very implicit death scene.

summary. part of you feels selfish for allowing yourself to have him like this when you are tainted on the inside, your heart spoiled and bruised like overripe fruit. but you pull him in closer all the same. 

length. drabble

word count. 1.5k+

a/n. this piece is heavily inspired by the six stages of falling in love with her, a writing piece that will forever hold a special place in my heart. also, please let me know if i missed any warnings 😭 i tried to include them all but i'm not sure if i missed any.

i. 

you meet him for the first time on the streets. you are only four and your mother is clutching your hand in an iron grip as she tugs you along, chattering to someone on the phone. 

when you try to pull away to loosen her grip, she tugs you closer. 

he is perched on a wooden bench when you first see him, quiet as he sits by his father, who is drunk and laughing with a beer bottle clutched in his hands, surrounded by other equally drunk men. 

he looks as if he would rather be anywhere but there as he curls in on himself, making himself smaller while his father uncaps yet another bottle of beer and you understand that feeling. you catch a glimpse of the dark heat of his eyes when you push past him, calculative and feline. 

you want to know more about this boy who sits by his drunk father in silence and whose eyes mirror those of a cat. 

ii. 

you’re five when you meet him again on a playground. it’s an old playground, with rusty swings and plastic slides that have long since lost their color to the rain. a playground for children whose parents care enough to raise them, but not quite enough to keep from dumping them on a faded playground to sit and wait for the better part of the day. 

he’s crouched over the rotten wood chips when you approach him. messy locks of hair, faded blue jeans. 

he is crying. there is a kitten in his hands.

a filthy, feral kitten with fleas crawling over its eyes and nose and blood matting its orange fur. a dying kitten, its life seeping out of it with every gasping breath it takes. 

“you shouldn’t touch it,” you say. because you once made the mistake of picking up a kitten you found on the road to bring it back home and your mother slapped you twice across the face and forced you to throw it away. because you don’t know anything about this boy, but you still want to keep him from experiencing the smarting pain that bloomed within your chest when your mother lifted her hand and brought it down hard against your cheek. 

he shakes his head and brings the kitten closer. cradles it to his cheek, soaking its knotted fur with his tears. you squat down next to him and hope that his parents never found out that he held a dying kitten close to his chest while sobbing his lungs out, infesting his clothes with fleas. 

when the kitten finally dies, he buries it under the rotten decay of the wood chips. there are crescents of dirt underneath his fingernails when he stands up and brushes off his jeans. 

iii.

his eyes have hardened when you meet him for the third time at thirteen. 

he stares at you from his desk as you stand at the front of the classroom to introduce yourself to the class. his eyes have lost their soft glow, the round innocence he possessed when you met him on the playground. your chest jumps at the sight of him, flickering with recognition. 

you wonder if he remembers you, too. 

it takes you an eternity to muster up the courage to sit by him at lunch. even longer to ask him for his name. 

“minho,” he says, without looking at you. “it’s minho.”

“minho,” you repeat. and you smile. 

iv.

he walks into the classroom with his head held high, pain bottled up in glass jars, eyes defiant and tall. the class stares as he enters and then looks away. 

no one mentions the bruise decorating his cheek during the entirety of physics class. 

you meet him by the school rooftop and take his face in your hands. he looks away from you when you run a thumb across the bruise, wondering who could have possibly dared to hurt someone like minho. 

“you’re angry,” he murmurs as you press a bandaid to the bruise. 

you smile. “i’m always angry.” 

when you are born into a fragmented world, the product of your mother’s unhappiness and your father’s greed, anger becomes your first instinct— a primal impulse to seethe and simmer at the injustice of it all, to ache for something better. to take the pain in minho’s eyes and crumple it into a ball like a sheet of paper, trampling it under the heel of your shoe and leaving it forgotten on the concrete of the school rooftop. 

you dig out the shards of glass from the palms of minho’s hands with tweezers and staunch the bleeding with the hem of your hoodie. running a finger along the torn skin of his palm, you know that this is all you can do. 

v. 

you wonder how he managed to keep his heart all these years. 

the boy in front of you is the same boy from years ago, the boy who cradled a gasping kitten to his cheek even as it was left abandoned to die in the rotten decay of a faded playground. 

the past years have not been kind to either of you. and yet minho is unchanged. 

he is harder, yes, and there is a permanent sheen of weariness pressed to his skin. but his heart is still intact, still whole and smooth inside the cage of his ribs. 

the years have rubbed you raw— numbed you in ways unimaginable, taken whatever softness you ever possessed and hardened it into anger. you know that if someone were to cut open your chest and peer into your ribcage, your heart would be rotten and tainted within your chest, scarred and cracked, barely together by the seams. 

you envy minho for his wholeness. 

you sometimes wish that, just for once, someone could carve open your chest and see a full and unblemished heart beating within your ribcage. 

vi. 

there is moonlight splayed across minho’s skin and laughter bubbling from the corners of your lips, threatening to spill out in curls and wisps of smoke. his lips are pressed against your own as he pulls you in closer, all heated skin and tired eyes. 

the alleyway smells of burnt rubber. 

you brush away the bangs that stick to his forehead as you curl a hand around his cheek, cupping his jaw and brushing a thumb against the scar etched into his cheekbone. minho sighs into your lips and gives you all of him, allowing you to wrap your arms around his torso and press him closer. 

part of you feels selfish for allowing yourself to have him like this when you are tainted on the inside, your heart spoiled and bruised like overripe fruit. but you pull him in closer all the same. 

you are young gods in this moonlight and gods are allowed to be greedy like this, even if they are rotten to the core. 

vii. 

he doesn’t say a word. just silently slips into your apartment after dance practice, hair still slick with sweat, and falls asleep beside you on the couch. you watch as he sprawls out across the couch and allow your endearment to bleed through the edges. 

his head somehow migrates to your lap over the course of a few hours, hair splayed out in a halo around his head. 

you run a featherlight fingertip down the perfect slope of his nose and tell the sleeping boy with the shards of glass ingrained in the palms of his hands that you love him. 

he doesn’t stir from your lap. 

viii. 

he is curled in your lap again, but now he’s sobbing instead of sleeping. 

he opens his mouth to choke out another apology, tears soaking into the cloth of your t-shirt, and you tell him to shut up. because you’re not holding him because you pity him but rather because you would give the world to see the boy in your arms happy and if it means that your cheap gas station t-shirt will get ruined in the process then so be it. 

he presses his forehead to your collarbone and sighs. 

“i hate him,” he says. 

“i hate him, too.” 

“you don’t even know him.”

but do you need to know someone to hate them? if it were up to you, you would have slipped into minho’s apartment long ago and brought his father to his knees. you would have taken him by the chin and forced him to look. to stare. to breathe in minho’s humanness, his pain, and to understand the magnitude of his cruelty. 

look. look at the scars carved into your son’s palms from all the times you got a little too drunk to remember that beer bottles were for drinking from and not for throwing. the scar across his cheekbone from the time your fist connected into his cheek when he came home late from dance practice. look at his brokenness, the weariness that sits heavy against the dark circles underneath his eyes. 

look and realize what you have done. 

you would have taken him by the chin and made him realize his monstrosity. dragged him through the dust and left him on his knees, head hanging low with the heat of his own shame. 

but it has never been up to you. and all you can do is this. 

you hold him closer, and you think that when you are in each other’s arms like this, your brokenness becomes a little less apparent.

#ficscafe #kflixnet #straykidsland #lee know au #lee know drabble #lee know x reader #lee know imagine #lee know angst #stray kids angst #it's usually the oc sitting in skz's lap so as a change i had lee know sitting in the oc's lap #probably the angstiest i've ever gotten #i think the angst level of this one ties with hourglass #i actually like this one a lot #i had like more than 2 weeks to write it lmao due to my brief writing hiatus due to exams so i was able to give it a lot of thought #📂 fics.txt #🐱 #一见钟情 #이민호

[weatheredleatherhat]

would include’s for Reader giving Karl some pampering by washing his hair, giving him a little scalp massage and doing his hair care routine for him (cause lord knows he probably has one) which he loves cause of how gentle they are.

((Hey anon! Not sure if this was an add-on to another ask, but I’m treating it as a stand alone! Bath time with Heis makes me WEAK. I also decided to add a little extra; him being a little shit and it descending into pure tooth rotting fluff. Fluff is my weakness, I just can’t help it.))

He sunk further into the warmth of the bathtub, a pleased rumble loud in his chest as he closed his eyes and relaxed. For someone who whined about being torn away from work, he was sure loving the pampering. In fact, he hadn’t said a work since you got to work with making sure he was as clean as you could possibly get him.

Sat atop an old stool beside him, sleeves rolled up and a look of concentration on your face, you started with his hands. You massaged soap into his palms, across the backs and into the knuckles, giving them a massage as you went. You could see his face relax as you did so, and you wondered if it felt good for him to finally relieve some tension. He constantly worked with his hands, and they were so calloused and scarred at this point it was a wonder he still had any feeling in them. Taking a thin, blunt piece of metal you fashioned as a nail scraper, you cleaned underneath his nails, finishing off with your nail brush to make sure all traces of dirt were obliterated. By the time you were finished, you could tell the difference between the before and after, and it made you happy to see him look slightly pleased with the result.

You washed every inch of his body using a non-scented soap, seeing how he hated to smell of anything that didn’t fit his own natural scent. You ignored him when he quirked a lustful eyebrow at your actions, focusing on your main task so you wouldn’t get too distracted. All of that could be enjoyed later. For now, you focused on massaging his tense muscles, feeling them relax underneath the pads of your fingers and working out any knots you could find.

He was positively blissed out by the time you maneuvered the stool to the head of the bathtub, and you smiled at the sight of it. It was rare to see him like this; the fine lines of his face lessened and his eyes closed, instead of focusing so hard you were shocked his eyes didn’t cross from the effort. It was a nice sight, and you made a mental note to do this more often.

Squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, you rubbed your hands together before beginning to rub the product into his scalp. You made sure to add pressure so your fingers sprawled across his head, using your fingernails to really rake through it and give it a good scratch. The noises he made were positively adorable; loud groans of enjoyment and purr-like sounds that came from his throat. You were sure his eyes rolled to the back of his head behind closed lids, mouth slightly agape as he enjoyed long minutes of getting his hair played with.

“This good?” you whispered, getting a long moan as an answer. You smiled as you finished up by dragging the products down to the tips of his hair, grabbing a cup you kept in the bathroom to gently pour water over his head to rinse off. You did the same with conditioner; making sure to take your time massaging it through for maximum relaxation. If there was one thing you learned about Karl, it was that he adored having his hair played with. If you were cuddled up together, it was often he pressed his cheek to your chest, silently willing you to card your fingers through it. You were more than willing to indulge him; anything for his happiness, to give him a bit of solace, you’d do it.

Rinsing it out, you sighed softly as you leaned back, wiping your hands down with a towel as you watched him for a couple of seconds. He started to come around, eyes slightly parting and looking up at you with adoration. A soft grin graced your features as you stood up, leaning over him a little as you stroked his cheek. “I’ll leave you to relax, okay? I’ll get dinner started.”

You spun on your heel to leave, but you didn’t expect an arm to snake around your waist before you could realise what was going on, pulling you backwards. You let out a squeal of shock as you descended downwards, landing with a spash as Karl cuddled you into his arm with an iron grip. You spluttered, trying to wriggle free as your clothes started to soak through, but he held fast.

“Karl Heisenberg!” you yelped, and you heard the little shit chuckle as he pressed kisses to your neck.

“Ooh, full name. Means you’re mad at me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Karl, let me go, I’m soaked through!” you protested, smacking his arm that only fuelled his laughter. You tried to supress your own giggles, but they burst through against your will.

“Oh no, what a shame. Means you’re gonna have to get naked and relax with me, won’t it?”

You turned up to look at him, a scowl on your face being betrayed by the laughter bubbling in your chest. You flicked water up at him, and he barely moved, staring down at you with soft eyes. “This isn’t funny Karl.”

“Isn’t it? You’re laughing,” he countered, noticing how you settled into him, wet clothes be damned. He leaned down, kissing you so softly it took your breath away. “Laughter means I’m off the hook.”

Screw it, you thought, peeling off your clothes and dropping them on the floor. He smirked as he watched you, sighing in contentment as you snuggled up to his warmth. His arms returned around you, and he pressed his lips against the top of your head as he smoothed your hair back.

“Dinner’s going to be late, I hope you know that.”

He shrugged, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I don’t give a shit. This is worth it.”

You both lay there until the bath water turned cold. Enveloped into one another, stroking skin and sharing kisses. You had to admit, this was relaxing. A shared little moment of heaven, one that you’d remember on difficult days.

And with Karl, you had a lot of those memories.

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenburg x reader #heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village #heisenberg x you #resident evil x reader #karl heisenberg fluff