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gretagerwigsmuse · 5 months

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can't hardly wait

Summary: in which a guy named bradley likes you back on hinge...

OR a prequel fic with the first hinge messages

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: listen i know i have a picture selected for her, i just wanted to have the ice cream comparison and went with this one. also i have all the pics on bradley's profile if you're curious 💁🏼‍♀️ he's just so goddamn cute! written for @roosterforme 's 'rocktober' event and inspired by the replacements song. don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉 [image template (x)]

Your phone lit up with a notification, buzzing in its spot on your glass desk. You glanced down at it for a moment before going back to your slide deck - until it buzzed again. It was a Hinge notification. You hadn't been particularly active on the app the last couple days, not wanting to get your hopes up yet again. But you'd made one last ditch attempt on Hinge, liking some guys who were way out of your league - before telling Max he had the go-ahead to set you up with his buddy. Leaning back in your desk chair, you swiped up on the notification.

Oh. It was this one - the pretty one. Bradley.

You scrolled back through his profile one more time, reacquainting yourself with the 6'1" brunet. He had a picture cuddling a chunky French Bulldog, one at a Rolling Stones concert, one with an older guy who was probably his dad, and one where his eyes looked like pools of chocolate, in addition to his main photo. Unbidden, a smile crept across your face. He looked kind, sweet. Even if he didn't say where he worked.

Bradley, you tested the name out.

Without further delay, you pulled up his message:

Did you only like me because I also have a picture eating ice cream on my profile? I guess that means you're not lactose intolerant?

You let out a little giggle and twirled around in your desk chair. Oh, he was sweet (and a little nerdy). No, it's because you're unfathomably pretty and I didn't think you'd actually like me back. Trying not to overthink it, you typed out a response:

bold of you to assume it also wasn't the 'stache...and that i'm not just mainlining lactaid

It was cute, a little cheeky. He typed and deleted his response a couple times, leaving you on the edge of your seat.

How far do you have UVA going in MM this year?

You pursed your lips. Hmph. And went back to scrolling his profile. Ah, there it was - he'd also gone to UVA, though a couple years before you. He also drank, didn't smoke, and was vaccinated and bi. You swiped back to the chat.

Your allegiance to UVA in any sporting event wasn't exactly top of mind, so you had to check your March Madness bracket that everyone in the office had been forced to fill out for team building. Just has you were about to say Elite Eight! Bradley messaged back:

Sorry, that was really lame. I’m not used to this.

You smiled. that has to be a line...

His reply was instantaneous. It's not, I promise! Alright give me one more try. How's this?

In the background, your computer pinged with multiple Teams message notifications, but your eyes remained glued to your phone.

Did you know the moon's actually lemon shaped? And that the Milky Way apparently smells like raspberries and rum?

It was such a ridiculous and silly fun fact that it made you smile. Time to put all that barstool trivia knowledge to good use.

no, bradley, i did not know that. do you only specialize in space fun facts or can i get something else out of you...

----------

Turns out all it took was a smattering of the world's silliest fun facts to get you hooked, and after days of texting you were at the Hard Deck. The beachfront dive bar wasn't exactly your ideal first date location, but it seemed like there was a good crowd inside judging by the excessive number of the cars in the parking lot. As it was, your Uber let you out next to a pale blue Bronco. You smoothed your hands over your dress and checked your hair one final time before heading inside.

You didn’t really date. Not in the same sense that your friends Caroline and Darcy or even Alexa and Max did. The last person you’d gone out with for more than three dates had been your ex-boyfriend Jack and even that relationship fizzled after six months.

But there was just something about him - about Bradley - that made you think this could be something? Something about Bradley made you giggle at your phone while you read his texts and buy a new dress and get a wax for your date.

God, please like me. I hope he likes me.

The bell above the door jingled as you entered, suddenly taken aback not only by the amount of people in the bar, but also the Navy paraphernalia doting seemingly every usable surface. Jesus. Did Uncle Sam pay everyone's tab, too?

Scooting out of the way of another group entering behind you, you bit your lip and stretched your neck, looking around the bar for Bradley. What if he wasn't there? What if he saw you get out of your Uber in the parking lot and bailed? No - he wouldn't do that. The Bradley you had gotten to know over the last couple days sent you fun facts and his Wordle score. He asked about your projects at work and what you were having for dinner. He texted with full capitalization and punctuation. At the very worst, you'd hope you'd get an it's not you, it's me text from him.

But your worry was all for naught because when you got closer to the bar, you saw him. And by some sort of miracle he hadn't seen you yet, which gave you ample opportunity to ogle because you seriously needed a minute. God, he was so pretty. His hair looked lighter in person, not as brown, his arms looked so strong even in his unbuttoned light blue oxford, and that mustache? It worked. It really worked.

And he looked nervous? His knee was bouncing and he kept glancing down at the phone propped up on his knee. 7:33pm - you were late. You squared your shoulders and cleared your throat before closing the final few steps.

"Bradley?"

He spun around on his barstool at your voice. The abrupt motion caused him to almost drop his phone, but it made you smile. Once his eyes settled on you it was like everything stopped. The bar got quiet, you didn't notice the girl next to you complaining about her drink, and the hockey game on TV faded into the background - you just noticed Bradley.

A smile crept across his face as he said your name in turn and you nodded. Your stomach was going crazy with butterflies and your heart was pounding so hard, you were convinced Bradley could see the outline through your pink dress. His voice was warm and raspy and had your insides turning into honey.

"It's nice to see you - " He gave you a full hug that was over far too soon. God he smelled so good, too. "- Here, have a seat. Do you want a drink?"

"You too." You took his hand and got on the barstool, placing your clutch on the table and glancing around the bar. "Ummm, what're you having?"

"An old fashioned - sorry," he shook himself and glanced back down at his drink sheepishly, "you just look really pretty."

You cheeks warmed under his stare and you bit your lip. If your knee nudged his underneath the bar-top then that was just an accident. "Thanks, I'll uh - I'll have a margarita?"

Bradley was either really smart or really lucky when he ordered your margarita with your preferred tequila - you only had to pipe up to request salt on the rim.

And then it was just easy. Everything just fell into place. You talked about your time at UVA - he even got you to admit that you were a Tri-Delta after he admitted to being Sigma Chi philanthropy chair -your favorite restaurants and neighborhoods in San Diego, and your job, which Bradley endearingly thought was fascinating - something you wouldn't exactly agree with, but it was flattering all the same.

And it was only because of the easy conversation and banter between the two of you that you finally felt comfortable bringing up your most burning question all evening:

“So, what’s with the bar?” you asked, looking around with a teasing smile on your face. Bradley cocked his head. “I mean, is it just me or is like every naval officer within a forty mile radius here?”

And then the night took a turn...

don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉

a/n: so this was just something small to tide me over before i post my next fic about thanksgiving! hope you all liked it!

#bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley and smart aleck #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #top gun imagine #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader

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arcielee · 1 year

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To Build a Home

Summary: You are a broken soul and he can recognize it. Paring: modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader Word Count: 3083 Warnings: Mentions of household abuse, night terrors and coping with anxiety, but then there will be fluff, oh yes indeed. Author’s Note: Huge shout out to @sirenofavalon for this request, it is absolutely brilliant and I just adored it. Thank you! A huge thank you to @aspen-carter and @f4ll-for-you for being my beta readers, to Dais especially. You are my muse and I appreciate the ideas you poured into this story, to help me with the outline to create this piece. I cannot thank you enough for you being you. 💜💛 Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Taglist (my Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aspen-carter @aemondx @fan-goddess

Helaena had the tendency to collect things; some were intolerable, like her entomology infatuation, and others were more manageable. At school, she was a beacon of warmth and acceptance, accumulating friends from every social group and often bringing them home. Some would stay for a while and move on, still friendly with hallway run-ins, but others needed a savior, an escape.

Those were the ones who stayed, knitted at her side.

You were quiet as a result of growing up in a violent household, where the tempers were an unbridled heat that searched for any release. As a result, your steps were soft, your movements always slow; it was a skilled trepidation as you were unwilling, unwanting of any attention to be brought to you.

Helaena had always been sweet enough to sit with you during lunch. You remembered when she sat at your side and asked about the book you were reading. Usually, it was a shield, a way to hide in plain sight, but her lilac eyes were kind and you bookmarked your place to talk with her. It continued through the week, she was always entertained with your summary or reviews of whatever book you had, the different genres of fiction that captured your attention, and you thought her bugs were both peculiar and fascinating.

She invited you to spend the night and you were able to get permission, both a rarity and relief; that Friday, you waited with Helaena and her two older brothers for their mother, who she kindly asked for you to call her Alicent, to come pick you up.

The ride was wonderful, as anything that took you away from your home was; you bonded with Aemond over a shared love of literature and learned that you and Aegon were in the same grade, though your schedules were off-kiltered as a result of him failing some classes.

The Targaryen home was large and welcoming. You saw only one family photo and learned their father had died, but he was not grieved like a love lost, but it almost seemed to be an unspoken relief that washed over the household.

The evening was spent sprawled in the living room, playing video games until dinner was ready; the meal time was spent in a raucous debate over what film would be watched before bed. Though it was good natured, you felt yourself begin to wither under the raised voices when suddenly Aegon announced it would be The Never Ending Story.

“It is a classic,” he said with a finality to end the discussion.

Later that night, Alicent was on the couch with Daeron, another and even younger brother, while the rest were in a nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor. It was your first real taste of a family setting and you fell asleep with a smile and the subtle ache knowing you inevitably would have to return home.

–

Aegon was always a light sleeper; there was an inability to shut his brain off. His mind seemed to flit over anything and everything, which he did his best to explain to his father when he was alive, again to his grandfather, and was met with their adamant words that he was just not applying himself.

He felt at ease, an unfamiliar but welcomed emotion, nestled amongst his siblings and you, the newest addition, each tucked away in a bundle of blankets on the floor. Aegon began to teeter the edge of unconsciousness when he heard it.

A soft whimper, a quiet cry.

He shifted to move, careful not to disturb Aemond or Helaena with her cocoon of pillows; he crept to where you were sleeping, or trying too. He saw your brows were knitted and your lips parted with another muted cry, tears catching on your lashes. Aegon was careful with his touch, just his hand to your shoulder and even this caused your eyes to open wide with fear, grabbing his wrist.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Aegon whispered. “It’s Aegon and you’re staying at our house, remember?”

You trembled with a visceral fear and it was something he unfortunately recognized; his mind flitted to earlier with the friendly discourse of what movie to watch, then to when his father was alive or whenever their grandfather would visit. Aegon moved to lay next to you and you shifted to curl against his chest; he made soft, soothing sounds that led into a melody, a few bars sung with his low timbre. He started another without you asking and did not stop until you drifted back into a more peaceful sleep.

He hummed a bit longer, allowing his eyes to take you in with the dim lighting of the room. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, enjoyed the warmth of you pressed against his chest. He also saw the muted purple and green of your jawline, a healing bruise.

Aegon was careful to pull away and retreated back to his pillows and blankets, still humming the song.

–

The next day, you woke up to breakfast being prepared, the clatter of pots and pans, the low baritone of Aemond giving commands and Daeron’s higher pitch quipping back, and the musical laughter of Alicent over it all. You shied away to clean up in the guest bathroom, the careful application of makeup to hide what waited at home, before coming back to the hallway and bumping into Helaena.

Your new friend has the warmest smile, something that glowed from the kindness that seemed to resonate from her. “Hey, I already asked my mother and, if it is okay with your’s, you are welcome to stay with us for the weekend. We can take you to school on Monday.”

What you did not know was Aegon grabbing his sister, a hushed whisper of his concern when he relayed the nightmare you had, the injury he swore he saw. She listened, nodding her head and telling him, “I assume it was something. I’ll ask mom if she can stay with us for the rest of the weekend.”

You learned that your family does not miss you, they only mind you when you are home; it was easy enough for you to stay away and it was expressed that you were welcomed to return, weekend after weekend. During the school week, you had lunches with Helaena and sometimes her brothers would stop by, though you would see Aegon checking in more often than Aemond. On Fridays, your bag was already packed and you would wait with Helaena and her brothers for Alicent to come and take you home.

It was an unspoken gesture that the guest room became yours; Alicent showed you the cleared out drawers and closet space, her sweet smile encouraging you to leave behind a change of clothes or even your school uniform, whatever you would need to feel more at home. You struggled with the words to thank her and she gave you a hug, a way to say no words were needed.

The space intimately becomes your own and you are pleased to realize your wall is shared with Aegon and his room. The years continued, with secondary school nearing its end and with graduation looming, you and Aegon would spend more time together; he would slip into your room for a late night talk, your shared whispers of what was next to come.

You knew you slept better at the Targaryen’s than your own home, but your nightmares would still come with its sickening hold that sunk into your chest, with a fear that paralyzed you and choked your tongue. It was always the same, how you would run and run, without an end in sight, but aware that if you stopped, it would finally be able to sink its hold into you…

You woke up, in the spare bed placed in the spare bedroom that was unspokenly yours. You felt his warm touch, your mind clearing and allowing you to recognize the comfort noises from Aegon and you blushed once you understood you were in his arms, yet again. You trembled still, but it was a mixture of the lingering fear and newfound relief that the nightmare ended; you let out a shaky exhale.

His fingers curled under your chin and you tilted your head back to meet with his eyes. “Hey,” he smiled at you and you felt your blush deepen.

“H-hey,” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was awake already.”

It was something you had noticed, how restless he seemed to be in his own room. You wanted to ask what kept him awake, but instead you say. “Aegon, would you please sing my song?”

He shifted his weight, allowing you to reposition; Aegon laid on his back, his head propped on the pillow and you curled against his chest, like always.

Helaena was your dear friend, perhaps your best friend, but Aegon was something special. With your frequent stay-overs, you learned that he would always be there when you woke up, wearing his warm smile with a song perched on his tongue; his soothing voice helped ease you back into reality, a sung promise that in this moment you were safe within the walls that held you.

His songs were uniquely his own, his voice amazing, like a balm for your broken soul. It was what was needed to lull you back to sleep, without the terror when you closed your eyes, but this time, you forced yourself to remain awake. “Does your family know you sing like this?” You whispered into his chest.

You can feel him shake his head and you peered up to see the tussle of his silver locks. “This is something only for you,” and he smiled, pulling you closer to his chest.

Aegon smelled rich, but you knew it was a cologne that Alicent picked out and it mixed well with the scent of clean laundry and his own comforting scent. You wrapped your arm around his stomach, nestling into the warmth he always seemed to exude; he tensed at first, then exhaled. “I never recognize what you sing to me,” you continued and it is something of a question.

“It’s the music that plays in my head,” is his vague answer. He always shied away when you complimented his natural talent, always groaning or blushing whenever you praised his singing.

“Is the music what keeps you up?”

He hummed a noncommittal reply, so instead you shyly request him to sing you another song and, as always, he obliges you. You can feel the vibration where your head was laying on his chest, his voice able to bring you back to sleep.

You always slept soundly at his side.

–

Graduation comes and you both have enrolled into the same university, but by your own means; Aegon has his trust fund and you, proudly, have your scholarships earned. You shared your concern about finding a place to stay and he was quick to suggest that you roomed with him, since his grandfather was paying for his housing as a means for redemption.

The Targaryens were always gracious to you and seemed aware of your home life, though you never dared breath a word about it; you should have known he would offer.

You hesitated; to be his roommate would be effortless, your friendship had grown over the years and his presence allowed you to feel comfortable, made you feel safe. The two of you shared a bond, something his family was aware of but only Helaena would dare tease you; in truth, you cherished the friendship, but you found yourself wanting something more and were too afraid to ask for it.

Aegon was undeniably handsome, with his bright eyes and his smile that filled the width of his jaw, his mussed silver locks that framed his face. Though he never seemed interested in anyone, the thought lingered with you, he will inevitably get a girlfriend, and then what would you do?

You swallowed that thought and agreed to it; to celebrate, you purchased him a small, leather bound journal and left it with a note on his bed, in his new room:

A place where you can store your music and maybe find some sleep.

Together, you both create the apartment into a space that is all your own. Your schedules are listed and you both make sure to recap your days, relishing in each other’s victories. When Aegon came home with a guitar in hand, you glowed with your excitement, the idea of what he would create next.

His laughter was a sound that filled your chest. “I don’t even know how to play it yet!”

“Yes, but you are talented and brilliant,” you argued, your cheeks rosy from your smile. “So I trust you will be amazing.”

His talent seemed natural enough and the acoustic sounds complemented his voice in a way that you now craved. Your nightmares were not as frequent, but it seemed to be replaced with an anxiety that had you in a chokehold; it came with the stress of your courses and you pushed yourself to maintain the grades needed that allowed your scholarships.

Aegon always seemed aware when it began to grab ahold of you and he would be in your door frame, with his guitar in hand. You smiled and moved to your bed, allowing him your seat, and he would show you what he had been learning, his voice able to loosen anxiety’s grip.

“Aegon,” you sighed one day. “You really should play the next time they do an open mic at the coffee shop. You are so talented.”

“That is your opinion,” he grinned in return, setting the guitar to lean against your desk. “Maybe if I had a cult following, all who shared your opinion, I could make something with it.”

“A cult following would be easy enough,” and you meant your tone to be teasing. “Honestly, you can easily get any girl you want, if you actually tried.”

The silence was heavy, almost palpable between the two of you; it was something you had never experienced with him before. It was supposed to be a joke amongst friends, but you wished you could scoop up the words and swallow them.

He watched you, carefully, his beautiful eyes seemed to trace over your features, but you assumed he did not wish to meet with your stare. You were holding your breath, unsure if you needed to break the silence building or allow him to do it, and it went too long.

Aegon stood up, one hand combed through his silver waves and the other pulled the leather bound journal you gifted him, setting it on the desk. He did not say anything, but instead grabbed the guitar and retreated to his room, leaving your door open.

You looked at the journal and your eyes trailed to the now empty door frame; you waited for him to come back. He doesn’t and you push from the bed, reaching to pick it up and standing still, debating on what you should do next.

His handwriting fits him, a cursive hybrid scrawl of letters, as if he struggled to keep with the thoughts that spilled from his mind to the paper. You find every page was nearly filled, front and back, with a poetry pose that flowed; the subject, his words had a theme and the realization had you crimson.

It was you.

You fell back to sit on the edge of your bed, thinking and replaying every intimate moment shared, how it transcribed to his written words and how you had been blind to understand the meaning behind his words sung. You classified what you two shared as friendship, frightened to try for something else, especially when it had seemed unattainable before, but now…

The one consistent thing was that Aegon was your peace, he was your comfort personified with his beautiful, bright eyes and the smile that would pluck the strings of your heart with every song he had ready on his lips. You appreciated him and you were scared to ever ask for something more, to push him for something and he would pull away and be lost to you.

You now held his journal, in his own words you finally understood from his perspective, he was the one carrying feelings that were unreciprocated but he had contentment to be a friend for you and nothing more, if it allowed him to forever be a part of your life.

Your grip ached your fingers, a renewed passion that burned away the anxiety that hid in the shadows, and you stood up again, your each step determined, but still soft. His door was closed, but you see his light is on and pooled below; your nails gently tapped and you heard his muffled acknowledgement.

Aegon was laying face down on his bed, his face buried in his pillow but he twisted to face you. His eyes met with yours and he was quick to sit upright, a look of recognition to his features.

He always seemed to be so aware of you.

“Aegon,” you breathed, a smile on your lips and the realization you had no word prepared with your semi-grand entrance. Your eyes looked around his room, an organized mess to his belongings and his scent touching everything. You realized you always allowed him into your space, but never asked to venture into his own.

He pushed himself from the bed and moved towards you, watchful of your response as he drew closer.

He was always astutely aware, respectful of your boundaries that you set with your subtle mannerisms. He saw your stance, how your hands were white with the hold on his journal, how your tongue wet your lips as you struggled for the words. “I… need to get you a new journal. This one is nearly full.”

His smile is warm and kind, as always. “I always have inspiration, so I am full of ideas.”

You hummed. “Could I… I always sleep better with you at my side. Do you mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Aegon looked at you and your heart melted within your chest, unable to collect itself when he closed the distance between you. His hands were careful to cup your jaw, rough from the calluses of guitar strings but still gentle, and he pressed his lips to your own.

#aegon targaryen #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #modern hotd au #sweet aegon fluff #to build a home

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jmdbjk · 11 months

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Good morning! Pt. 1

Breakfast: scrambled eggs with heavy cream mixed with cut up cup noodles and brown rice = under 500 calories.

His shoulder is bothering him. Not good.

He has turtleneck syndrome but obvs not the kind that makes us weak in the knees.

He's working out, pilates, going to the dermatologist, ignoring his guitar lessons, a day in the life of just being The Bun.

He will rest at the dermatologists... lol.

Because he's been a couch potato, his muscles deteriorated and that's why he's having trouble with aches and pains. Getting old sucks, Koo.

Damn the sounds his body makes when he cracks his bones...holy shit. Sounded like dominos falling.

He's going to invest in some workout equipment to keep at home... why he doesn't already have that, who knows. I guess because that's not his permanent home. He said he ordered some equipment but sounds suspiciously like it will sit in the box unassembled for a while...

Kookie, you spent six months being a couch potato in your mikrokosmos cave NOW you are going to invest in home workout equipment right when you are starting to ramp up on activities?

Y'all.. when I say he is the most adorable thing explaining in detail how to correct your posture and giving us walking and sleeping techniques to strengthen the neck and back... I just want to put him in my pocket.

"My here..." and he pats the backs of his legs... my god Kookie. Stob it.

He's killin' me. The most adorable goofball.

He scrolled through the comments and couldn't figure out why some disappear. Who's gonna tell him? Not me.

He's already talking about lunch... salad... superfoods... he found a great salad place and will have that with smoked duck or chicken. Eating healthy.

Kookie Pookie TMI: he might be lactose intolerant. Dairy doesn't agree with him. But he eats it anyway. Same, same.

Sooo many details... shampoo, body wash, face... towels...

His ghostbusters phase... he summoned the spirits from the netherworld with gadgets but never saw or heard any. (The other members did though. That explains everything.)

ISFP (Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Perceiving) People with this personality type tend to be peaceful, easy-going, and down-to-earth individuals. They have a strong need for personal space and value time alone to recharge. He needs to have some management. I've said this before. He is not a self-starter.

Now he's talking about setting up a movie date with Army but how to sneak it past the company. He needs to hire a spy. All of a sudden we're conspiring to do something without the company knowing and have a private movie date with Kookie...

This man who stood in the middle of Coachella and didn't think he'd be recognized because he cut his bangs.... is trying to sneak out of the house to go to see a movie with us. What could go wrong?

The imbeciles who keep asking him to speak another language and not Korean. Brainless people who waste everyone's time by typing those comments during a live.

Hold up buttercup. What's that dark area under his jawline?

[squints at the pixels... hmmm]

The Rainy Day Fight story.... this is the most precious retelling of one of the most (formerly) mysterious moments in Jikookistory. Bless the Army who caught his eye with this request in the comments.

According to Jungkook: It happened in the early years, JK was acting like a petulant teenager and pissed everyone off, even "angelic" Hobi-hyung got mad. Jimin even got pissed off. So much so he told JK he wasn't going to take care of him any longer (I've always suspected that Jimin held some responsibility over JK when they were younger and this might be JK confirming that.) JK stormed out of the building and started walking and got lost. He admits he's directionally challenged. THAT'S WHY JIMIN SAID BAM DOESN'T PAY ATTENTION TO HIS SURROUNDINGS JUST LIKE HIS DAD!

Anyway, JK, in the midst of his temper tantrum, got lost and started to panic but first he had to overcome his pride. He called Jimin, hung up on him and then did it again and on the third call, Jimin quickly answered. I think the panic was overwhelming JK by this time and the avalanche of emotions caved in on him. Poor Jimin probably also was worried by this time, especially after JK couldn't figure out where he was. The telling of how he broke down sobbing while talking to Jimin is so sweet and pure. WHO tells other people they actually did this? The details????

Somehow, Kookie found a taxi and got back to the dorm with Jimin standing there waiting. What a story. Jimin took him up to the roof where they could talk in private and I'm sure the words spoken there made an impact on Kookie. He thoroughly regretted it, enough that he had to bring it up during Festa 2020 and say he felt sorry that he made Jimin feel so bad that day.

All of that in the first 38 minutes of his hour and 45 minute live...

Then he proceeded to wake up the neighbors and ruin his furniture at the same time by drumming on his coffee table.

He tossed a book around for a few seconds... Crying In H Mart by Michelle Zauner, in case anyone wants to read what Kookie is reading. Except I think that's the first time he's actually touched the book because there was a big ass brochure in the middle of it that he had no idea was there.

It seemed like a booklist brochure advertising the latest and best books.

omg... bless his heart...

Next topic: Yoongi's concert. Was Kookie watching a fancam livestream of Yoongi's concert too?

HE'S JUST LIKE US! HE SAW JIMIN AT YOONGI'S CONCERT! I BET MANAGER-NIM WAS LIVE STREAMING THE CONCERT!!!

He tells us he will go see Yoongi's concert (I'm assuming in Seoul). Sadly, Jimin might be in Europe on those days. We'll see.

All of a sudden he's blaming fruit flies for knocking over the phone. I didn't say it, he did.

Scrolling through his video library/youtube/whatever he has tons of cooking shows. He mentions 1mincook several times which is a channel of "1 minute cooking" dishes. Quick meals. All the videos are a minute in length. Perfect for JK's short attention span.

Jeon Jungkook is one of the most unpretentious people I've ever seen in my life.

I am 50 minutes into this live. He was very gregarious and jumped from one thing to the next.

I will run out of image space on this post so Part 2 coming soon!

#as many things as he's started and quit #as many times as he's said he's lazy #the Rainy Day Fight #jikook #kook cooks a lot #i would bet on a stack of bibles manager-nim was livestreaming that newark concert

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ereana · 4 months

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Alhaitham X Cyno - How am I supposed to spoil you when you won’t accept my gifts?

Alhaitham has a problem.

It’s one that has been building up over the past few months until it’s finally reached a point where he can no longer ignore it. Research has unfortunately yielded few answers and his own personal knowledge on the subject assures him that unless the issue is addressed nothing will change.

What is the problem that has confounded the Grand Scribe and former Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya? Why none other than the General Mahamatra himself.

To clarify Cyno himself is not a problem, or rather if he is one then he is a lovely problem. The kind that leaves Alhaitham reeling as his thoughts are scattered to the four winds. The kind of problem that requires strong commitment to untangle, a lifetime of study would only barely be enough to fully comprehend it.

No, the true problem is that Cyno refuses to accept any of Alhaitham’s gifts. After an extremely lengthy courting process that mainly consisted of what Dehya called ‘mutually intolerable pining without either of you dumbasses doing a damn thing about it’ they had finally entered a romantic relationship. Frankly he didn’t believe the words properly conveyed the depth of his feelings for Cyno but he had more pressing matters to worry about than a way to describe the exhilarating mix of devotion, longing and soul-crushing joy that had carved a messy hole in his chest.

It was hard to believe that Cyno felt the same way but he knew better than to doubt his general’s word. Not unless he wanted to find himself emotionally flayed open, bleeding love through claw marks as Cyno worshiped him in the darkness of their room.

No, that was a course of action best saved for a special day.

The root of the matter was Cyno’s sense of duty to his role. The General Mahamatra had to be neutral, unbiased to any particular group or scholar and in line with this anything that could be constituted as a bribe was swiftly returned to the sender. Alhaitham knows that his own stint as Acting Grand Sage had not helped matters as the last thing Cyno needed was to be perceived as under the influence of the Grand Sage. It was one of the reasons they hadn’t gotten together until Alhaitham had finally been able to step down. Even then there had been a heated argument over whether it was appropriate for the General and the Grand Scribe to involve themselves in a romantic entanglement.

Alhaitham had never fought so fiercely for anything before in his life and had earned his victory with every scrap of intellect he possessed.

So any gifts he gave to Cyno were politely returned or refused.

Wealth? Alhaitham never bothered to send money because Cyno was richer than him and it was the most obvious gift that could be construed as a bribe.

Flowers? A traditional gift suggested by Nilou. He had imported a rare breed of lily from Fontaine which had subsequently ended up as part of Tighnari’s next research project.

TCG cards? The one time he’d tried that with his own card, the only one Cyno could not get before Alhaitham himself, Cyno had insisted on winning it off him in a fair game and refused to just accept it. Though Alhaitham didn’t consider that a loss because Cyno had been so distracted by the sight of his own card in Alhaitham’s deck that it had take him three games to win it, allowing Alhaitham to enjoy the sight of his lover’s blushing face as ruby red eyes kept drifting to the purple and gold card.

Books? Cyno had suggested he donate them to Aaru Village to help with their new library, despite knowing full well Alhaitham was working with Candace to fill the modestly sized building as soon as possible.

Alcohol? This was always taken but then shared at the next gathering of friends which diminished the uniqueness of a gift for Cyno. Especially when Kaveh seemed to drink most of the expensive wine.

Practical gifts were difficult to procure because Cyno was a very practical man and already had most of the things he needed. He kept them in good repair with his usual diligence which meant Alhaitham couldn’t even buy him a replacement.

After a month of pondering over this problem and failing to find a solution Alhaitham settles on asking Cyno directly. While some, Kaveh, would decry this as unromantic Alhaitham disagrees. Communication is a vital component in all relationships; words, actions, gestures, expressions and he is determined to do this right. He refuses to even entertain the possibility of making a mistake because he wasn’t clear in his intentions.

“How am I supposed to spoil you when you won’t accept my gifts?” He asks bluntly the next time he meets Cyno.

This happens to be during their shared lunch break in which Cyno coaxes him up the branches of the Divine Tree, with only minor grumbling, to the very top so they can look out over the forest together.

Cyno pauses in reaching for his drink and turns to face him. He eyes Alhaitham curiously, that brilliant mind working to piece together the reason behind the sudden question.

“Is this because of the Lakelight Lilies?”

“Not just them. It’s come to my attention that you seem to dislike receiving gifts from me, I can’t tell if this is a phenomenon linked only to myself or to a wider range of people but I fail to see the reason why. You are my partner—

“—boyfriend.” Cyno cuts in with a smile.

“You know how I feel about that word — and I wish to show you proof of my affection. You’re making that very hard to do by either refusing or giving away everything I offer, I’m starting to feel a little rejected.” Alhaitham finishes with a teasing smile of his own to take the sting out of his words.

Cyno huffs and shakes his head, looking at Alhaitham with unmistakable fondness.

“I don’t need those types of gifts Haitham.”

“You may not need them but if you want something then I want to give it to you.” Alhaitham murmurs, taking Cyno’s hand in his own and pressing a kiss to the back of his palm.

“Foolish man, you already spoil me enough.” Cyno rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull his hand back, and Alhaitham eagerly drinks in the red flush blooming across dark cheeks. “Your time, your affections.”

Cyno puts his free hand on Alhaitham’s chest.

“Your heart.” He says firmly. “You have placed all of these things at my feet and yet believe you haven’t spoiled me. How can that possibly be when you have given me everything I have ever dreamed about already?”

Part of Alhaitham’s mind starts to form a counterargument to Cyno’s eloquently put point. He considers himself a smart man, which is why the rest of him can focus on the delightful task of kissing Cyno breathless with all of Sumeru stretched out below them as he gifts himself to his beloved one more time.

#genshin impact #haino #cytham #cyno #alhaitham #my writing

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angstyaches · 7 months

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hii could we please get a sick ryan because she ate something stupid (thinking about the time she stole nancys cookies heheh) with nancy as the caretaker? i miss them sm :)🍄

You also requested something Ryan-centric for this post, quite a while ago, so I've combined the two.

Word Count: 4,400+

CW (PLEASE READ): species-based food intolerance, nausea, vomiting, bad self-talk, behaviour which could be interpreted as harmful to the self so please proceed with caution and be gentle with yourselves 🖤

___

“I feel my gratitude must, once again, be expressed,” Ryan said, distracting herself with words while her knife pressed down on her stack of green leaves, tomato slices, chicken, and dressing. This chaotic arrangement had somehow cost more than an entire cow used to cost in the equivalent currency. She supposed she remained indoors far too often, if culture shock could still manage to creep up on her out of nowhere.

Her lunch companion raised her eyebrows as she chewed. She had ordered clam chowder and bread, much to Ryan’s quiet and resigned dismay. Exposure to the smells of food were a challenge for her senses to begin with, but it was a special kind of hell when seafood became involved. To make things worse, she had clams and prawns and whatever else was hauled in off the coast of Portrush had once delighted her beyond reason.

To be sickened by something once loved brought an especially bittersweet tang to her mouth. She could almost hear the crashing waves, the tinkle of little Silas’s laughter –

“For… what?” Mrs. Waters pondered innocently.

“For… inviting me to convene with you over your afternoon meal,” Ryan clarified, giving a slight shake of her head. She would have to limit the extent of her olfactory indulgences as much as possible. “I understand that your schedule must come with an abundance of restrictions –”

The trickle of discomfort in Mrs. Waters’ eyes made Ryan’s words halt on her tongue. She was being too formal. She knew that. Well, she hadn’t known that. But she knew that now.

Or perhaps it was the way Ryan’s jaw threatened to rebel against her every time she lifted the fork to her mouth, her tongue becoming awash with acrid saliva. The way she chewed as though she could somehow stop the food from touching the surfaces inside her mouth. Like a fool.

Like an utter fool.

“It was really no bother at all,” Mrs. Waters assured Ryan, eyeing her bowl of soup as she carefully lifted a spoonful towards her lips. Ryan wasn’t sure if the woman was of a generally nervous disposition, or if it was Ryan, specifically, who was making her nervous. “To be honest, I was a bit anxious to meet you. My Charlie is basically working for you right now.”

“I see,” Ryan said, poking at a chunk of tomato with her fork. It wept a sickly pink juice under the pressure of the tine. She wasn’t sure she was satisfied with the idea that the young Mr. Waters was working for her; she had thought that allowing him to continuing living on the property had been a generous gesture, not a job offer.

Indeed, he would be keeping an eye on the structural integrity of the building and preventing the odd build-up of dust and grime, but didn’t most mortals perform these duties within their dwellings –?

“Not – not that I was afraid you were some kind of weirdo or anything!” Mrs. Waters exclaimed.

“Ah.”

Half a second later, Mrs. Water’s gave a nervous chuckle, which told Ryan that she should be chuckling too, and certainly shouldn’t have given a deadpan, one-word answer. To avoid having to make up for it now, she loaded her mouth full of vinegared leaves, the texture and flavours lost in a sea of tingling, unpleasant numbness between her jaws.

The sensation came on so fast that it felt like a spike had been driven down through the top of her head, its point grating at the base of her tongue. The intensity shocked her somewhat, which was a good thing; if not for the shock, she might have started in her seat and instantly spewed her food back out onto the table.

As things stood, her jaw had clenched and her lips had mashed up tightly together.

“So, you’re looking to move out to the countryside?” Mrs. Waters asked.

Ryan’s eyes were somehow dry, yet also stinging with tears.

She made a show of puffing out her cheeks and pointing towards her closed lips to buy herself more time to chew. More time to… suffer through chewing. Every cell in her body wanted to spray the wet, slippery greens as far as they would go. Her inherently liquid diet didn’t often require her jaws or her back teeth to do much work, beyond the initial slicing into the flesh of a live pray, of course. It was oddly tedious and repetitive work.

Not to mention her guts were practically revolting in protest already. Before she’d turned immortal – more immortal than most other immortals, in fact – Ryan had lived through more diseases than many creatures who still roamed the earth, and she didn’t appreciate the reminder of what sickness could feel like.

But none of that mattered. The current situation called for her to be sociable. There was no room for anything else.

The story was that she was planning to move to the countryside with her partner, who suffered from a rare lung disease and would benefit from a fresher kind of air than the stuff readily available in the suburbs. They were planning on adopting two rescue dogs, and as soon as they were settled in, Ryan planned to take back up her long-lost hobby of painting portraits of animals in Colonial-style dress. This last detail had been Ryan’s own contribution to the charade, and Nancy had raised an eyebrow at it.

The more seemingly innocuous drivel included, the more convincing the fabrication, Ryan had assured her wife, and when it seemed as though Nancy had been about to protest, Ryan had done what she generally did when Nancy was about to protest. She’d kissed her on the mouth.

She couldn’t quite tell Mrs. Waters the truth, that the house her son resided in was plagued by the densest swarm of demons the world over, or that her son himself was possessed by a demon, or that Ryan was monitoring him for fear he’d caught the attention of the most dangerous immortal on the planet.

These were simply not appropriate lunchtime topics of discussion.

“Well… that’s exciting,” Mrs. Waters smiled. She smiled more with the left side of her mouth than the right. “Can I ask why? Are you just… looking for a change, or is there a job…?”

Ryan’s lips trembled, and she wanted to smack them to make them behave. Her lungs gulped in air, despite her efforts to refrain from excessive breathing, as she swallowed the foul mouthful. It gurgled in her throat, her internal muscles twitching and spasming as it was forced down, into a stomach that felt how she imagined Felix’s did when he had to watch a creature being slaughtered.

With a disdainful curl to her lip, Ryan certainly hoped she didn’t look the way Felix did when he had to watch an animal being slaughtered.

Below the table, her stomach burbled.

She pressed a poised finger to her lips, stifled an indigestive burp, and nodded in response to Ingrid’s question. “Well, my partner, you see, has a rather uncommon lung condition…”

___

Ryan sat in her car long for an excessive amount of time after arriving home. The shadows that had descended as the garage door closed behind her had felt like a blanket encircling her shoulders, shrouding her from the prying eyes of the world. The sensation disgusted her. Ryan never had need for blankets or warmth or self-pity.

And as soon as her defences went down, they went down. Hard. The cogs in her brain began to analyse every moment of the interaction, criticise every facial expression, pick apart every selected word, twist at every hum of agreement.

Even the fact that she was sitting in her car, emotionally paralysed, told her that she, herself, needed improvement. If spending the afternoon with a human person could take this much of a toll on her, then she was in dire need of… practice. Exposure. She had once attended Lions Club meetings and taken painting lessons; perhaps it was time to explore those options again. Spend some time with beings other than witches and vampires and… others.

Ryan rested a hand against her abdomen as she pressed her spine into the car seat, feeling a rather violent tension pushing against the buttons of her crisp white shirt. Her stomach was bubbling and squelching away, as though it thought its sluggish efforts would achieve anything close to digestion.

She used the heel of her hand to knead the space beneath her ribs where her meagre meal sat like a thick slime. The wretched organ might as well have been a dried-up clay pot, for all the good it was doing her.

And yet, no matter how many strategies and recalculations spun through her brain, she couldn’t see how she could have excused herself entirely from eating. She could have implied that she was on a diet, or taking medications that limited her mealtime options, but she couldn’t see Mrs. Waters reacting well to either of those. Well, why on earth did you agree to a meeting over lunch? She would have been too polite to say this, but Ryan knew she would have been thinking it. She was thinking it herself.

Thinking about Shayne, Ryan wondered if Mrs. Waters would have felt guilt for eating her lunch if Ryan hadn’t also ordered something. If she’d learned anything from her latest protégé, it was that mortals had the fascinating ability to feel guilt over the most inevitable of their human needs.

Luckily, Ryan was not a human.

And she had things to do.

She drew her shoulders back, released the tension in her stomach - the result was an even tighter press against the buttons of her shirt, but she could ignore it - and opened the car door.

___

As she entered her study after a slow ascent of the stairs, Ryan’s stomach was snarling like a small animal attempting to assert its dominance. She gritted her teeth and bore down on her abdomen with her knuckles. If anything in there wanted out, it should… well, it should make haste. While she usually preferred to shut the door to the upstairs hallway, Ryan left it ajar today, so that she could make a brisk exit to the bathroom when the time came.

Grrrlllrrrgghh.

Ryan listened to the distressed gurgling with a muted sense of contempt. If her stomach was so unhappy with its contents, why hadn’t she thrown up already? She didn’t have all day to wait around for it to happen. Two hundred years, and two transformations later, and it seemed her earthly form was still not without its flaws.

So concerned was she with her despondent gut that she wasn’t even aware that the thrum of Nancy’s footsteps had taken a route from the bedroom to the study, and the soft knock on the doorframe made her heart jump into her raw, delicate throat.

Nancy poked her head around the door with a soft, almost slow-motion swish of her ponytail. “Oh, you’re home!”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, my love?”

“Oh, enough of that,” Nancy tsked, tugging on Ryan’s hand and pulling her about to plant a kiss on her lips.

Ryan softened a little, overcome with relief that she wasn’t married to another vampire. Despite her fantastical abilities, Nancy’s senses – the five main ones, that is – were as dull as the average mortal’s. She wouldn’t detect the scent of salad on Ryan’s breath, so long as Ryan didn’t exhale near her. Therefore, it was a very chaste, brief kiss that they shared.

“How did it… Ryan?” Nancy gasped as she stood back, holding a hand to her mouth as though to quiet herself. “Why do you look like death warmed over?”

Ryan curled her lip as she stalked over to her desk. She thumped the documents onto the wood. “I did not think this was news to you, Nan, but it did. Two hundred years ago, to be precise.”

“Sweetheart, I meant that you –”

“Yes, yes, thank you, love. Incidentally, you also look radiant this evening,” Ryan murmured. As she slumped into her chair, her stomach gave yet another obnoxious, unproductive grumble. She cleared her throat and gazed across at Nancy.

“Sorry, Ry,” Nancy said, cheeks reddening. Then she swept her hands down the front of her skirts, with an air of starting on a clean slate, as she planted herself in the plush armchair that sat to the side of Ryan’s desk. “How did everything go?”

“Fine.”

“Everything signed?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful,” Nancy smiled, with a distinct lack of the excitement she’d had at every other point of this endeavour. “What was Charlie’s mum like?”

“Mrs. Waters,” Ryan rather snapped,“was akin to a pleasant, yet overall remarkably ordinary, individual.”

Nancy let out a gentle scoff, once again brushing her hands over her skirts. “Well, don’t overwhelm me with details.”

“I do not know what more to tell you. Except that… I am…” Ryan’s eyes widened as she trailed off. She’d been trailing off an awful lot today, even though it was a habit that irked her in others.

But a tingling, numbing wetness began to fill her mouth at an alarming rate, worse even than when she’d been taking bites of the salad that was prickling at the base of her oesophagus. The air felt like hot soup against her skin, in her lungs.

Why, why couldn’t Nancy have been occupied elsewhere? Now Ryan was obliged to share her discomfort, or continue her silence and risk giving her wife an untimely fright. “I believe I am… ‘bout to experience… emesis.”

Nancy blinked. “You –?”

Ryan’s eyes were wrenched back so hard in her skull that they ached, and her back arched forward so hard that she felt like a doll being pulled by the hair. The wheels of her desk chair rattled as she trundled out of range of anything particularly porous… Her stomach muscles clenched so hard that Ryan – in a moment of hyperbolic weakness – thought that her internal organs might come up through her nose –

And yet, while her senses braced themselves for the wet, clattering sound of stomach contents hitting the tiled floor, nothing came. Ryan swayed between emotional relief and dismay at being denied the physical relief.

“Oh, sweetheart, come,” Nancy murmured, and then her delicate, warm hands were guiding Ryan’s shoulders up and out of the desk chair. “I knew something was off about you. Did you eat?”

“I may have… ingested… a few mouthfuls of leafy matter.”

“A salad?” Nancy could neither have looked nor sounded more horrified if Ryan had hinted towards having had a stick of plutonium for lunch.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A refusal to ingest would have resulted in…” Ryan slapped a hand to her stomach – silly as it sounded, her instinct seemed to be to try to physically suppress the spread of pain through her insides. “… Suspicion or discomfort.”

Nancy’s lower lip dropped down silently, but Ryan knew her wife well enough to guess what her thoughts were; how can someone with so much wisdom and experience be so stupid?

Thankfully, dear, sweet Nancy spared her the actual voicing of the thought.

“How… How was it?”

Amidst holding down her gorge, and fighting the urge to slump to the floor and take Nancy with her, Ryan managed to muster up a look of derision. She cast it lengthways as she hobbled from the study with her hands clasped on Nancy’s shoulders. Nancy looked back at her with a gormless grimace.

“Right. Never mind.”

___

“It. Refuses. To. Emerge,” Ryan moaned into the toilet bowl.

"Sweetheart," Nancy murmured distractedly.

Ryan flung a hand up in the air, then clapped it against her thigh in a display of finality. “It will never emerge! I shall now persist with rotting vegetation in my tract for the remainder of my existence.”

Nancy gave a light-hearted click of her tongue. “This,” she hummed, “coming from the woman who refuses to give up on a single other person on earth.”

Ryan attempted to spit the sour taste from her mouth, but her excessive saliva had dried up, leaving her with nothing but a tacky residue that clung to her cheeks like cells held together with collagen. If she’d had more spit, maybe the foul contents of her stomach would have slipped up and out of her by now, instead of sticking to her insides like leeches.

“What makes you the one and only hopeless case on this entire planet, hmm?” Nancy’s eyebrows quirked as she focused on something she’d arranged in her lap, nestled in the folds of her skirt. “What makes you so special?”

Ryan sank back from the toilet, though couldn’t quite get her head to remain straight without supporting it against the side of the bowl. She rubbed miserably at her gut; the chances of producing a physiological benefit were low, but she couldn’t fight the instinct to try. Her mood shifted once she’d realised that her wife was concocting something; not hopeful, but lured back from the brink by scientific intrigue.

Her weary eyes skimmed over a couple of ingredients that Nancy had used to throw together potions over the years, though Ryan had never seen them in this combination before. From her knowledge of Nancy’s works, it seemed to her that the result of this project would be rather… well, explosive would be a word for it.

“An elixir,” Ryan murmured, “to induce emesis?”

“Mmhmm,” Nancy’s voice pulsed in her throat, as though parting her lips to answer would have been too much of a distraction.

Disappointment clouded Ryan’s curiosity, rendering it difficult not to sink into the pains in her stomach, not to feel them so completely that everything else dimmed once again. “It will not be effective on me.”

“What if I told you I have added one very special ingredient,” Nancy said, raising one sardonic eyebrow, “for one very special lady?”

“I would remind you,” Ryan muttered, “that I am not merely a special ‘lady’, but an organism of unnatural qualities, including a resistance to the potency of –”

“In that case, you would have nothing to lose, isn’t that correct, my love?”

Ryan snatched the vial with what was probably excessive force and knocked back the liquid. Something stirred in her memory as she gulped, as though her taste buds had somewhat drifted out of slumber, just for a nanosecond. Mostly, she enjoyed how cool the fluid was as it snaked down her burning throat and carved its steady way down towards her stomach.

“It,” she spat, mouth dry as she lowered the vial, “will be ineffective.”

Nancy wore a patient smile almost as well as she wore a sweetheart neckline. More impressively, even, for Ryan knew that Nancy’s reserves of patience did not run as deep as their boys, or her students, thought. That patient smile was a thing of fine craftsmanship.

“If so,” she said softly, “I apologise. But wasn’t it worth a shot?”

Ryan had to turn her face away to avoid the humbling light of Nancy’s well-fought-for optimism. Her stomach rumbled in acknowledgment of its latest arrival, confirmed even further by a vibration through Ryan’s hand. “I suppose so.”

Nancy stretched her arms above her head, tilting her folded knees to keep her equipment and ingredients from rolling over the tiled floor. “Whew. I for one am mighty tired of this floor, Ry. Mind if we move you to the bed with a bucket instead?”

___

Bed and bucket proved a mundane combination to an immortal woman with work on the brain and an immovable lump in her stomach.

Ryan lay slumped on her side, face right at the edge of the bed so that she could keep an eye on her designated bucket, for so long that the sun set behind the curtains. About six kilometres away, a cricket began to shriek, adding itself to the din of the city. The world moved on, progressed, thrived, while Ryan lay overwhelmed with nausea, unable to digest or eject the offending food.

And yet her stomach continued to grumble its discomfort.

Nancy had stayed awake with her, fondling her hair in a way that reminded Ryan just vaguely of being fussed over by her mother. She wasn’t certain if the memory was welcome or not, and tried to let it wash over her like the tide. Nancy had also massaged Ryan’s back for a while which, whilst failing to dislodge the knots in her stomach, had done wonders for the tension in her muscles.

Gghhhhrrrlllgghh.

“Ssshh,” Ryan hissed, pressing her knuckles harshly against her stomach muscles. The pressure evidently would offer no help in inducing vomiting, but there was nothing to say a little aggression wouldn’t discourage the infuriating noises that continued to –

“Ry,” Nancy chided, closing her fingers around Ryan’s fist and guiding it halfway across the bed. She pressed Ryan's wrist into the top sheet, far away from where it could do any more persuading. “Please don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“It is wearing on my nerves like –”

“I don’t care.” Nancy’s tone prodded at the fog of nausea and rage, and Ryan caught glimpse of herself through her wife’s eyes. “You’re wearing on mine with this nonsense. You’ve put your body through an ordeal already today, and now is the time to let it recover in whatever way it needs. Isn't that the wise thing to do?"

She exhaled noisily through her nose – was that a snort of amusement? – as Ryan’s stomach gurgled and bubbled a few inches from her elbow. Ryan’s brain flared with annoyance, which she quickly threw some reins on.

“Perhaps.”

“There is no ‘perhaps’,” Nancy said. “But you’re already suffering enough bodily, so I won’t put you through the mental torture of admitting that I'm right."

Ryan hummed in appreciation. Nancy didn't let up on her hand, so Ryan eventually turned her palm upwards so that their fingers could interlock. She almost found herself drifting off to sleep when she realised Nancy had shifted and slipped her hand away. Ryan felt her tug a wisp of Ryan's silvery-blonde hair back from her face, heard her wife holding her breath in a way that invited conversation.

“Yes?” Ryan had slurred before Nancy had even spoken.

“Will you try taking a second dose?”

It took Ryan longer than she was proud to admit to realise that Nancy was talking about the elixir she’d concocted earlier. If she thought about it hard enough, Ryan was sure that she could still feel the cool, slightly sticky medicine sitting alongside the offending mush in the pit of her stomach. Not making anything worse, but certainly not improving anything.

Ryan grunted. “I do not think it will –”

“Let me rephrase,” Nancy interrupted. “I have a second dose for you, and I strongly suggest you take it.”

With an even more aggressive grunt, Ryan hauled herself into a somewhat-upright position. It would be easier to take the useless potion than to incite further argument. She winced as the sudden movement made it feel as though her intestines were poised to crack inside of her.

“Give it to me,” she deadpanned, but Nancy was already un-stoppering the vial for her. Ryan slurped it back, fueled by nothing but the assuredness that this was not going to work, and was astonished to find herself licking her lips as soon as she’d swallowed. Even more bizarre, she found herself anticipating the smooth sensation of the medicine coursing down her throat, cooling and almost pleasant in its –

It stuck. It stuck, like a rock in the centre of her chest.

Ryan swallowed again, her posture turning rigid. She was only vaguely aware of Nancy’s hand coming up to rest on her waist.

A bubble of pressure slipped into the back of Ryan’s throat, and her stomach muscles jolted, resulting in a high-pitched exclamation and a thunderous, sloshing gurgle.

And then a belch.

A deep one, one that she felt reverberate under her lower left rib. The moment had a faint gloss of eureka to it, like she’d made a world-changing discovery, but at its core was a pit of dread, like she’d made a world-ending discovery.

She shuddered, torn halfway between turning towards the edge of the bed and turning to face her wife in disbelief.

“What… what’d you –?”

"Don't worry about it, cookie."

"But..."

In her desperate curiosity, Ryan almost choked on a mouthful of vomit. She would have ejected it all over the bedroom floor, had Nancy not laid gentle hands on the sides of her head and directed the spray downwards. There was a conveniently-placed bucket beside the bed, primed to catch and contain her vomit.

The bulk of it, at least.

As the retch had lost momentum, a small wave of thick slime had dripped from Ryan’s lower lip, hitting the floorboards between the bed and the bucket with a weighty thwop.

“Wonderful,” Ryan choked out, swiping her chin with the back of her hand. She barely had time to consider where she was going to wipe said hand when her guts gave another powerful lurch.

This time, a delicate hand slipped across the bed and tugged the rim of the bucket closer to Ryan’s side of the mattress. Nancy’s chest and stomach brushed softly against Ryan’s back.

“Great job,” Nancy murmured softly.

Ryan would have scoffed, if she’d been able to catch her breath. Great job? Great job suffering through the consequences of a bad decision? Great job smearing the hardwood with her gastric juices? She was not a child; even a child shouldn’t have been praised for anything she was doing.

Ryan cried out instinctively as she gagged again, the hollow ring of her voice echoing loudly inside the metal bucket over the gushing and splashing. She felt Nancy’s hands move to her shoulders, fingers lightly massaging the tumultuous muscles there.

"Oh," Ryan sighed as soon as she could get a word in between heaves. The mechanical harmony of clenching muscles and ejected fluids was almost as comforting as her wife's touch. After all, what could be more reassuring than the knowledge that one's body is working as it should?

"Better?" Nancy whispered, using her pinky to fish a pale curl away from the edge of Ryan's mouth.

Ryan hung her head over the side of the mattress, slack-jawed, unwilling to close her mouth and risk inhibiting further substance elimination. Nancy shifted her hands as though to hold her in place, and although she wasn't, Ryan found she was rather enjoying the illusion.

"Yes," she slurred, though she knew her ordeal was far from over. "Ineffably so."

#StW Ryan #StW Nancy #sickfic #emeto #emeto sickfic #vampire emeto #vampire sickfic #vampire whump #vampire OC #sickfic blog #emeto blog #emetophilia #vampire kink #stomach kink #whump #fantasy emeto #fantasy sickfic #hurt comfort #hurt and comfort

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gcldfanged · 1 month

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Meet the Writer

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

(CANON MUSES) -

Genesis: I actually HATED Genesis initially in the og CC game. I thought he was a lame addition and just like… idk, they wanted Gackt in the game so they made his presence plot relevant? OOOUGH, I was so mad… But then I saw how the rpc and fandom treats him, which is honestly even WORSE SOMEHOW??? So I decided to try writing him seriously and what do you know, I actually kinda like it.

Verdot: I literally have to make the content I wanna see in this rpc, such is my burden. my curse...

(OCs) - I wanted to write about the themes I have on my pinned and honestly, there were so many Tseng rpers who I am friends and mutuals with that knock it out of the fucking ballpark- I just didn't feel like I'd have ANYTHING new or good to contribute to the exploration of his character? So I made an OC :P And he's really changed so much! I remember when I was still making my own art for him and he wasn't QUITE like there the way I wanted him to be, but I didn't have anything better to employ as a faceclaim or reference to draw from. And then Cas was like "btw here's a manga about your HYPERFIXATION" and Kokonoi's general appearance and vibe was a great starting point to go off of instead.

Anyway, There's always things I had planned for Jae in the works or on the backburner, but he has really evolved over the span of years I've been writing him, so I really appreciate every person who took the time to check him out and build something with him.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

You know, I have been becoming more lenient with allowing myself to write certain things. I always end up being afraid of how people will react to certain themes I explore because... let's be real, a lot of people are pretty intolerant to opinions that are different than theirs. So long as whatever I and/or my partner explore is handled with the care and respect it deserves, I don't really see an issue with much anymore. Hell, I was terrified to post that one drabble fleshing out Jae meeting Veld for the first time because I was afraid people would see Jae's reaction to killing someone as somehow 'excusing abuse' because he wasn't dancing on the guy's corpse and actually showed remorse for what he did. It's fears of what I write about being misconstrued like that that really makes me hesitant to even talk about certain ideas with partners. But I'm getting over that, little by little and step by step.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

I actually love writing (as you can tell) introspective pieces. Something where you're really getting inside the character's head for a moment to see past all of their walls and facades, or sometimes you're still seeing what they tell THEMSELVES is the real undiluted truth, but isn't. I just love that kinda stream of consciousness really dig deep into the VOICE of a character exploration. Makes me feel lots of emotions.

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

Usually I'll be doing something else like watching a piece of media or listening to a podcast and start to think "Ooh, my muse would love this" or "this makes me think of xyz muse wow", and it just kind of expands organically from there.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

Music helps get me inspired initially, especially since I make spotify playlists for all my muses (and ships :P), so generally I'm cool with music, but usually I zone in too much on my own writing to pay attention. It's like my sense of hearing turns off.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

Both- There's always a general sort of... idea or outcome that me and my partner would LIKE to shoot for? And sometimes we just don't get there, because it really depends on what the characters do/say and how it's taken by the other muse.

For example, I was roleplaying a thread with @steeleidolon's Kunsel where he and Jae are trying to broker a deal and Kunsel ends up saying something to the effect of "your people" and he means the Turks. Jae, on the other hand, hears 'your people' and assumes Kunsel was bringing up his race and the perception of fellow people from Wutai or Hanuel being unfairly insular. So, it kinda went to shit, LOL.

It's little things like that that can color your muse's reaction to sometimes very different degrees than what you plan for!

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

I like complicated dynamics and no, I will never shut up about them. Ships for me don't even have to strictly be romantic or sexual in nature, so like- I have some interactions I'm still feeling out with @saishuu-heiki that are platonic but leaning in a distinctly enemy/frenemy/challenges other person kind of vibe? And I think it's great! They don't HAVE to be like "we're friends, we're lovers, or we hate each other'- Like, limiting all your interactions to one of those three options gets really boring for me...

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

King_Kkeungi is my mangaka pseudonym for the Silent Manga Audition that I tried submitting to last year. People have called me just "King" (if they didn't know how to pronounce Korean) or "Kkeungi" before, so I tend to go by these handles now.

ᴀɢᴇ?

30s, I'm like Dagon: ancient and evil, spoken about in hushed whispers that the zealots who follow my dark lore worship-

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

May 10th

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

Blue-greens like teal and turquoise, soft pastel mint, and pinky-purples

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

Currently? PRIMADONNA by Kedarui! It's a sequel to their other song, Femme Fatale and has amazing lore and characters. It's just got fascinating kinda themes and imagery when you watch them back to back.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

The 2nd DUNE movie, holy crap, I was blown away!

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Hell's Paradise, which I am still TRYING to finish.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

Philip by millenium parade, my new go-to Jae song

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

Thai or Vietnamese food *drools*

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

Summer... I just love the heat and the sun and the iconic imagery/sounds/themes like eating watermelon and wearing floppy plastic sandals, melting ice cream, hearing the chime of our furin while sitting outside on the porch of the house.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

I talk to regularly (like near every day): @ceaselxss, @annjiru, @phoenixshards, @sadistpet, @nightiingaled. Like talking with a lot: @speedchasing, @ofdeference, @hisnewera, @cwarscars, @contemptim, @steeleidolon, @altrxisme, @hxbiris & @hxvemxnd

The people who have known me the LONGEST are mostly discord only rpers now, but Tricky, HD, Kit, and Vixen I consider to be extremely close to me since we've been friends for... like over or around 6+ years and are still ongoing buddies who have met face to face before.

Then there's my ex-fiancee, but he doesn't do tumblr rp anymore.

This list also doesn't even cover ppl I write with/ooc interacted with over a long period of time like @ivory-paragon, @poeticphoenix, @reapersxfolly, @endweapon, @chthonicsurge, or @dcviltriggcr, so- I like reaching out to people and developing bonds! We don't even have to be on discord capslocking at each other, it's really cool when you can come back to an RPC and still have that connection without any awkward small talk?

#◈ ooc #◈ dash games #◈ MUNDAY

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tokiohotel4life7741 · 8 months

Text

Intolerably Yours

Warning: mentions of kidnapping, language and that’s all I can think of.

Debating whether or not to make a part two to this.

❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️

“Hey agent, we have a new case and I need you here as fast as possible!” I hear hotchner speak frantically from the other end of the phone.

“Okay, I'll be there as soon as possible, hotch,” I mutter as I hang up the phone and start getting ready.

It was around 5:30 am when I got that call from hotch saying i have to come in for a case, five in the morning. I know working at the BAU means i have to be available at all time and available i am, but it was just too early to deal with spencer reid, and i'm not saying that because of his rants and how he knows everything, no we graduated from the same colleague with the same credit we both have our phds in mathematics,chemistry, and engineering and are both incredibly intelligent. I go on annoying rants about any and every topic too and the team gets tired of having two geniuses on the team sometimes. The reason I hated Spencer is because he’s always thought he was better than me, and by always I mean since we graduated highschool at the early age of 12, he always tried to one up anything and everything I did, and I seriously despised him for that.

After two long minute of sulking i get up and obviously brush my teeth and wash my face, i put on my outfit which is black pantsuit and a pair of polished black heel, but i make sure to put a pair of running shoes in my go bag in case i have to chase the unsub. I put on some makeup which consists of concealer, blush, mascara, and some tinted lip gloss. I make sure I have my go-bag ready and I head out the door making sure to lock it. I go to my car and get in it

While driving to work I blast music to try and get the thought of having to deal with Spencer this early in the morning off my mind. I gasp as my favorite song comes on and i start singing along

We’re caught in a trap

I can’t walk out

Because i love you too much,baby

Why can’t you see

What you’re doing to me

When you don’t believe a word I say ?

We can’t go on together

With suspicious mind (suspicious mind)

And we can’t build our dreams

On suspicious minds

When the song finishes I feel more relieved. I finally pulled into the bureau parking lot, I parked and get out of my car. When I walk into the building and see no one is at their desk I walk straight to the conference room knowing that's where everyone was. I walk in the door an the first thing i hear is spencer mutter

“Look who finally decided to show up,”

Mind you I was only like two minutes and thirty seconds late.

I glare over at him annoyed by his audacity and i grunted back at him saying

“Well at least i’m not such a boring person that i show up fifty minutes early,’”

“Will you two stop,for once?” hotchner uttered annoyed

I look away embarrassed and listen to Hotchner explain the next case. A summary of the new case was, the unsub, probably a white male in his late twenties- early thirties, is kidnapping girls through the ages of 16-18 he gets close to them and bribes them with a party and alcohol and that's how he kidnaps them. When hotch started describing what the victims look like a chill ran down my spine and my breath hitched, everyone look at me when the young girls were being described, hotch said they had y/n/h/c, y/n/e/c, and were y/n/s/c and as the pictures were being showed the girls on the screen look a lot like me similar feature and all. Then Spencer gives the ‘great’ idea of using me as some kind of bait for the unsub, of course i say no but once everyone else starts agreeing saying i should go as ‘bait’ i give in and say yes

“Agent y/l/n should go undercover as a highschooler after all they do look a lot like the victim and we have enough time between now and when he’ll try to kidnap a girl again to register her into a highschool and everything,” Spencer explains

“That’s literally such a bad idea, what if i actually die,” i say worried

“Hopefully,” i hear spencer mutter under his breath loud enough for me to hear

“Fuck you, Reid,” i say loud enough for only him to hear

“Agent y/l/n you are not going to die,” Hotchner says to me

“Are you guys sure there isn’t a different, maybe better option?” I question being kinda scared by the idea of almost getting kidnapped.

“This is the best option agent Y/l/n, you look like the victims and you still look extremely young much like around the age of the victims” Hotchner responded.

As I look around I see everyone else nodding along to what Hotchner said, I sigh and come to the conclusion that if I wanted to catch the unsub this was the best option.

“Alright, I'll do it,” I breathe out after a few minutes of deciding “but I don’t think I have much choice anyways,” I mutter to myself so no one hears it, but to my demise hotch sort of hears it

“What was that,agent?” hotchner mutters to me

“Nothing, just thinking to myself out loud,” i respond

“Alright, wheels up in thirty agents,” hotchner says as we all hum in agreement

#aaron hotch hotchner #Spencer #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds

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mariacallous · 10 months

Text

Kim Kardashian’s newest range of products, launched in late 2022—post SKIMS shapewear, post SKKN facewear—is a menacing set of raw concrete forms for storing bathroom products: a gray tissue box, Q-tip tin, wastebasket. Dry, brutal, and mysterious, the items look like you hired one of Gary Larson’s cavemen to decorate your vanity with found objects.

“Having the concrete material and monochromatic design are important for my mental wellness,” Kim said in a recent interview with Architectural Digest. Concrete … for wellness? I imagine her removing her shoes and socks and planting her feet on the gritty sidewalk, grounding herself on the concrete slab, gathering power from the sprawling gray. Kim abandoning her activated charcoal and turning to powdered concrete to treat her gut problems and ensure clearer skin. Jade egg? No, concrete egg. Wellness concrete!

Concrete does not, objectively, promote wellness. It is responsible for 8 percent of the world’s C02 emissions. Concrete dust ruins the lungs of those who inhale it regularly. Concrete cityscapes exacerbate flooding and degrade joggers’ joints. Thanks to a reliance on concrete for construction, the world is running out of certain types of sand. Other high-end brands have sold home products made of concrete, like Comme des Garçons’ concrete-clad perfume bottles, but these usually use the material for its brutal and rough-hewn qualities, not to promote wellness. Kim is an alchemist though. She has taken a material that is undeniably a product of industrial modernity, imbued with a century’s worth of architectural and ideological baggage, and reconfigured it as healthy, intimate, and integral to self-care.

Always ahead of the curve, Kim may have hit on something the rest of us are just coming around to. The idea that we might stop—stop producing plastic, stop building cement megastructures—seems out of the question. Decades of activism, policy work, and think tank-ery have done little to stem the tide of globalized capitalism and the torrents of plastic water bottles, polyester blend clothing, and Squishmallows that discharge from its perpetual motion machines. Blowing up a pipeline or fomenting revolution requires networks of solidarity and logistical capability that most people can’t imagine acquiring. Meanwhile, the microplastics are already in our blood.

What’s left is the alternative that Kim and her concrete line seem to offer: that we can learn how to metaphorically (or literally) digest the toxic brutality of the built environment and transform it into something else—or let it transform us. “I’m just putting little pieces of fibreglass into my cereal to get my body used to it,” tweets one nihilistic wiseass. We’re entering our metabolic era.

Nonhuman systems offer metaphors to help us comprehend and describe our own existence, and structures of behavior we might mimic to cope with intolerable conditions. Over the past decade, you may have noticed mushrooms and fungi embraced as the objects of this kind of attention. The fungal imaginary is powerful because it envisions a world where endless growth is possible, and might even be environmentally beneficial. We can build anything as long as we make it out of mushrooms. Houses, bridges, burgers, clamshell packages for said burgers. Fungi also offer a powerful, nonhuman other we can turn to for inspiration: Mushrooms can grow at the end of the world, form vast underground networks, and offer mystic insight.

More recently, though, metabolic metaphors and processes are emerging alongside, and sometimes overtaking, fungi’s place in the cultural ether. At the more practical end, digestive processes are cropping up as popular solutions to all kinds of crises: compost, vermiculture, bacteria to digest just about anything, biohacks for your gut microbiome. Elsewhere, the metaphor of metabolism is called on to describe the way people process emotions and build feedback loops, and the growth of cities.

Unlike the fungal model, the metabolic imaginary lets us envision a world in which we can get rid of anything. If the drive for endless growth has led to a world too full of bullshit and toxicity, perhaps we can chew it all up and digest it without harm, engineer bacteria to metabolize it, or transfigure it into something new and strange. There is no big other in metabolism, no consciousness to commune with or learn from. Where the fungal era has been about venerating unknowable nonhuman maybe-intelligence and believing that hope can be dredged from ruin, the metabolic era is about submission, subsumption by the great enzyme, the desire for transformative annihilation. Metabolism is an impulse that makes sense at the end of the usable world. If we’ve exhausted our current ways of being and the planet’s existing materials, we must embrace radical breakdown.

One version of creative, apocalyptic metabolism is on vivid display in David Cronenberg’s most recent film, Crimes of the Future. Set in a near future in which environmental degradation and unspecified climate events have led to generalized decay and deterioration, Crimes of the Future imagines what might happen to human digestion. In the film, a sector of the population is evolving to successfully digest and receive nourishment from plastic. At the beginning, we see a young boy crouched in a bathroom taking bites out of a plastic trash bin like he’s compelled by an insatiable craving. Later, we learn of a whole underground organization of plastic eaters who undergo surgery and other interventions in the hopes of spurring their bodies to better metabolize plastic and other pollutants.

In this world, it’s too late for a cleanup. Toxicity is endemic, and the plastic eaters consider the best path forward to be evolving human biology to flourish in the aftermath. The film captures something essential about our zeitgeist in its oscillation between anxiety about how to metabolize everything toxic we’ve created and desire to experience the bodily and social transformation that might accompany this perverse new digestion.

This scenario is only a half step away from our current reality. Efforts are well underway to metabolize the plastic that suffuses our environment. Scientists have found multiple strains of microbes and bacteria that have evolved to digest plastic. Comamonas testosteroni can metabolize complex waste from plants and plastics. Ideonella sakaiensis enzymatically breaks down polyethylene terephthalate (PET). With each new study of microbial plastic-phagy comes a spate of hopeful, if hyperbolic, news articles: “a potential breakthrough for recycling,” “This discovery … could help solve one of the world’s most pressing environmental problems.” People love the idea that we can digest our way out of this mess. The jury is still out on whether it’s possible to operationalize plastic-eating bacteria at scale. There is some movement on this front. Carbios, a well-funded French company developing enzymes that break down plastic, recently announced funding and investment for the world’s first PET “biorecycling” plant, for instance. But many scientists are skeptical about the idea that microbial digestion is a viable solution to the problem of oceanic or terrestrial pollution. For now, plastic digestion at scale remains a pipe dream.

The metabolic turn isn’t just about learning to digest toxicity. It also plays out in fantasies—both desirous and anxious—about being digested. In times of stress, it’s a relief to imagine being crushed and consumed by some other metabolic system. “Why Does Everyone Want Their Crush to Run Them Over?” asked The Cut a few years ago. Being pulverized by your crush is a dream of being relieved of your own agency, destroyed and reconfigured, freed from the pain of consciousness so that you can be reshaped for someone else’s uses. A version of this obliterating impulse is made more explicit in vore, the erotic desire to be swallowed or devoured whole (or, conversely, to swallow or devour another), which is often expressed in role-play or illustrations. In vore, the process of digestion is imagined as a relationship between devoured and devourer—a desire for the kind of intense intimacy only possible when one is literally consumed by another.

Only a short jump from vore is the transhumanist fantasy of having your brain uploaded into the cloud, outrunning death by being absorbed into another system and transformed into bits and bytes. Ray Kurzweil famously advocated for brain uploads to achieve technological immortality, estimating in The Singularity Is Near that “the end of the 2030s is a conservative projection for successful uploading.” Russian entrepreneur Dmitry Itskov’s now mostly defunct 2045 Initiative aimed “to create technologies enabling the transfer of an individual’s personality to a more advanced non-biological carrier, and extending life, including to the point of immortality.” The desire to be consumed and immortalized by technology reveals a belief that your consciousness is uniquely important and your own creation is uniquely powerful. It’s no surprise technologists like Kurzweil lust to be dissolved by their own machines.

Similarly, some of the recent hype around generative AI reveals a conflicting set of responses to metabolic machinery. Large language models and image generators are enormous digestive systems that ingest and transform the raw materials of cultural output and behavioral data on behalf of voracious corporate interests. They suck down the sprawling detritus of human effort and swallow it into the great black box stomach of the AI system, which converts it into something uncanny and instant and profitable. As with transhumanism, some may find this extremely exciting, the emergent opportunity to create the world’s biggest digestive tract, and hence the world’s biggest (and most profitable) collective intelligence. For others, the idea that their labor and creativity is nothing but grist for the generative mill owned and controlled by unaccountable companies is a cause for great anxiety. It’s harder to be optimistic about the future of technological digestion if you’re forced to be an unwilling participant in a voracious process of corporate metabolism.

Kim’s wellness concrete and Crimes of the Future highlight the ambivalence of digestive politics. If the environment is inescapably suffused with pollutants emitted by the biggest and worst companies on earth, then learning to digest this toxicity is a sensible coping mechanism. Of course, there are creative and aesthetic possibilities within the process of toxic digestion—minimalist home goods in Kim’s case, strange new forms of sex and performance art in Cronenberg’s film. We can eke pleasure and art from all kinds of wretched situations—and we should. As Boots Riley put it in a recent interview, “Culture is what we do to make our survival normal.” Still, these visions of metabolism leave us stuck absorbing the excretions of a system that hates us. We have sprawling digestive capabilities. What might it look like to embrace our role as part of a massive and massively weird ecological and metabolic system, and to experiment with the creative and expressive potential of digestion?

Nothing is more natural or strange than metabolism. It happens on many scales, around us and within us, via processes that involve human bodies and microbes and other flora and fauna. I move through the world, digesting it as I go—material entering the mouth hole at one end, exiting the anus at the other—and in between my body does the work of processing, sorting, excreting. I am also here to be digested—built cell by cell inside another’s body and extruded into the world, only to exit back into the earth via a final hole (the grave, the furnace, the mouth of the bear) where I provide fodder for the next stomach. What a trip, what a pleasure.

Digesting with and on behalf of the earth’s ur-metabolic system means wanting more than to function as the unhappy stomach that processes capitalism’s excesses. Embracing digestion as a tool and a metaphor can help us to not only accommodate the horrors of the existing system, but to dissolve it and break it down until it no longer exists in its current form. Some ideas for earth-first digestion are already familiar, thanks to proponents of the circular economy: recapturing waste streams from one process to become inputs for another, designing to ensure reusability. However, ideally digestion wouldn’t just be mobilized to enable human industry and profit. I’m also interested in more creative and psychedelic experiences of metabolism, like collaboration with enzymes, embrace of rot, and joyful submission to the knowledge that humans are just one digestive node of the material world, rather than its apex.

Metabolism can be framed through the lens of mutual aid. While the mainstream medical industry is now catching up, biohackers and anarchist IBS sufferers alike have been experimenting with DIY fecal transplants for years, trading advice and healthy poop samples in the interests of helping each other digest better. It can also be seen as a kind of collective destruction, where communities decide a system or an infrastructure that causes them harm should no longer exist and work together to metabolize it, dissolve it, and perhaps transform its constituent matter into something entirely new. Outside of human-centered processes, composting and rot provide inspiration for rich and generative multispecies metabolism, like worms and microbes working with chemical heat and leafy greens to produce rich and unrecognizable loam. If we’re brave enough, we can even look forward to our own bodies being digested. It’s hard to know what that experience will be like, but let’s try to imagine. Space travel is uncertain, and the singularity is a mirage, so why not stay here, nestled into the cool damp ground. There is much to learn from becoming compost for the original stomach.

#I'm sharing this because I found it interesting and not because I necessarily agree with it #I'm still...digesting this

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cavalierious-whim · 1 year

Text

Alhaitham fucks Kaveh because that's what roommates do, he guesses.

Read on AO3 for better quality and follow me on Twitter!

“Gods, you’re insufferable.”

Kaveh smirks back with a half-lidded gaze. “Funny, coming from you. You’re the one who always comes back for more.”

He’s right, of course. Alhaitham has him laid out in his bed, half-dressed, chest on display. His legs are spread. He lays back, casually, gaze lined with lust. Kaveh knows. He exploits this weakness of Alhaitham’s, this inability to turn a blind eye. Alhaitham falls deeper and deeper every time they fuck. He sinks into the sinful line of Kaveh’s body or those husky, deep moans that spill from his mouth.

Artist’s hands, he thinks. Hands that aren’t calloused from weapons, but pens and pencils instead. Alhaitham might be a scholar but there are many things out of his depth, and to say that it’s nothing but research is a flimsy excuse in the end.

“It’s not as though you’re paying rent.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes and gives a mocking gasp. “Are you calling me a who—” He gasps for real this time, back arching against Alhaitham’s hand as he pinches a nipple. “Fuck.”

Alhaitham is a quick study. He’s learned what Kaveh likes and what leaves him nothing but a mindless puddle in the sheets. He circles Kaveh’s nipple with his thumb, smoothing the sting. That touch drags down Kaveh’s side, parting the silk of his damnable sleep clothes.

“What’s the point of dressing if I’m just going to find you in my bed?”

“Mhmn, there’s something nice about being undressed.” A pause as Kaveh’s gaze slides over him. “Speaking of, you’re too clothed.”

Alhaitham leans back and takes in the sight of him. Nothing but lean, smooth muscle. Rounder edges and soft sides. “Oh? Is that what you were thinking about when I found you fucking your fingers in my bed?”

Kaveh snorts. “You wish.”

Yeah, he kind of does. Not that Alhaitham would admit it. They’re better as roommates than partners due to their bickering. He can overlook the attachment as long as he reminds himself that it’s mostly intolerable.

Kaveh’s gaze turns cat-like. He presses a hand to his collarbone and traces the line of it with his finger. Down his sternum and over a nipple. Alhaitham watches it pebble under the touch, stiff in the cool air. Then further, across his belly, sweeping over his groin until it settles against the obvious erection tenting his robe.

“Sure do love to stare for a man so disinterested.” Kaveh’s words are sharp. They sting, needling Alhaitham as he just watches. Kaveh parts the silk of his robe and spreads his legs wider. Alhaitham’s gaze turns immediately onto his cock where it rests against Kaveh’s thigh, leaking from the tip and twitching.

“I have eyes,” says Alhaitham, his resolve beginning to crumble. “And, as infuriating as you are, you aren’t ugly.”

Kaveh sniffs, mildly offended. “‘Aren’t ugly,’ he says. Hah! I’m like finely chiseled marble, I’ll have you know!”

Yes, cut from the finest grade, every angle marked by an expert hand. Like his drawings and his buildings, artistic by nature, Kaveh is the sort of man that bards would spin songs about. Masculine, handsome and beautiful with observant eyes that see more than most would want.

Like now. He watches Alhaitham intensely through a half-slitted glare. And this is why Alhaitham wants to further his study—whatever he feels isn’t isolated. Kaveh talks a big game but he’s the one who lays in his sheets, willing and wanton. He doesn’t fuck other people, it’s either his hand, or Alhaitham’s cock, and they both know which he prefers.

Kaveh moves then, turning over and stretching over the sheets like a cat. He reaches back, palming over his ass, tugging his robe up until his backside is on display. Then he tugs, pulling an asscheek to the side, spreading himself on display.

His hole, slick and loose. Kaveh leans on his chest as his other hand joins, fingers ghosting over his rim and petting it. “Do you see?” he asks, face turned to the side, half muffled by a pillow. Two fingers sink inside easily and he moans.

Alhaitham stares, rooted to the spot. Watches as Kaveh spreads those fingers as he fucks himself lazily. His rim spreads eagerly, pink, stretched wide around those digits. Alhaitham’s throat dries up as he imagines his cock instead.

He moves quickly. It’s embarrassing how quickly he sheds his clothing. Alhaitham is hasty, undoing his trousers enough to just let his cock slip free. He scrambles over the bed, tied up but uncaring, slotting against Kaveh’s ass as if he belongs there.

“Here.” Kaveh tosses him a jar. Alhaitham pours a generous amount and strokes his cock. Kaveh’s eyes are trained on him from where he’s twisted in the sheets. “What, no fingers?”

“You’ve managed that on your own.” Alhaitham tugs at his wrist with surprising gentleness, tugging those fingers free. Kaveh’s hole twitches as he presses the tip of his cock to it and just sinks right in.

They both moan. Kaveh is already moving, already trying to fuck back against him, desperate to take his cock deeper. “Come on,” he mutters. “Just—Fuck me, I know you want to.”

Alhaitham’s hands wrap around the curve of Kaveh’s hips and he yanks. Kaveh gasps as his cock punches deep, sliding through his insides and right over his prostate. “Oh, oh—”

“Fuck,” hisses Alhaitham. He pulls Kaveh into every thrust. Kaveh is hot and tight, and the sounds that he makes—moaning and mewling in the bed as he writhes in the sheets.

“Alhaitham!”

Alhaitham grunts. He should look anywhere else because watching instead is a recipe for disaster, but he can’t help it. Kaveh is blissed out in the sheets, his face red and ruddy. He keens with every slap of skin, ass against Alhaitham’s hips with every rolling thrust.

Beautiful. Handsome, other terribly divine words. He’s studied Kaveh for years and despite knowing him like the back of his hand, there’s always something new.

Kaveh cries out. His fingers curl into the sheets and tug, and he just says his name, over and over. “Alhaitham, Alhaitham—”

He was a vision earlier, too, face-first in the sheets, fucking three fingers into his ass. Always in Alhaitham’s bed, claiming the sheets are better. But, in moments like this, Alhaitham knows—it’s likely more. The way that Kaveh whines his name, how he eagerly meets his thrusts; there’s something to be said about the romance of it all.

Alhaitham leans forward and plasters himself against Kaveh’s back. The angle changes, forcing a cry from Kaveh’s throat. “Oh, oh fuck. There, there—” Kaveh’s hips grind against the sheets. He lifts himself to meet every single thrust.

And he watches—oh, he watches, staring back at Alhaitham, cheek smushed by the pillow, eyes half-lidded with arousal. Alhaitham slides a hand down his spine and listens to his moan. Dips forward and kisses the top of it before resting his forehead there.

His thrusts turn longer and slower, driving into Kaveh with force until he’s sliding along the sheets. “Yes, yes—” he cries, tears leaking at the corners of his eyes. Kaveh chokes on a gasp and comes into the sheets, entirely untouched and only from Alhaitham fucking right into his prostate.

Kaveh’s thighs tense. His toes curl and his ass clenches tight, and Alhaitham ruts into that slick heat until he’s barreling over the edge too, coming deep inside. Paints Kaveh’s insides thick with his spend until there’s nothing left. “Kaveh,” he murmurs, into his ear.

“Gods—” Kaveh’s voice is wrecked, hoarse from his cries. “Gods.”

Alhaitham leans back and looks, pressing a thumb to where Kaveh’s rim is stretched wide around his cock. He slips out and Kaveh whines, hole clenching around nothing, slick with his come that leaks out. Divine, Alhaitham thinks. If he believed in gods—which he doesn’t.

But Kaveh in his bed is a close enough picture.

He is not cruel. Alhaitham has enough decency to wipe Kaveh down. It’s courteous to let him stay the night as well when Kaveh complains that he’s too sore to trip back across the hall.

Alhaitham snorts at the thought, and it comes out rusty because he is unused to genuine laughter. Kaveh sits up in the bed and gives him a shrewd look. Alhaitham blinks. “What?”

Kaveh says nothing as he slips back into the sheets and slots against his side. Alhaitham lifts an arm and Kaveh fits there so easily.

“You’re annoying,” says Kaveh in a huff. “With your fancy dick—”

“Fancy?”

“Decently sized, hits all the right spots, yada yada. Annoying.”

“Do you think I can sleep with you yapping?”

“Would you rather me go back into my room?”

“No—” Kaveh gives him a crooked grin. Alhaitham slaps a hand against his face. “Just—bedtime,” he finishes as if scolding a child.

Kaveh hums but settles in.

And, if Alhaitham settles in as well, it’s because he likes the warmth. Easier to excuse and less to ponder. Totally normal, human reaction. But, if it’s something more than he supposes further study is required.

#Genshin Impact #genshin smut #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfiction #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #haikaveh #alhaitham/kaveh

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canonicallyanxious · 1 year

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assorted thoughts/speculation on how the alan/wen relationship could have possibly stopped working, beyond "i fell out of love with you":

"You should have asked him too if he wanted it" - my very first reaction to this line from Gong was that he was maybe talking about something specific, mostly bc it felt very pointed esp in conjunction with the later line of "maybe you should try doing nothing". then i thought maybe he was talking about a sort of last straw incident as part of a recurring pattern. now i think it's very possible it wasn't about anything specific necessarily, but more a general commentary on their dynamic. Alan seems like a very solution-oriented man-of-action kind of person, from the way he constantly asks Wen what he can do to fix things and make them better and if there are "any other options". on the other side of things Wen is an attentive listener and seems to be pretty attuned to other people's wants and feelings [thinking about his interactions with Li Ming, for example].

so from that perspective i can see how Wen maybe started doing things he didn't necessarily want to do because he could see that it made Alan happy, and not expressing that he might not want to do those things bc it didn't seem like that big of a deal at the start in comparison to how happy it made Alan, and Alan maybe didn't know to ask because he himself is the kind of person who expresses himself through his actions, and things slowly building from there until the situation became intolerable.

"I don't really like beef... but you like it, so i can eat it too" - this line reinforces this impression i get, and i can imagine it being especially true at the beginning of their relationship. they're in their late 20's, i'm guessing somewhere around 27-28, and they've been together for over 5 years [possibly closer to six, depending on when the break up actually happened; their 1 year anniversary was May 2017, so they actually started dating in 2016], which means they probably started dating around 21-22 years. I don't think it's totally out of the realm of possibility for this to have been their first serious long-term relationship [definitely not an uncommon queer experience in particular, i myself didn't start dating girls until after i graduated college] and even if that isn't the case, when you're younger i think it's easy to romanticize things and tell yourself there are things you're okay with changing about yourself to make the other person happy. Wen especially seems like the kind of person who could buy into this pretty easily [Mr. "if i were them i would do everything possible to make it work" over here].

but i think even in your late twenties you have a much more solid idea of who you are as a person than you do in your early twenties, and a better understanding of the things you're less willing to bend for. and i think five years is a long time to push yourself into the mold of a person you aren't, even if it's with things that seem small like waking up for morning jogs or eating beef. like Wen said in ep 5 part 1, he did his best, but after a certain point maybe he realized he just couldn't do it anymore.

"deep down i also hoped we could make it work again" - wen strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't let go of the things that are important to him very easily [i mean just look at how persistent he is with jim lol man knows what he wants!]. and this can be an admirable trait in some cases, but i can def see how it might also significantly exacerbate a situation like the one Wen ended up in with Alan.

what makes it especially complicated is that by his own admission he still cares about Alan and wants him to be happy; he notices everything that Alan does for him and how hard he tries and he's not immune to that because he knows how badly Alan still wants to be a part of his life. and i can see how all that would make it difficult for him to make a clean break. actually i understand the desire to want to stay friends with an ex bc of how important of a role they've played in your life for such a long time, on a very personal level [five years is a long fucking time to have such a deep and intimate relationship with a person! no matter how it ended or how you feel about the person it can be really difficult to imagine life without them!].

but ultimately esp in this case because Alan is still in love with him but Wen isn't a clean break is probably what's best for everyone, i think it's just difficult to realize that when you're as deep in the situation as Wen was. i can see it being a limbo/stasis kind of situation for a really long time, until the opportunity to get some outside perspective comes along [from an emotionally damaged chicken rice seller, for instance. apropos of nothing.]

side note: even if they didn't explicitly say it i still hc that financial reasons were at least one reason why wen was having difficulties moving out. idk how the housing situation in Thailand is but i could def see it being difficult to disentangle yourself if both of your names were on the lease or if you both owned the place [I think Gong at some point says that their place is "also yours" which doesn't necessarily mean that they own the place, ownership is maybe difficult to attain at their age idk how ownership compares to renting in Thailand, but like maybe, who knows, it's a pretty small flat as opposed to a house and if they had rings they might be committed enough to the relationship to spring for a place together, IDK].

also i think the implication is that Wen's family doesn't live in Pattaya so living with them wouldn't be an easy option unless he transferred jobs which is also not an easy thing to do [he doesn't sound like he would particularly want to move back to Bangkok anyway, from his convo with Jim at the beginning of ep 6].

honestly the only thing i can't explain is why Wen would choose to share a bed with his ex for all that time skdnfsdkjfnsdkfns my man just didn't want to sleep on a couch for 6+ months i guess, place apparently too small for an extra futon or an air mattress, didn't want to bunk up in the kitchen so he said "you are not kicking me out of my own bed please and thank you" idk

#sarah.txt #moonlight chicken #mlc meta #mostly speculation just wanted to sort through my thoughts and hcs #if you already saw this post: no u didn't #story meta

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writingonesdreams · 1 year

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Truth about writeblr

What tumblr gave me over the years

Really honed my English through access to lots of English reading and writing

Picture of what fandom culture is like

Picture of what political landscape here is like

The feeling of being a writer

Inspiration to write to challenges prompts and word tag games = lots of snippets, short stories and wips

Opportunity for meta essays about writing process and character arcs through ask games

Allowed me to blog without pressure and thinking and easily come up with new original blog ideas. Literally served as a writing diary for a time and documented my thoughts

Started me on really popular story analysis, movie and book reviews, character metas etc

Started me on poetry

Forced me to learn graphic editing

Feeling resonance with other writers through dicussions, comments and interactions

Lots of writing resources and tips from all kinds of angles

Tumblr's downsides

More of an illusion of being a writer than actually writing

Not actually suitable for building an audience or a media presence. You might get followers, but you won't get readers. Your only readers will be other writers and they comment and read for exchange only

Friendships are shallow and more for the picture of it than being real or standing a true crisis

You don't actually get to help the people you start to care about. It's a question if you even really get to know them

People leave over the years. You are lucky if you just drift apart instead of having an argument

Comments and feedback are based on exchange. No one reads your work if you don't read theirs. Maybe you will get a one or two true fans over the years, but it's rare and short-lived

Meaning you will have to read a lot of writing you don't like, that's low quality or that doesn't interest you at all and you will feel obligated to keep up with lots of people's writing and their tag lists = lots of waste of time that's not actually writing or helping or being enjoyable

It's easy to get lost in weekly rituals of ask and tag games, reads and comments and spend incredible amounts of time on people that you don't know and who would abandon you at the first opportunity/who only suffer through your presence for likes and comments & on those who will never give you anything back and just suck the energy out of you for laughable amounts of effort in exchange

People are very intolerant here, living in their own bubbles, as safe from opinions they don't like as possible. Meaning you show a bit of what you truly think or are & if that isn't trendy or agreeing with the ruling views, you will be attacked & hanged from the nearest tumblr tree

#writeblr #bookblr #on tumblr #on blogging #truth about tumblr #thinks no one will tell you #but that you should know

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hauntednighttraveler · 2 years

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The Guardian Chapter 1

For as long as Odette can remember, the sea has been protected by her people. Merpeople. Her parents, King Mitis and Queen Ida rule the Pacific sea. They are a part of the Royal council, which includes the four other Kings and Queens of the Arctic, Antarctic, Indian, and Atlantic oceans. Not only do they guide their people through everyday life, but they also oversee the protection of their people from outsiders. Outsiders, like the cold ones. Vampires feed off the blood of merfolk because of the rush of ‘magic’ their blood gives them. For a short time, those who drink the blood of merfolk are able to wield a variety of magical powers. That rush they feel is like a drug, addicting and dangerous. Once you taste the blood of merfolk and experience that rush of energy like never before, you build up an intolerance to it and need more blood even to get a hint of that magical power you had on your first try. There’s even a black market out there for merfolk blood. Those willing have their blood taken, similar to how humans donate blood, and are then paid a hefty fortune for their contributions. It is heavily discouraged because a lot of merfolk have been trafficked for their blood just because of how lucrative the ‘business’ is.

All of this is just another reason why Odette’s parents forbid her from interacting with humans. Constantly, she is being told that should she come across a struggling human in the depths of the sea, she should carry them to shore and leave. Obviously, she must make sure they are unconscious or can’t see her before she saves them. Her duties are to not extend to talking or interacting with humans at all. This kind of life can be isolating for someone like Odette, who just wants more outside of her palace life. This is why, when she turns 18, she wants to ask her parents for permission to explore the human world.

Y/n POV

My fins float aimlessly in the water as I pace back and forth. Bubbles float to the surface constantly as I don’t stop moving. Today is the day that I ask my parents to let me explore the human world. That’s all I want. I’ll be a good girl after that. They’ll see how good this will be for me. Hitting my fist into my palm with a definitive motion, I propel myself to my parent's chambers.

“Mother, Father.” There’s a slight quiver in my voice as I address them. I bow my head in each of their directions.

“I would like to ask something of you both. I hope you will hear me out before saying no.”

Mother spoke first, “Of course dear. Anything.”

Father nods his head in agreement and with a gruff but loving voice says, “What is it, sweetheart?”

Anxiety sweeps over me, I almost can’t get the words out. It consumes me, making me forget about asking and not upsetting them. However, the other part of me, the courageous and adventurous part of me wills me to stay and gives power to my voice.

“I’m turning 18 soon, as I am sure you’re well aware…”

“Why yes, your big day is coming. Your father and I are so proud of you. Soon you’ll be running this kingdom with your wisdom and grace.”

“Precisely. For my big day, I wanted to ask for something special. Something that will last me a lifetime. I, I want to explore the human world for 1 day. Before you say anything, please just listen. I believe that I can help our people and protect them if I know more about the different types of beings out there. I want an adventure of a lifetime before I rule. I mean, didn’t you guys have an adventure before ruling this kingdom? I want to have stories to tell my family and friends, just like you guys. I promise to be safe and diligent out there. I’ll even bring a guard of your choosing. Please! I haven’t asked for much in life. Please say yes!” I clasp my hands together, trying to calm my breathing down, my eyes squeezed shut from anticipation.

Both my parents glance at each other, worrying in their eyes. The room is in deafening silence. Finally, father speaks.

“We knew this day would come. We’ve filled your mind with endless stories of our adventures and tales. It makes sense that you crave one yourself. We shall agree to your request, however, we have some requests of our own before we let you go. First, you must take Sebastian as your guard.” Father holds his hand up to stop me from protesting his guard pick and continues.

“Second, your trip is to only last no more than 24 hours. After that, we expect you to be home or we will send the cavalry after you.”

“Oh, he’s not joking dear about that.” Mother puts a dainty hand in front of her mouth to cover her giggle.

After giving his wife a side eye and smile, he continues, “ And lastly, we shall go over some ground rules on how to behave in the human world and as well as blending in. We shall go see our trusted sea witch for a potion to give you legs.”

I engulf both my parents in a bear hug. Tears of joy almost escaped my eyes. Ecstatically, I thank my parents.

“Thank you thank you thank you! You guys are the best parents. I promise to be safe! Especially if I have Sebastian.” My words are laced with nothing but excitement.

Sebastian is one of my parent's most trusted guards. He doesn’t say much, just a grunt and a nod here and there. But that won’t stop me from having the time of my life.

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ocpdzim · 1 year

Photo

Because the @original-character-championship competition is an excuse for me to be so annoying about Vreeza on tumblr, when I usually keep it to discord, you all get the SECRET FROG CONTEXT behind why Vreeza has a pet really big frog and why it is named Homare-chan! The basics are probably clear enough from the pictures but details below the cut.

If you haven’t seen it yet, check out my initial propaganda post for the competition for more general information about Vreeza: https://ocpdzim.tumblr.com/post/714049779304366080/vreeza-is-competing-in-the

VOTE FOR VREEZA HERE: https://www.tumblr.com/original-character-championship/714142908732850176/bracket-f-round-1

Also, shout out to @ves-doodles for the pencil drawing of Vreeza holding Homare-chan, which is also the original drawing of it! They were also running Bill in the RP where these events happened.

Currently, I mostly run Vreeza in a couple different RPs where the core gimmick is that it’s interdimensional chat, so it’s a multifandom and OCs RP where everybody interacts over an online chatroom and in-person interactions are rare, although there are a few characters who can create portals to enable in person interactions (Vreeza is not one of them, not only because it wouldn’t make sense for them to be able to do this but also because they would be way too eager to go places and it would become unmanageable fast).

A while ago, Bill Cipher came in the online chatroom and complained about being trapped between dimensions and needing someone to summon him. Vreeza has baggage about being trapped places and considers leaving someone imprisoned for any reason intolerable, so despite not knowing who he was and having had moderately hostile initial interactions with him because he called them a nickname they didn’t like, and despite literally everyone else in the chat telling them not to, they immediately summoned him to their house as soon as he posted instructions without even being offered anything in return.

He promptly got trapped in their lab computer by accident and they couldn’t get him out or directly use the computer with him in there, so for several months they basically used him like an Alexa. During this time, he recommended engineering cop-eating plants and also provided blueprints for a weirdness detector which he made some pretty big claims about. Vreeza is not good at mechanics and so getting them to build this thing properly was a big pain in the ass, leading Bill to start considering other options for his eventual plans. However, they did eventually manage it, and when they brought it out in the swamp, they found a really big fucked up frog from another dimension which tried to eat their phone. Vreeza likes frogs, but was kind of unimpressed because as far as they’re concerned being large and having a lot of eyes are not that remarkable of features and so they figured this was probably just a normal Earth frog, but a different species than the ones the usually saw. Regardless, they brought this thing in their house as a pet.

Vreeza did not immediately name their new pet frog because they figured it probably already had a name but just couldn’t tell them because frogs don’t speak either English or Vreeza’s own native language. When it was brought to their attention that their original assumption was not accurate, they asked the chat to help them name their frog. At the time, a couple guys from the Yakuza franchise were online, and you can see what happened there in the pictures. This is also the context for the fake YouTube screenshot - Vreeza does not particularly understand what these guys do for a living but they DO have personal beef with the cops and were more than happy to help out new friends who also did.

Bill Cipher eventually ditched Vreeza when their house got raided and went to try to manipulate the agency that keeps bothering them (not actually the FBI or cops but a hostile NGO, Vreeza just doesn’t really distinguish between them) since Vreeza sucks way too bad at mechanics to build a feasible portal and was also annoying him. During the months he was living in their house, they never actually learned his first name because he never mentioned having one so they assumed Cipher was his full name. He hasn’t shown up again in the RP yet, but Vreeza did make a call out video about him on their YouTube channel which you can read the script for on their library page on Neocities (it’s the last one if you scroll to the bottom).

Homare-chan still lives in Vreeza’s house and is mostly pretty friendly unless provoked. Its favorite food is cabbage and it likes to climb on the furniture, although there isn’t that much furniture in Vreeza’s house to climb on. It does NOT have any of the supernatural capabilities mentioned in the chat logs, this was misinformation told to Vreeza by someone else in chat that they just took at face value. However, by simple virtue of being a really big frog, it is still capable of doing some damage if you piss it off. Being a frog, Homare-chan doesn’t really have a gender and so any pronouns are fine for it, but usually Vreeza refers to him with either it/its pronouns (because it is a frog) or he/him pronouns (because he is named after a man).

#oc tag #my ocs #vreeza #homare-chan #ok to reblog and itd be nice since im campaigning here but you dont have to #desktop tumblr seems to have killed my readmore. sorry everyone i promise it is there in the editable post #but i cant really do anything about it not actually appearing

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thesoftestirises · 2 years

Text

tennis court

“So as painful as it was to have to make out with your enemy and pretend to enjoy it, you had no choice.”

♡ genre : fluff (?), angst (?), it’s certainly something ♡ au : boarding school au | enemies to lovers | murder mystery ♡ word count : 1.5k ♡ warnings: ooc characters - this is an au ♡ an : before anyone asks - i am the user formerly known as strawverryful. this is a reworked fic.

“Shit!” You muttered as you looked down at your watch. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You stumbled around your room as you wrestled your blazer around your body and clumsily tied your shoes while searching for your American History essay. You weren’t about to turn it in late, not when you stayed up an extra three hours just to write it. You lifted all the sheets off of your bed and frowned when you found nothing, pausing and running a hand over your hair in frustration. You turned around and closed your eyes to try and use your memory to find it. Upon opening them again, you noticed the corner of a piece of white printer paper sticking out under the stack of books sitting on your night table.

“Yes!” You whispered, fist pumping and grabbing it, shoving it unceremoniously into your bag. Pushing the last bit of the bagel you had swiped from the dining hall into your mouth, you ran out of your dorm and into the main corridors to hopefully only be four minutes late to class.

Of course, things could never be that simple.

“Excuse me! There is no running in the building at any time!” Someone called behind you, stopping you in your tracks by grabbing the fabric of your blazer.

You whipped around and groaned at the sight of your greatest enemy.

Peter Parker.

Even at 8 am, Peter looked wide awake and primped to perfection. You had never seen him without his ironed blazer and powder blue tie done in a windsor knot, dark curls styled upwards, or his skin anything less than a canvas of flawless marble. You were convinced he never slept due to the unholy amount of coffee he consumed every morning.

“Come on, Parker. Haven’t you ever been late to class?”

“No,” he said with a smirk as he pulled out his yellow reporting pad.

“Would you really write up a fellow RA?” You asked in a pleading tone.

“Absolutely. The rules apply to everyone, my dear Accidental.”

Peter Parker was absolutely insufferable in every way. When the last head boy had graduated, the equally intolerable Nate Richards, Peter had been chosen to replace him by a panel of the most difficult to please teachers. It was a natural fit, of course. Peter was just as intelligent, comparatively ambitious, and twice as arrogant. But Richards at least had the decency to leave everyone who wasn’t in his posse or bothering his posse to their own devices. Peter, on the other hand, took great pleasure in terrorizing his underlings. Especially you, the girl with a sordid, amusing past that did not belong with the wealthy elites that went to Midtown Preparatory Academy.

He ripped out a carbon copy of his reporting form and handed it to you, patting you on the shoulder with a mockingly sympathetic pout. “For being one of the top students in this school, you really are quite empty headed.”

“Thanks. At first I didn’t know why they made you head boy, but I’m starting to see it now. Your grace and kindness are truly remarkable, Parker,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Jealous, are we? I know you were vying for that head girl spot.”

You spluttered at the accusation. “That’s ridiculous! Maybe I entertained that thought during sophomore year, but if you hadn’t noticed, being an RA is hard enough. Being a head girl wouldn’t have been possible. Besides, Carden’s far more likely to notice obnoxious prats like you.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Peter said with a derisive coo, pulling your chin into his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll get into an Ivy League without holding as many prestigious leadership positions as me. Tell you what, I’ll even put in a good word for you at Yale.”

“Don’t bother,” you said as you slapped his hand away. “I’d rather be unemployed forever than have to live under debt to you.”

“Please, you’d love to be under me-“ he began before a scream sounded out somewhere further down the hall.

The two of you froze at the noise, turning your heads slowly to the direction where it came from. For a moment, there was nothing. Then the sound of shuffling steps and the familiar voices of your teachers gasping rang out. You looked back at Peter, who was staring at you with wide eyes. Neither of you moved, until the commotion began drawing closer to you. Your feet remained glued to the ground as Peter dashed away to hide.

“Another dead, Carden. The police are going to start asking questions,” a voice that sounded like your biology teacher said.

“Forget the police, the parents are going to start asking questions. One is a tragedy. Two is a pattern.”

Another dead? Two? You weren’t aware there were any deaths at all. And at a school as small as yours, that sort of thing was difficult to hide. The footsteps grew louder and you realized you had about two seconds to find a hiding spot or else you were going to be listed as a primary suspect. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

A hand locked around your wrist and dragged you out of the center of the corridor into a darkened doorway. You gasped quietly as Peter raised a finger to his lips. He gave you a stern look and moved his hands to your shoulders, pressing your spine against the cold stone wall.

“Follow my lead,” he mouthed.

You knitted your brows together and tilted your head. Before you could ask, he had cut off your flow of thoughts by pressing his lips to yours.

You squeaked in surprise and tried to push him off, but he had swiftly caught you by the wrists and raised your hands over your head before diving back in. You were ashamed to admit how that move kind of made your toes tingle. You briefly thought about stomping on his perfectly shined Oxford shoes to get him off you before you realized what his angle was. He was trying to hide the both of you from recognition by making any witnesses too uncomfortable to look at your public display of affection. So as painful as it was to have to make out with your enemy and pretend to enjoy it, you had no choice.

You closed your eyes and clumsily tried to follow his rhythm. He smirked into the kiss and pressed his body against yours, leaving no inch of you unconnected to him. He was warm, so warm it was beginning to make you sweat and feel a little delirious. This close, you could smell the base notes of his cologne. Chestnut, vanilla, and cinnamon. You could taste bitter espresso on his lips. Just when you were beginning to really forget yourself and sink into the feeling of being kissed, Peter ripped the rug out from under you by biting your lower lip. You gasped in pain and he quickly took the opportunity to lick into your mouth.

“You two! Get to class before I write you up.”

Success.

Peter broke away from your lips and waited with bated breath until the two of you were the only people left in the hallway.

“Have you never been kissed before?”

“Is that really what you’re concerned about right now? Not the two dead students?” You crossed your arms and raised a brow at him, pretending not to be affected by the line of questioning he was throwing at you.

“Well, when you have a superior mind like mine, you’ll find that you can worry about two things at once. Besides, what are we supposed to do? Clearly the administration is not going to release that information to the student body, and we have no proof.”

“We have to do something or more people are going to wind up dead, Peter!��

“I don’t need to remind you how precarious your position at this school is, Y/N. You are not going to do a thing about what we just heard. And neither am I.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Peter continued.

“I am going to spread a rumor which will cause students to feel fear, and give me power to institute a buddy system. No one will be able to go anywhere without a partner to keep an eye on them. That ought to make things more difficult for our murderous friend,” Peter said with a self satisfied nod.

“That may eliminate future crimes, but we’ll still have a murderer on the loose!” You exclaimed, wildly gesticulating in frustration.

“And there is nothing we can do about that because we weren’t here and we wouldn’t have heard anything,” Peter said, leveling you with a glare. “Get to class, Y/N. Don’t let me catch you running again.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine

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thesoggyraincloud · 2 years

Text

Catching her: Chapter 2

Daryl Dixon x OC // Merle Dixon x OC (Platonic)

Season 1-3/ The Quarry

updated

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The Fall had overtaken the city quickly. Within days of the initial terror inside Quinns apartment buildings the government had set up a refugee camp for the victims effected by the roaming infected. Luckily for Quinn she had been too much of a pussy to leave the safety of her home. Since that day, she sat inside her damp flat clutching the wind up radio she had fetched out of her fathers things. Listening. Hoping for anything to signify the continuation of society. Begging to hear the radio reassure her she would be safe. That this would pass.

It never came.

Instead of the comforts of a viable society, she had gotten two rednecks. They had arrived in a whirlwind, one week after the initial incident. And a day after Quinn had run out of food.

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She watched the brothers bicker and chat over the past two hour drive, to what they had informed her was their uncle's cabin. It had been a bewildering sight for Quinn, a bitter sweet reminder her of her own brother. An uncomfortable feeling rose in her chest. It had been easier to be alone.

“What the fuck are you staring at girl?” The younger of the two, Daryl turned to her from the passenger seat. The man scowled for a second before turning back to the road, looking forward with crossed arms.

“Sorry.” Her throat felt raw, the combination of shouting and prolonged silence that had occurred for a week prior meant the sudden new use of her voice felt unnatural.

“So girlie, didn’t much feel like finding any help? Smart hol’ing up like that, pretty thang like you, You’d be dead already without us.” Merle laughed.

The same deadpan laugh that he’d used back in Austin and it rocked through her. he stared at her through the rear view mirror and catching the woman’s gaze, breaking away after a few too many seconds to stare back at the road.

Quinn felt her chest tighten in anger, the thought he had done her a favour by robbing and kidnapping her enraged the woman. It would do no good to anger them though and the facade of peace between the three was just that to her, a facade.

Quinn felt her chest tighten in anger, the thought he had done her a favour by robbing and kidnapping her enraged the woman. The façade of tranquility among the trio felt hollow to her. They possessed food, weapons, and shelter—things Quinn had lost. She couldn't afford to anger them and die from exposure or worse. And so as she had many times before, Quinn attempted to bite down her emotions. Putting on a polite smile and staring back to the mirror. The anger in her eyes electric.

“It's mighty fine that you two were kind enough to take me with you.” The sweet southern drawl was tinged with such venom that even the younger brother had been stunned for a second. Daryl held a smile at the girl's comment, unused to seeing his brother challenged. She had almost regretted the words as soon as they left her lips, almost. It felt good though, Quinn thought.

The eldest Dixon brother was not so amused, turning away from the road to completely face the girl. Neglecting to watch the road in his anger. He was not the type to take such back talk lightly, and to him, it was especially intolerable that a woman had done it. She had made his brother almost laugh at him, humiliation and anger filled his chest. His face flushed the same alarming red shade as her blood deprived hands had done not hours before.

“Now you listen here missy, me an’ my brother were kind enough to take you with us. Don’t mean we’re gonna keep you around if you start acting ungrateful now.” With that he raised an eyebrow and turned back, an alarmed Daryl letting out an inner sigh of relief when his brother's eyes met the road again.

She didn't reply, instead turning toward the large black duffle she had brought with her. She soon found what she was looking for, the sight of small blue pills relieved Quinns spinning mind as she eyed them in anticipation. Checking that the brothers in the front were distracted in their anger, she quickly threw the small pill’s back and washed them down.

Her shoulder rested on the door and she stared out the dirty window and sunk into her seat. She waited for the comforting warmth to wash across her mind. If she were going to be practically abducted and robbed, she’d prefer stay high for it.

Over the next half hour she had taken to destroying the brown leather of the seat in her scorn. Slowly picking a patch of the seat threadbare until she felt the cold stare from a particularly blue pair of eyes.

Sighing loudly she ceased her destruction, staring out to the road ahead. The boys had managed to stay away from the highway, claiming it to be full of what they had called walkers. But she could slowly see it coming slowly into view on the horizon. Lines of cars packed together blocking all chance of escape from the city. People, or walkers, had swarmed back toward the city after the initial outbreak. The infection drove them towards the populated areas, including the refugee centre according to Merle. Who had reluctantly filled the woman in on the little news she had missed since the start. Jesus there was a start now-but does that imply an ending? she thought.

The reality felt far too confusing to confront, far harder especially when she was starting to feel increasingly more intoxicated. The heat in her chest and face building up. A spring of energy bouncing within her stomach, forcing itself up to her chest. Quinn steadied her shaky breath into an even pace to curb the growing nausea, teeth starting to chatter lightly. Tensing her jaw in realisation that perhaps she may have taken too much. Just as the thought had occurred she attempted to push another wave of nausea down. Then Merle swerved towards the side of the road.

Before her eyes could relay what had happened to her brain, a thud and a squelch sounded across the silent stretch of highway. Merle ran down a walker. Her stomach fought its way up her throat, head spinning.

“Stop the car!” leaning forward she grabbed the eldest brother's shoulder,

“Please, I think I'm going to throw up.”

“I aint stopping the fucking car, princess, you’re just gonna have learn to cope with’a lil blood.” He turned to argue further, but upon looking back and making eye contact with the sweaty mess in the back seat he relented and swung the car to the side.

Flinging the truck door open and sticking her upper half out the rusted truck she emptied her stomach onto the road. Blue foam from the pills covered the blood soaked concrete. She wiped her chattering mouth and sat, panting in the hot southern breeze. Thinking about the wasted pill in regret she wonderd if she could find some more in the future.

“City girl here doesn't seem to have shared everything with the class.” Called Merle to his brother in the passenger seat, flicking a cigarette between his fingers.

“What the fuck you gonin’ on about now Merle?” The youngest Dixons eyes widened in surprise when they met her dilated pupils, he wiped his face of expression. Returning to his usual scowl seconds later.

“Just great, shes fuckin’ high.” Quinn internally sneared at his judgement.

“Now girlie” Merle pulled her back into the car slamming the door and walking around to his seat, twisting his body to face her.

“You're not gon’ be staying with us if you don’t hand over your shit.” Pulling his mouth into a thin line at the end of his words, suddenly she felt rather exposed under his stare.

“Thats not fair you asshol-” Merle leaned over the car seat, grabbed her face, pushing his fingers into her jaw and shaking her head harshley. She felt the nails pricking at her skin.

“Might I remind you, that without us, you’d have stayed in that coffin of a flat and been ripped to damn shreds by the dead. So why don't’ you start show some appreciation to your hosts!” His breath was hot across her face as he shouted, fingers pushing in at her skin. He inhaled a sharp breath.

“I ain’t asking for anything much, just that you share whatever you got stashed back there with good ole Merle.” With one final squeeze, he released her jaw from his grip and leant back into his chair. Starting the truck and driving forward causing the open door to slam shut with a loud bang. There was a tense pause in the air as the truck gained speed.

“With all due respect Merle, I'm not parting with- '' The car flew forward once again as Merle slammed the emergency brake. Sending her seatbeltless self careening into the front of the truck at an alarming speed.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, thwarting the near descent out of the front windshield. Turning to catch the eyes of her saviour she was met with Daryls. And as quickly as he had caught her, he pushed her out of his arms back into her seat. She looked back at the brothers in shock.

“Your a stubborn fucking bitch you know that? Should just throw you out and let you starve.” Daryl shouted before Merle had the chance.

“Give me the fucking Pills Girl.” Merle screamed after his brother, chest heaving in frustration.

Quinn relented and shoved her hand into the duffle bag, retrieving only one of the baggies of pills from their box. Throwing them in the direction of the shaved head in the driver seat, the moment of petty vengeance tightening her chest in anticipation. Surprisingly before the baggie of pills could hit its target, Daryl’s hand shot out and caught it from the air like a viper.

“See that wasn't so hard now was it?” Merle teased, starting the car up for hopefully the last time till they reached the cabin.

Her still distorted mind wanted to call out to him with an insult, but her body felt heavy and clammy still. The argument not helping to better her state after puking up the pill, clearly not getting enough out to sober up remotely. This was going to be an interesting few hours. She curled up into the back seat. Preparing herself to wait out the rest of the journey in relative silence, the high buzzing through her veins, keeping her alert and awake.

“Put on your seatbelt.” Daryl Called to the girl, “I ain't gonna catch you If you decide to go through the windshield again.” she couldn't read his expression, but If she had to choose, she’d imagine it was teasing sarcasm. The more probable answer was annoyance, maybe anger.

“Yes Sir.” She replied. Despite her apparent attitude, he was probably right, she decided. Best not to die in a car crash in a world where the dead are walking. Complying with his wishes she pulled the fraying seatbelt belt across her lap and clipped it in. The car fell into silence again, only the faint noise of the wheels against the gravel road interrupting the false peace.

After what felt like hours going through the dense woods of Georgia, Daryl broke the silence to announce to the car that they were almost at the cabin Every mile of wood that past sent her more on edge, going to a remote cabin in the woods with two strange men at the end of the world sounded like a murder plot when it was written down on paper. Luckily for Quinn, she didn't have any paper. The thought made she snort slightly.

“So what's the plan? Hold up in your creepy as fucking sounding cabin like goldilocks and the three bears?” she snarked, Merle started to chuckle slightly. She was surprised by his lack of malice, the laugh being of genuine surprise and humour.

“Well Goldilocks, We’re gonna head north. Darylina the genius here thinks the cold ol’ slow walkers down more, less horde’s. We’ll camp out round er’ til Winter see if he's right.” He said back to her after he finished laughing.

“I never said I thought the cold would slow em down, jus’ that they’d freeze their asses off.” Daryl sniped back at Merle. If the girl had to guess again, and she felt like she was going to have to do that alot with Daryl, she'd say he felt uncomfortable with the spotlight being on him for once.

“Sounds like you were probably right either way. Guessing by the crossbow you boys hunters?” she questioned, pulling her legs under her. Sitting up higher to look at them in the rer view mirror.

“Yea, but you ever need a real hunter, you come to me. Daryl’s too pussy.” He replied, eyeing her from the rearview mirror when he emphasised ‘real’.

“I won't be needing a real hunter, I can do it myself.” She cut back at him, testing the dangerous waters. Bad temperament was in the Dixon DNA it seemed.

“Bet you can't even Skin a rabbit. Leave it to the men Goldilocks.” he quipped back, a smirk visible on the side of his face.

”I've skinned a deer, a rabbit is not too hard. Not really worth my time much tho.” She replied, struggling to hold back her annoyance at her assumed incompetence.

“Where the fuck someone like you learn to hunt?” said Daryl. Turning slightly to look at her in his seat, scowling when he saw her shoes on the leather seat.

“I Used to be in the woods more than the city when I was a kid, family taught me everything I needed to know. ” She stated, looking back towards the window. It was hard thinking about him.

“They teach you shit ‘bout tracking?” He asked her, sitting right in his seat again. Secretly glancing looks at her in the wing mirror.

“Not a lot. Know how to shoot a gun, set traps and the rest of it. Never got round to learning tracking fully.” She answered, the pills only doing so much to mask the amounting emotional pain building within her rib cage, threatening to crack them open under the pressure.

“Well Goldilocks at least you’re not completely useless then.” This time Merle replied, a bitter twinge to his tone. Instead of answering she allowed the car to fill with silence again. A minute passed until a driveway and then a while later a medium sized cabin came into view.

A larger man in a flannel shirt came to greet the group, just as gruff and harsh as the boys. Maybe it really was in the DNA. He called hello to them as they got out of the truck, Quinn stayed back for a second surveying her surroundings. The dense woods gave way to a small clearing, containing the cabin. An older structure, the simple frame was accompanied by a small blue shed. The driveway, a barren dirt road leading to yet another dirt road further up. Quinn wondered if it led to a town, or further into the wilderness.

Daryl appeared at the door, stepping to the side to let her out as he opened the door. Murmuring a small thank you to him and she pushed herself out of the cramped truck, grabbing her bag behind her.

“Who's this Merle? Your new bitch of the week?” The fat older man laughed. He turned to Merle, who had made his way up to the porch, and grabbed his shoulder. Daryl moved in front of her, blocking his uncle's view. Quinn had no idea why but was eternally grateful for the gesture.

“We found her in Atlanta, helped her get out of the city tis’all.” Daryl called back to his uncle, already moving away from her and over to the truck again.

“All right, sorry Darylina.” His uncle was smug. Feeling accomplished after belittling his nephew.

Merle laughed this time, his uncle's smile widening at his nephew's reaction. Daryls face pulled into a deep frown and he stormed past them into the cabin, leaving the girl standing by the truck in his wake. Uncomfortable with the new sets of eyes on her and unsure what to do she contemplated following him inside, but decided against it. Not wanting to venture into his uncle's cabin without explicit invitation, weary of angering her new acquaintances.

“Goldilocks come on over here! Jesse this ere’ is Goldilocks, Goldilocks this is our uncle Jesse.” Merle introduced Quinn and his uncle as she walked up the final stair of the porch.

“Nice to meet you Jesse, My name is Quinn.” She responded, taking a place between them and the door. Shifting awkwardly.

“Small thing ain't you, surprised you made it this far.” The few words felt like an interrogation from him, her stress levels rising the more her instincts screamed.

‘This man felt like a threat.’

“QUINN! Come ‘ere” Daryl called from inside.

“Goldilocks?” she faintly heard Jesse questioned Merle as she headed inside.

Walking into a small living room, mounted animal heads hung over an unlit fireplace. Photos and trinkets littering the large mantle above, she squinted trying to make out the images. Daryl called again, his footsteps sounding from down a hallway. The entrance decorated by the head of a large moose. He appeared through it, his crossbow in hand.

“Door to the right at the end of the hallway s’mine, take the room for tonight.” He grumbled looking down with a taught face.

“Where are you gonna sleep?” she asked him, stepping closer.

“Goin’ on a hunt with Jesse we'll be gone all night, you and Merle are stayin’ here till mornin’.” He answered, heading into the living space and brushing past her.

“I could come and help?” It was an empty gesture, she wasn't sure if she was safe at the cabin but the thought of being in the woods with Jesse was nauseating. He made her hairs stand on end.

“No, aint got no tracking skills. You'd just slow us down.” He gruffed, stepping past her and walking towards the front door. She let go of the ball of tension inside of her chest, feeling it drop to her stomach instead.

“Thank you Daryl, for the room.” She called to him, he just looked back before walking away out into the sun. The girl took one last look in his direction before heading down the shaded hallway.

Daryl's room contained a double bed on the smaller side, it’s metal frame pressed against the wooden walls on the left. The right side contained a large oak dresser, various piles of objects and clothes scattered along it haphazardly. The room smelled musky, hints of the woods from outside wafting through the cracks in the window. It was cleaner than the rest of the cabin, only a light layer of dust sat undisturbed along the window ledge. She placed her bag beside the bed and sat. Confronting reality as she sobered, filled with unease at the thought of the immediate future. Spending the night alone with Merle was not going to be pleasant. With his hostile attitude and ego the size of Jupiter it would be a hard challenge to not butt heads with the southerner.

‘What have you gotten yourself into Q?’

Walking out bedroom door before she lost the nerve to do so, she heard the truck pulling out of the driveway. Tires grinding against the dirt road, the sound gradually fading away. She was alone with Merle and looking out into the corridor provided no sign of the aforementioned male.

Had they left me here alone?

Giving in to curiosity she explored the living room, noting various nicknacks adorning the fireplace. Upon closer inspection, finding a picture, a woman with two boys. Ice creams in their hands. They were smiling, squinting into the camera with large grins on their faces, the smaller blonde boy reaching out for his brother's hand. It was an adorable photo, she had guessed that It was the same two men who brought her here. The juxtaposition between their youthful smiles and innocent faces to the surly hunters she knew seemed almost ridiculous. But the resemblance was there, both having the same eyes as the men she knew.

Hearing Footsteps behind them, she shoved the small photo back onto the mantelpiece and turned to face the noise. Feeling slightly ashamed for looking at such an intimate moment, despite it being displayed proudly in one of the main rooms of the Cabin.

“Can't go off for five minutes without ya snooping through shit that aint yours.” Merle said, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, nervous of the explosion that was bound to happen.

“Sorry, just didn't expect you guys to look, so…so-”

“-Young?” He questioned, raising a brow. .

“Kinda yeah…is that your Mom?” she questioned, pointing behind to the photograph. Merle stiffened for a second and she braced herself.

“Nar’ tha’s Jesse's wife, Lyn.” He replied, reaching behind her to grab the frame. She went to hand it to him at the same time, almost knocking the frame from his hand. He pulled back from like she had stung him, giving a displeased look.

“Where is she now?” she asked, feeling the ground below her turn into eggshells, cracking under the weight.

“She’s prolly’ dead, but she left him. Stupid whore took everything from my Uncle.” He spat, handing the frame to her and walking off towards the door.

“You jus’ gon’ stand there or what?” He called from outside. Placing the photo back down Quinn reluctantly left the safety of the cabin to follow him around. They quickly arrived at the shed she’d seen on the side of the property earlier. Opening the doors they were greeted by a Triumph Bonneville TR6C motorcycle, a 76’ model.

“Nice bike, she's a Triumph right?” she asked, Merle grinned.

“You know bikes?” He questioned, walking around to the side of the bike.

“Kinda, Someone I knew used’ta have one. It’s a good bike.” she spoke, voice tighter then usual. He nodded, eyes staring into her. Then darting away, moving on to opening up the front compartment and shuffling around stuff inside.

“I know it’s fuckin’ in here!” He exclaimed, starting to pull bags and clothing items out of it.

“What on god's earth are you looking for?” she asked, moving closer towards him to peak over at the ever mounting pile of stuff next to him.

“Don’t be fuckin’ nosy, I don’t share my shit with nosy bitches.” He warned, looking at her with his eyebrows raised in an annoyed expression. Before breaking back out into what was becoming his signature grin.

“Oh so you’re sharing with me now.” It came out in more of a sarcastic drawl then the light hearted tone she had meant to employ.

“Bingo baby!” He shouted, pulling out a plastic bag full of… was that meth?

It was.

‘Merle Dixon is offering me meth…Fuck!’

“This the good shit, none of that impure stuff don’t worry Goldilocks.” He had a shit eating grin on his face and if she had to guess almost everything he just said was a bold face lie.

“I’m not doing meth, Merle.” she responded to his excitment with a blank face, trying not to laugh nervously at the situation.

”Besides, I'm not mixing that with my shit, It’ll give me a heart attack.” She added.

“Fine goldilocks, but you’re missing out!” He almost giggled. Almost. Merle couldn’t ever actually gigigle, but that was close enough to it for a man as crazy as Merle.

“Never said i’d be staying sober, hell im not even sober now.” The girl laughed at him, walking after him to the house.

“I’m pretty sure Daryl has yer’ shit Goldie.” He called back while opening the living room door.

“You asked me to share and I did, didn’t mean I gave it all to you. That’d hardly be sharing now would it?” She questioned, pushing him to challenge her. She’d managed to get away without an explosion, as the man had just walked into the house laughing, shaking his head in amusement.

“You smarter than I thought, Goldilocks.” He replied, seating himself on the sofa and digging into his pocket. Revealing a small glass Pipe. Rolling her eyes in disgust she pulled herself to Daryls room. Retrieved two pills and headed back to the living room to join an already high Merle. who was leaning his head back on the sofa, half closed eyes snapping open to attention when he heard her enter the room.

“You know where the kitchen is? I need some water.” she said, Shaking an empty water bottle in one hand and holding up the pills in the other.

“S’the door behind you Goldie” He pointed behind himself and at the white door on the left. Throwing the pills to the back of her throat she quickly chased them with large gulps of water. Anticipation nipped at her feet. Walking back over to the lounge, Merle was busy re-filling his pipe and lighting it.

“You know, You really are missing out. And it’s awful rude to decline your host Goldie.” He smiled as he spoke. The tone shifted from the playful banter before to something serious, challenging.

He pushed the pipe towards her and she swallowed an argument in favour of submitting to her host. Raising the end to her lips Merle flicked the lighter and she inhaled the chemical smoke deeply. Sat back, her head began to spin with Merle’s laughter reverberating through her. She felt her mind fade into a haze of thoughts, and soon enough lost to the stream of consciousness.

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A/N:

Hey thank you for the notes on the first two chapters! Hope you enjoy chapter 3 <3 Feel free to point out any spelling or grammar mistakes :D

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