#you are so kind for asking I am SO sorry you got such a dogshit answer lmao

[scarasimplysimping]

All In

Part 1 (might be two parts idk)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Summary: A bet is placed to see if you can get the Summa Cum Laude to fall in love with you. (Scaramouche x Reader) (College au)

Contains: Idk. So it's one of those love stories where there's a bet. Hu Tao and Childe are kind of assholes for the sake of this fic, I am SORRY. Reader is also kind of an ass. Ooc. Some plot holes because I don't go to college or drink or smoke. Just roll with it.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

2,822 words 15,518 characters

What a stuck-up prick.

That's what you thought of him anyway. He was *the* Summa Cum Laude of your year. He was snobby, self-centered, friendless, and to top it all off, he just so happened to be your partner for your big thesis.

It was not by choice but he had no partner because people were afraid of him and you had no partner because well... people hated you. It wasn't a project that could be done individually either, lest you wanted to die before you graduate.

"He's such a bore." You complain to your friends on the lunch table, Hu Tao, Childe, and Xiao. "I tried to make plans with him, really. I asked if he was free, and you know what he said?" You slammed your hands on the table for dramatic effect.

Hu Tao leaned in closer, strands of her hair falling onto the table, and alarmingly close to Xiao's food, making him scowl as he moved his tray.

"He said," you began, putting up a silly impression of him with a snobby expression. "I don't need bottom feeders like you dragging down my work. I'll handle everything. Pay me if you want."

Childe snorted. Hu Tao doubled over in laughter, mainly because you're impression was so on point.

"God, what a freak." Hu Tao mused as she wiped her tears from her face, she never passed on the opportunity to talk shit about someone she didn't like. Childe agreed with her but he was partly not paying attention. He jabbed his fork into Xiao's food.

"Fucker." Xiao muttered under his breath.

Your silly clique was a ragtag bunch of misfits in their own ways. Hu Tao was your childhood friend who always had something vindictive to say or some storm to stir up. She lived for the drama.

Childe started tagging along around highschool. He was a charming, silver-tongued ginger ball of sunshine, he started developing a negative reputation over time as as somewhat of a satyr, though.

Xiao was above all the petty and immature antics whichever one of you had the gall to cook up. In all honesty, he was only there because his older brother, Zhongli had asked Childe to help him settle in to the college life. Childe owed the man a favor so he dragged the poor emo wherever you guys went and you kind of just got used to his company.

Then there was you, there was one thing that set you far apart from them all.

Money.

They were filthy rich and you, an independent college student, had not a penny to your name after you decided to up and leave your family to follow Hu Tao to college. You didn't really have to work though, your friends pretty much covered most of your college expense as casually as a friend would by you lunch.

"I know I can't really help him, I mean, my grades are dogshit right now but like I don't know how to pay him either," You said, burying your face into your palms.

Childe scoffed. "I don't even think he means it. Plus, it's nothing to worry about. We've got you covered if that greedy little nerd actually demands shit from you."

"Yeah, just let him do everything by himself," He continued "Watch him or something, in case your professor wants updates.."

A small smirk formed upon his lips. "I bet he's not that hard to watch anyway."

You playfully punched him on the shoulder "Gross!"

"You gotta admit he is kinda cute," Hu Tao chided in. "Right, Xiao?"

Xiao shrugged, far too focused on actually having lunch.

Childe snaked an arm over you. "Tell you what, (Y/N). If you can somehow bed the prudish bastard before the end of this semester, I'll fork over some money for this month's rent."

"Hu Tao pays rent."

"I'll fork over some money for anything you want."

"Hmm... I want VIP tickets to La Signora's concert."

"Done~"

"Oh my archons! Like actually?" Hu Tao couldn't tell if you both were serious. "(Y/N), your charm is above average but I don't even know if you can pull this one off."

You roll your eyes." Have faith in me. I bet he's easy."

Hu Tao leans back thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. "Alright, (Y/N). If you manage to pull this off I'll give you a grand.

You gape at her. "Seriously?

"Absolutely."

You know were only entertaining the idea because they had no actual faith you'd pull it off, but to you. This was easy money.

You slowly turn to the brooding emo on the table. "What about you, Xiao?"

His eyes narrowed at you. "What about me?"

"You gonna offer anything?"

He scoffs, groaning internally and being the only one with a moral compass. "Only an asshole would find bets such as these any type of fun."

Childe flicks his wrist dismissevly. "We are assholes."

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was hard enough convincing Scaramouche to work on the project and your (and Hu Tao's) place but now you had to deal with the emanating silence from you both. You've barely ever talked to him but the tension in your room could be cut with a knife, or maybe that was just your imagination.

He was sitting cross legged on your bed, typing away at his laptop with several papers surrounding him. You were sat across from him in the same position, nursing a cigarette in between your fingers.

"Do you want something to eat?" You finally break the silence.

He doesn't look up from the screen as he responds. "What do you have?"

You look to the ceiling, trying to recall what you and Hu Tao had last shoved into the fridge. "Uh... Pesto... Pizza... Dumplings. Probably some leftover vegetables."

"Bring me them all." Talk about shame.

"Alright." You say, putting out the cigarette on your nightstand. You couldn't help but notice the tiny scowl on Scaramouche's face as he glanced at the ashtray.

You come back balancing a bowl of pesto, a bowl of dumplings, and a bowl of salad on a box of pizza. Scaramouche pats on the side of your bed, indicating for you to drop the offerings there.

You light another cigarette as you take your previous seat in front of him.

"The weather is pretty nice today.." A sad attempt at conversation on your end.

Silence

"So... Childe's hosting a party tomorrow night, would you like to come?" You try once more.

Scaramouche still doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look up from the screen.

You blow a puff of smoke on his face. He coughs a bit before glaring at you with cold judging eyes. At least he was actually looking at you now. "I have no time to indulge in that crap."

"You have plenty of time. That thesis isn't due for another month."

"Well not exactly, since I'll be doing the work for both of us."

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people like you." He glowers.

"People like me?" You raise your eyebrows.

"People who just have everything spoon fed to them by luck or by birthright and take that as a reason to slack off for the rest of their life since everything just magically works out for them." Scaramouche wasn't wrong, you really fucked around and never found out but still, what right did he have to judge you?

"Didn't know you knew me so well." You say, blowing out another puff of smoke but this time it's to the side.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once more. You had a point. It was hypocritical of him to listen to judge you based on gossip.

Finally, he speaks after a few minutes of silence.

"I was out of line." It's an apology although he doesn't outright apologize.

"Yeah." You decide to take advantage of his momentary guilt as you inquire about what he's working on. "So, do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Well, I'm looking online for research papers related to the topic were studying. I'm taking snippets I find interesting and I'll save them for later to expand on them in our thesis."

Scaramouche speaks a bit more but you're hardly listening. You take this time to really observe his physical appearance. Hu Tao was right; the man was cute. His eyes, his mouth, his lips. If you took a meat cleaver to the center of his skull, you'd have matching halves.

Even his hair looked softer than unicorn fur.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you out, a displeased expression creeps upon his face upon noticing that you aren't even paying attention.

"Your hair looks softer than unicorn fur," you blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly, and you could've sworn he turned a shade pink before he feigned a disgusted look to save his dignity. "What the hell?"

You caught on immediately. There it was. Scaramouche had a weakness. The Summa Cum Laude, the bridge troll with a big brain and purple hair (as Hu Tao once described him) is someone who gets easily flustered .

"You're kind of cute." You push on.

"Shut the fuck up." His head lowers, he dares not look into your eyes.

"Come to Childe's party with me?" You ask once more.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scaramouche hated you. He hated your face and your voice and your personality. He hated every single atom you were made up of, but most of all he hated the way you were able to persuade him to come to this stupid party. And for what? Just because you were the first person to ever call him cute? He'd curse you and all your descendants to come.

Childe's party was just a gathering of drunks and trouble makers. His house was practically a mansion that could fit 60% of the university's student population.

He hated the blaring lights and unbelievably loud, repetitive, and distasteful music.

"I hate this!" He has to shout for you to hear.

"I know!"

"I'm going home!"

"You can't! You're my ride home!"

"We walked here, dumbass!" Scaramouche wanted to leave you truly he did but something, wasn't letting him. His moral compass or his growing fondness of you?

Childe finds you, placing an arm around your shoulder. "Hey!" He hands you a shot glass which you graciously accept and down in a couple of seconds, much to Scaramouche's dismay.

Childe pays no attention to your companion until he does a double take and realize it's Scaramouche.

"Holy shit! Is that Scara!?" Childe grins hazily. He was drunk drunk.

Scaramouche does not respond. He is frowning while Childe handed you half a bottle of gin.

You drink it within a couple minutes as you chat with Childe.

Scaramouche stands there, awkward, cranky, and out of place as the only person he's aquatinted with in this party is getting absolutely inebriated.

At some point you don't know when or from where but you get your hands on another shot glass.

"You're not drinking that," Scaramouche states firmly.

"I am." You bring the cup to your lips but Scaramouche is faster, he snatches it from you and lets it fall to the ground.

"What gives!?"

"I'm not carrying your drunk ass home just because you drank away the capability to walk!" He shouts at you.

People are staring now. Is it because of the commotion or because Scaramouche was the last person anyone would expect to see at a party?

Scaramouche didn't like the staring or the attention. "I'm going fucking home." He says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past the crowd. "So are you."

Childe is left there, impressed. He takes out his cellphone.

To: Hu Tao

She's actually gonna pull it off. Wtf

From: Childe

You stumble and trip as Scaramouche drags you through the night. It was a miracle you could keep up. (It wasn't, he slowed his pace on purpose to match yours but it still wasn't slow enough for your drunken ass.)

"Scara, slow dooown~"

He ignores you until he feels you slip from his grasp, landing with a thud. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? Do you not have the smarts to walk!?" The boy scolds.

You decide to rest your knees a bit as you stay on the ground.

You hear him sigh sharply before crouching in front of you. "Get on."

"What? Like piggyback style?"

"Yes, damnit just get on." His face wasn't facing you and it was dark. Scaramouche was eternally grateful to the archons that you couldn't see the way his ears reddened.

He carries you like that until you're at the front door of your place. Scaramouche gently drops you off. Miraculously not panting. (He wasn't that athletic.)

"Can I trust you enough to tuck yourself in?" The boy asks, his tone was calm this time.

You nod in response.

"Alright." Scaramouche turns his heel to leave.

"Scaramouche." You call out.

He turns back to you, a little too quickly.

You try to take a step towards him except you "accidentally" trip on air and crash onto his chest. He barely moves an inch but his hands instinctively wrap around you. You can see the exact moment he scrunches his nose as well as the moment before that where his cheeks flush.

You'll blame this on alcohol later. You'll also blame alcohol for when you pulled his collar to place a quick peck on his lips.

This was the night Scaramouche nearly passed away.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scara paced around his room. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would you do that? His heart still raced as fast as it did when you kissed him.

He replayed the kiss over and over in his mind. Why? Just why? He mussed his hair in frustration as he plopped himself on the bed. If Scaramouche focused enough, he could still feel their lips on his, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Why had a drunken asshole decided to take his first kiss? Why was he reacting so weirdly?

And why did he just tuck tail speed walk away right after it happened without saying shit about it?

(Y/N) will probably tell their friends. They'll gossip and laugh at how the smartest person in their program was turned into a blushing, sputtering mess at the mere kiss of some drunk. Some overly confident, obnoxious, attractive drunk who's lips were soft as velvet.

The thought has him reeling. Rolling to the side, Scaramouche pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it.

"I'm done guessing. What's wrong with you?" His inner monologue was broken by his cyan haired roommate.

"Nothing. Fuck off, Dottore." His words still muffled by the pillow.

"All your ceaseless brooding is keeping me distracted. I suggest you stop whining if you don't want me to give you more reasons to whine."

Silence.

That came out wrong, but it got Scaramouche to shut up so who would complain?

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was a crush. That's what Dottore had said to him. It made jackshit sense though. Why would he like you? You were just someone he perceived as a slacker. It's possibly because you were the only one who ever showed interest in him. He'll probably get over it when he finds someone else to adore, but he couldn't.

Scaramouche was once again working on the thesis, on your bed. He didn't bring up the kiss. Maybe you'd forgotten about it? A small part of him hoped that you didn't though.

Finally, he decides to speak up. "I demand compensation."

You shoot him a confused look.

"What? Don't you remember?" Scaramouche scowls.

"You kissed me..."

"Did I?" You feign innocence.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He orders. "That was my first kiss. I demand some kind of compensation." His cheeks were heating up as it became harder and harder for him to look you in the eyes.

"Oh?" You bring your index finger below your lips in an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

Scaramouche's scowl deepens at your mocking finger below your lips. "Do not toy with me," he warns. "You took something and I want fair repayment."

You chuckle, enjoying his ruffled feathers. " And what is a first kiss worth these days?" Leaning back on your hands, you look him over appraisingly. "I'm not convinced it was really your first. You seemed to know what you were doing..."

His cheeks redden as he scrunches his nose at your audacity. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you enjoyed kissing me." You smirk. "Perhaps you even want more?"

Scaramouche's embarrassment only grows at your bold insinuation. "You presume too much, fool," he bites back, though his resolve seems weakened.

You shrug. "Suit yourself. I was just about to offer a date."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if trying to ascertain if this is some sort of trick. "A date?"

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi

[breitzbachbea]

i want to send a ship for the ask game but i can't really find one to send- so i'd love to hear about just your favorite ship from anything, or one you just have a lot of thoughts on!

YOU ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD IMMA TALK ABOUT OCS

You see. My main fandom is Hetalia and in 2013 I had the idea that for a little art trade fanfic, I needed some practical, one-off Human OCs. Just for this one AU story.

9 years later and nothing about this turned out to be one-off. 99% of my writer's output is for this AU monstrosity of its own, where the Hetalia characters now have been joined by over 200 named characters. It's basically Orig Fic with the occasional recognizeable name, cuz I do love the creative freedom, but I also love Fanfiction as an exercise of literary analysis, translating a character from one set of circumstances to another. If anyone wants to read pages upon pages of incoherent OC ramblings for this AU, the tag for it is #storie nostre.

And I AM most mentally unwell about SicIre, my true love, my one comfort ship to end all comfort ships. I will return to my Irishman and Sicilian until the end of time. But I don't want to talk about them.

Instead I keep thinking about Francetto these days, two OCs by the name of Francesco Belfari and Dolcetto Acerbi respectively. They're fixing each other. They're making each other worse. Both of these aspects are interlocked like a rusty set of gears. Dolcetto, who's himself a rather pragmatical bastard with a zest to right the wrongs done to him, isn't afraid of what lurks underneath Francesco's loud and cheerful persona. When Francesco needs to indulge his worst instincts, Dolcetto won't judge him for it and will even be in on the bullshit. They see eye to eye. But Francesco also appreciates that Dolcetto IS pragmatical. More pragmatical than him. More grounded, because he'll be able to pull him back from the abyss when he stared at it for a tad too long. Because Francesco makes Dolcetto want to be kinder, that in turn makes Francesco want to be kinder.

Because Dolcetto in turn doesn't feel inherently worthless and unloveable, someone everyone else would be better off without, as he grows closer to Franci. He feels kind of seen by the dirtbag that Francesco can be, he feels no judgement from the man who watches the entire world with boundless and morbid curiosity. The part of Francesco that IS cheery, that IS caring, that loves so deeply before it crosses the point of destruction makes him believe that there are good things out in the world and that he is worthy of them and wants to give them back.

Does this make any sense to anyone BUT me? No. But I am running on less than 6 hours of sleep, gotta be up at 7 tomorrow and can't sleep. So this is what we're getting. thank you for listening.

#beareplies #shayneysides #the basic premise of the AU is btw a Human AU and what if everyone is a big fish in the organized crime shark tank of their country #so most of these people are questionable morally at best. I also have non gangster OCs tho #oh yeah also funfact Francesco and Dolcetto are both in my header with Feli in the middle #Franci is the bearded cheery guy and Dolco is cupid looking mfer who's like fuck this shit im out. #Technically a coherent story with them as protagonists exists over on ao3 called Italian Affairs #but my old writing is. well. A 16 year old sure wrote the beginning of it. #I am actually in the process of rewriting the first book (IA is a sequel) right now. 2 Chapters of I think 16 are down :) #you are so kind for asking I am SO sorry you got such a dogshit answer lmao #storie nostre #franci #dolco

[tetsunabouquet]

Hi! Could you do a nsfw scenario for Nash and Hanamiya in which they're bullying the girl that they like?

(18+ And with the slight increase of young, new KNB fans: If I catch you making NSFW requests to me I will be deleting the asks. A firm reminder to everyone that I don't write that kind of stuff for minors. I'm not named Colleen nor do I have a ukelele.)

Hanamiya

He grinned widely as he caught you doing something you shouldn't be doing. Now as a member of the Disciplinary Comittee, he couldn't just ignore you stealing a can of Coke from the vending machine. Even if you had forgotten your lunch money and looked like you were about to faint. If aything, he could use that to his advantage. "Now, now, y/n-san, aren't you a bad girl?" You froze at his voice and desperately started to shake your head. "Please Hanamiya-san. Forget you saw me." Hanamiya chuckled darkly, you just had to offer yourself on a plate, didn't you? "I could do that but honestly, I don't want to have this school turn into a breeding ground of disobedient little bitches." You flushed as those words sent a strange tingle down your spine. "I'm not a disobedient little bitch." You uttered the words with a shame you didn't quite understand. Hanamiya laughed as a reponse, and the poisonous edge to it brought tears to your eyes. "Oh really? I think a thief would qualify for being a disobedient little bitch. You're worse then that actually. You should be happy I gave you that compliment." Your lips were wobbling at the insults, and a tear rolled down your cheek. "I'm sorry." You apologized as you trembled and it was honestly making Hanamiya rather hard. "You know, I could see past this if you could be so good to help me with something." Your eyed widened and you nodded. "Of course. You know I didn't mean to do something bad." You said before you once more looked at your shoes at the sight of his intense gaze. Hanamiya's lips curled, and he unbuckled his belt as you gulped. "Be sweet and put that mouth of yours to use already." You fell on your knees, because it's not like you had any other choice and so you licked at his throbbing cock like the good girl you promised you were. You couldn't tell wether it was his cum or your tears that left such a salty taste but you swallowed it all up just the same.

Nash

College life was far less interesting as people had made it seem, so he tried finding some new hobbies outside of sports. Which is how he met you. The students who were following art or music programs would typically gather in one corner of the campus when they had no classes and they would all make art with everyone uplifting each other. The photography and film students would film the musicians for their YouTube pages and make photos of the paintings made under the bright L.A sky. They would allow people curious to sit with them and there always seemed to be someone willing to teach someone a few basic skills if they seemed interested. As a photography student, you always were springing about taking pictures of everything but honestly, Nash just wanted you to snap a picture of his dick and burn in into your memory and memory card alike. Which is why, when he got to corner you all alone, he took your camera away from you. "Hey, give that back!" "What? You think you look threatening to me shortie? I would tell you that you look like you punch as a girl, but you are one already." Your jaw dropped open as you saw him going through your photos. "Are you really studying photography? These look like dogshit," Nash commented and you felt rightfully defensive at the way he sneered at your pictures. "I am! You don't need to be such an asshole because it's not up to your taste." You scoffed. "First of all, don't you think you should be talking less shit when I have your camera? Secondly, I would like to know what you think qualifies as taste and how do you even know mine?" This man left you speechless and you tried to grasp at things to say but the words died on your tongue, tears slowly forming. "You know what, I'll give it back to you. But I do require a picture from you, and one of better quality then this garbage you snap." Your eyes immediately narrowed, sensing the direction of this conversation. "I am not allowing you to snap a nude of me." Nash once more curled his lip into a sneer as he said, "I'm not going to be the one taking any picture of you. Why would I want your ugly face and sullen expression? Didn't you teach me that it's better to capture something in the heat of the moment?" You did tell him something along those lines in an earlier conversation and he once more managed to silence you with the way he was analyzing your every move. You honestly were shaking from anxiety as his imposing figure loomed before you. "So how about you take a selfie when you're riding my dick." His free hand grabbed your ass and as your lashes fluttered from confusion and fear he planted the most sensual kiss on your lips, his tongue licking and teasing at your bottom lip in a way that made you lean forwards and press your body against his. There was no way of denying Nash what he wanted, and finally he would have you and that dirty picture.

#knb #kuroko's basketball #hanamiya #hanamiya makoto #nash gold jr #knb x reader #bullying #gaslighting #toxic knb x reader

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

How would Sevika interact with an autistic reader? I wanna know could she deal with me:D

I love this one! I included autistic traits that I have (I have never been diagnosed, so not saying I am, sorry for the inaccuracies) but if there are some you had specifically in mind just let me know! Also reader works for Silco

The Undercity is full of odd people so Sevika can handle just about anything

When she first met you she did find it amusing that you didn't make eye contact with her, instead focusing on her feet or a spot over her shoulder

She barely got you to speak which she didn't mind. When the two of you were in a room together, it'd be a comfortable silence for her

The first time you spoke it scared the shit out of her, even though the only reaction she showed was he widening of her eyes

It was the same routine, you two in the break room and her re calibrating her arm like usual. The only difference was that you had asked her a question about her prosthetic

You flocked to her as she started explaining, taking an unusual interest in the mechanics of it. You actually kind of make her nervous with that intense stare

So she's talking, and you just interrupt. Butting in with an "Actually-" and telling her how her own shit operates. She is not amused but you do not take the hint

It bothers her that when she checks with Singed, you turn out to be right

Now you just latch onto her, gravitating towards her like a moth to light whenever you see her

Once she mentions something you're interested in, you're going a mile a minute. She can hardly get a word in but she's honestly kind of... fascinated. Not with whatever you're talking about, that's boring as shit, but she's smitten with how overexcited you get.

You realize you've been making prolonged eye contact during a rant and you start glancing away. She'll step back into your line of sight with a smirk. It's cruel, but she likes it when you're flustered.

If you're really good at masking, she won't notice anything until you get closer in your relationship

Honestly just thinks you're fucking weird

One of your quirks would be your hell-bent insistence on planning anything before doing it. You don't let her surprise you, at all. If she deviates from your usual schedule, maybe going to the bar instead of directly heading to the gambling table one day, you get STRESSED

Your hand will tug at her cape and then she's looking down at you, more specifically, your hand, irritated at the offending limb that's delaying her drink

"Um, babe. We go to the table first, then bar." You explain to her like it's common sense. She'll sigh, roll her eyes, head to the table just to sit down and stand back up before heading to the bar. "There"

The Last Drop overstimulates the hell out of you. She'll get you some noise-cancelling headphones or a booth with a drape to block out flashing lights

When you're anxious you complain as a coping mechanism. She knows this and asks "Do you want advice, or someone to listen?"

She'll also understand how masking can be exhausting for you and doesn't take it personally when your social battery runs out

When you don't want to be touched, you get very upset. It's not her fault because it can happen in a flash. You'll be fine up until you're suddenly not but it's hard to voice how you feel

You'll get bitchy with her and ignore/curtly respond to any of her efforts at making conversation. Surprisingly, she's very understanding and will give you space if that's what you want. If she needs to hold you, she'll do that too.

When you DO want to be touched, you're overly clingy. She'll be on duty trying to intimidate some poor soul and it's hard to do that with you hanging off her arm

Sometimes you're dogshit at understanding social cues. Which is a doozy because her tone is very dry 90% of the time.

Sevika needs to beat some guy unconscious for some reason so she hints at you to leave the room

"Why don't you get me some more whisky?" Everyone's tense. None are meeting the pleading eyes of the poor, stupid soul that decided to try and cheat Sevika at cards. Her glass presses against your chest but her eyes never leave the asshole who's currently pissing his pants. You eye her full glass. "That's already full-" "I'm gonna beat the shit out of this guy, baby." She'll say bluntly. "Oh."

Sometimes her teasing will become too much for you and she has to clarify that she doesn't actually want you dead

When she's injured, had a long day, you don't quite get that it's not the best time to be criticizing her habits

Sevika's arm is gone. All that's left is scrap metal and wires sticking out of an exposed socket. She's struggling to light a cigar and holds it out to you pleadingly. "That's the 10th one you've had today, I thought you were cutting back- sorry, sorry" She releases the most frustrated groan.

Or, "The metal seems a bit rusted here, Sevika have you been taking care of it?" and half her arm's fucking missing

You do not realize when someone's hitting on you and it drives her up the fucking wall

If you're in meetings with Silco, you have a bad habit of interrupting him but he's actually very patient with you aww~

If he’s in a bad mood, Sevika will clamp a hand over your mouth to keep you from interrupting him and turning that rage on you

Sevika's sarcastic comments fly over your head at Mt Everest altitude

Silco's leaning against the desk, smoking a cigar freshly lit by Sevika. "Hm. I guess we should just give into their demands then." Sevika huffs at the sardonic quip. "I'll tell my boys to stand down, let the shimmer go up in flames." "Guys, really? We have the numbers to beat them I don't know why-" You cut yourself off at Sevika's deadpan look. Silco has his cigar-holding hand pinching his brow between thumb and forefinger. "Oh, you're joking."

OKAY OMG you swaddle yourself in Sevika's cape and create a little sensory therapy swing for yourself one time when you're really bored at a card game

You'd be so still in there she'd nearly forget where you were

She'll sometimes not even notice you're tangled in it and stand up, there's a loud tearing noise and then you hit the ground

"What the fuck-" "Why did you move??"

You're both pissy until you sleep it off then it's like it never happened

#arcane sevika x reader #sevika imagine #sevika x reader

[hykar]

💫🌷I'm into you Pt 3•°

🌷This is a repost because I didn't like how I wrote the previous one, it bothered me so much that I stopped writing for a few weeks Im sorry TT, (I also hit the back of my head on the wooden edge of a sofa by accident and blacked out for q few days). Also I forgot to mention that this fic is an AU where in there isn't awakened abilities and such.

Synopsis: Sucheon Kang is your admirer, the way he shows you affection however is in such an odd way... A grumpy(?) Kind of way. At first you thought he was just trying to be more nicer to people not until you noticed that he's only acting this way to you.

You as: Anon [Anonymous]

°•☆•°☆°•☆•°☆°•☆•°☆°•☆•°☆°•☆•°☆°•☆•°☆°•☆•°

"Sucheon, can I ask you something?" Your heart raced—regretting that you decided to ask.

He looked up at you—covering his mouth as he chewed. "Yeah?" He swallowed.

"Why are you getting me stuff?"

"Because I can and I want to, simple as that." A non-verbal way to tell you that I like you.

"Why do you want to?"

He was silent, his eyes staring into yours. He looked away eventually, stirring the chopsticks around the noodles to gather them before he spoke, "Maybe because... You're not shit like the rest..." He took a bite. Should I just... tell them?

You laughed a little, God that laugh or yours... "Not shit?" "Mhm." "Not satisfied with that answer but okay." You continued eating, a light smile formed on his face.

1 year before.

All eyes are on him wherever he went, eyes that showered him with either fear or hatred. Of course, who wouldn't fear the prodigal son of a wealthy businessman in a world where the rich reign? Who wouldn't fear the student who have some students under a chokehold with his wealth? Who wouldn't hate being under a chokehold that's used against them? Talk about having your studies sponsored by the Kangs themselves. Who wouldn't hate such an arrogant asshole?

"Ahh- fuck-!" Sucheon cursed, moving his face away. "Oh sorry- did I press too hard or is the alcohol too strong?" [Name]—who found Sucheon in an empty classroom beaten up and bruised—apologized. "You're good. Just the alcohol." Sucheon sighed, turning his head back to your direction. Gently, you rubbed the cotton swab on the small cut on his face.

What the fuck am I feeling? Sucheon's heart started to race. His breathing a little quicker than normal and his ears burned slightly. You're so close to him... Your scent... Your eyes... Your so..."You're the new kid at class 2-A right?" Sucheon asked, trying to distract himself. "Mhm." "Name?" "[First Name] [Last Name], and you are...?" "Sucheon Kang." "Oh so thats you.." "Hmm?" "A classmate told me about you, well.. more like warned." Typical. "What did they say?" "Just told me to be wary of you and that you're pretty arrogant." Again, typical. "Ahh.."

"What happened might I ask?"

"Got beaten up, obviously."

"I meant the details about it specifically."

"Got beaten up by 3 classmates over some petty shit."

"Is that so? Tell me about it."

"Fuckers can't get over getting their shit criticized in front of people, I mean it was fucking ugly they just can't accept it. If you want to be dogshit for the rest of your life just say that, That was in the previous school year too for sucks sake. Took three of them to beat me up and they had the nerve to act all tough and shit." That wasn't everything... Fucking assholes had to bring in that dead man into shit that he got nothing to do with just to get something out of me...

"Ahh... There, all good."

"Thanks." He tapped your shoulder twice before standing up and leaving the classroom.

It's understandable why people dislike him, his overconfidence and pride. Terrible indeed. But using someone's moment of silence when they're grieving the loss of a father and the loss itself as a way to give him a taste of his own medicine? Just as terrible. Though Sucheon's actions and attitude aren't all that justifiable, we can't blame him either for it stemmed from the kind of people he is with at home—if it could be even called one—rooting deep into him.

The suns rays was blazed down at everyone in the field, students sheltered under any shade they could find to take a break. Sucheon sat down at the end of bleachers under the shade of a tree. "Hey you good?" [Name] asked, looking at Sucheon who' looked liked is on the verge of passing out from the heat. Their voice echoed in Sucheon's head, his vision a blur and a haze as he looked up at them. Is that angel or its just light above this persons head? [Name] picked up their water bottle, "Drink up, you're getting dizzy from the heat." They said, assisting Sucheon to drink. The fog in Sucheon's head started to clear, seconds later he managed to hold the bottle and drink on his own. "Feel better?" Sucheon looked at them, their heart pounding and their ears starting to burn. "Yeah. Thanks." THIS FEELING AGAIN? WHAT IS THIS?!

Whatever Sucheon was feeling it didn't just happen when you were near or the two of you are talking, it doesn't stop on the eye contacts you to exchange, even the smile you greet him with when the two of you see each other in the hallways or in the cafeteria. It happened every single time possible as long as it involved you. Though he wouldn't deny that it was nice having at least one new person that wouldn't shoot a dirty or fearful look at him wherever he went. It was like a breath of fresh air to him. One day he even unknowingly smiled back, to which he questioned himself for.

His are arms crossed as he was sitting down on the soft mattress of his bed, deep in thought. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! WHAT AM I DOING??? WHY AM I FEELING THINGS?! WHAT IS THAT FLUTTERING AND BURNING FEELING THAT I FEEL WHEN I SEE THEM?! WHAT THE FUCK?! AM I... BEING HEXED OR SOMETHING?! Nah that can't be real... IT MAKES SENSE THOUGH???

"Sucheon?" Suman waved his hand in front of his nephew's face, no response. "Sucheon???" He tried again. "Yoohoo.." Suman snapped his fingers, still no response.

There's that fucking feeling again... "Sorry for using you as shield." Sucheon apologized as he bandaged your forehead. "It's fine." "Still, you got hurt cause of it." "Like I said, its fine. You're already taking responsibility for the outcome of what you did, that itself is already a sincere apology." "You're not going to.. say.. something?" Sucheon chuckled, "Well, what were you expecting to hear?" He shrugged, "Anger, mean words and such." "What is there to be angered about when you're already making amends?" "Right.." "Mhm." ...Do I... like them? No fuck no. Hell no.

"I can take care of it myself." Sucheon insisted, though hi state and the bleeding wound on his knee burning red says otherwise. You rolled your eyes "You literally couldn't walk without a support." You poured betadine on a cotton swab before gently rubbing it on his wound. Sucheon just stared at you, his heart racing. "There." You said, pulling down the end of his rolled up pants after you finished bandaging the wound. "I'll stay with you till your uncle gets here." "No need, thanks." "I insist." "...Fine." Maybe...? SUCHEON. NO.

The sun was out earlier and the sky was bright, Sucheon didn't expect it would rain really hard moments later. Now he's stuck at a convenience store where he ran into you. "You're gonna get sick, stupid." He grumbled, handing your jacket back to you. "I won't, my place is just down the street so its fine. Yours isn't." You handed him your jacket back, "Just use it to get to the bus stop anf get home safe." You smiled at him softly before sprinting through the rain. Sucheon looked at your jacket, his heart pounding. ...I think I do like them... Oh my fucking God... FUCK.

"...He's at it again." Suman thought to himself, peeking at his nephew who was once again sitting on his bed and staring at nothing from the door after his knocks were ignored 5 times. He then shut the door and sighed. "What's happening to him?"

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING TO ME?! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?! WHY AM I ACTING SO WEIRD THESE DAYS?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! For some reason, Sucheon's attitude had noticeably toned down a little bit which came across as concerning to everyone on campus and to some people in the company. "Maybe the loss of his father caused this much change to him... Sad but thankfully he's a little more bearable now." Most of the people thought, who knew it was just some person named [Name] who coaxed out those small changes out of him.

"Hmm? ...Waffles huh?" Sucheon glanced at the clock 12AM. "......Fuck it, its now or never."

"What's the container for?" Suman asked, looking at his nephew behind him who was transferring the waffles into a take out box he somehow has. "Can't you eat it in a plate instead?" "...It's not for me." "Oh? Who for?" "Just someone." Suman gave him that look, "Unc it's not that-" "It totally is don't lie to me."

Present.

"Let's go to the lake a block down from school tomorrow, yeah?"

"Do I have options?"

"No, you're going. That's why I didn't ask if you want to."

"Oh."

He smiled a little at your reaction, finding how flabbergasted you were quite amusing.

"I like your smile, don't hide it so I can see it more often."

"Eww, just shut up and eat you flirt." OH MY FUCKING GOD JWDKKDKFKCJFJF

"Hehe."

—To be continued....

#eleceed #kang sucheon #sucheon kang #sucheon x reader #suman kang #fanfic #alternate universe #fluff

[sulky-valkyrie]

another merrill prompt: a moment of kindness, merrill & anders.

Oops, this got long. Also, accidental new Merrill headcanon dropped. for @dadrunkwriting

set in my longfic where the HoF followed Anders to Kirkwall, but no one there knows that's who she is. Also Karl is alive BECAUSE I SAID SO.

~~~

Tabris wasn’t back yet.  That was reasonable.  You didn’t just walk under the Waking Sea for a quick dinner at Soldier’s Peak then pop back over to Kirkwall in a day or two.  It was perfectly normal for her to be gone this long.  He still hated it.  It still ate at him.  Karl had pushed him out of the clinic to brood in the sunshine that morning, and he found himself sitting on the steps to Garrett’s house.

“The frog kissed dogshit you doing here?”

Ah, Hawke.  He had such a way with words.  “Karl said I was wearing a rut on the flooring.”

“That floor’s already crap, he made the right call.”  He was hoisted up to his feet before he could react.  “Merrill wants flowers, so you’re gonna come with us.”

Shit shit shit, not good.  “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than-”

“Shut up, we’re going to pick flowers.  Nature is good for you or some shit.  I grew up on a farm, and I’m perfect.”

He tugged at the arm now caught in a hand practically the size of his whole damned face.  “Is that a new meaning of the word, or am I just that uneducated?”

“Yep.”  Garrett was not a man to be denied and continued to lead Anders through the streets of Lowtown and out the nearest city gate.  Where Merrill was waiting and chatting with Isabela, sitting on an abandoned stack of shipping crates.  Maybe she won’t recognize me?  Or remember my name?  

The blood mage hopped off the stack of crates she’d been perched on and looked at him with perplexed wide eyes.  “Anders?  What are you doing in Kirkwall again?”

Shit.  “Um, hi.  It’s . . . complicated?”

Hawke glanced back and forth between them.  “Fuck me, when in Meredith’s hairy armpit did you meet?”

“Oh yes, he and the Hero of Ferelden visited about a year ago with . . . oh dear, what was his name?”  She tapped her chin.  “The other shem?”

“Nate, but -”

She bounced up to him, almost vibrating in her excitement.  “How are they doing?  And did all that the Keeper and I -”

“It’s fine!”  He practically shouted it, then shook his head.  “Sorry.  Uh.  Merrill.  It’s . . . nice to see you again but I - I left.”

The elf frowned.  “That doesn’t seem like something Tabris would -”

“Look, can we please talk about something else?”  he asked desperately.  “I - if you want to catch up later, I can - we’ll figure something out but I -”

She reached over and touched his hand sympathetically.  “Oh no, I’ve upset you - did something bad happen?  No, forget I asked that.  Are you - is everyone okay?  No, that’s bad too, and now I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”

He shook his head again.  “It’s fine, you didn’t know.  Just - I don’t -”

Hawke pushed him into Merrill’s arms.  “Just fuckin’ shut up and hug it out, you beanpole.”   

“But I -”

“Don't care, just fix it.”  He stalked off, catching Isabela by the arm as he did.  “I’m gonna go shout at some lizards.”  

“Garrett, I want the gossip!” she whined as he dragged her off.

“Gossip with my pants, Bels.”

Merrill watched them go, still hesitantly holding the other mage in a tentative hug.  “What in Thedas does that mean?”

“Pretty sure it’s a sex joke - he’s got a knack for them,” he snorted.  “Worse than me, which is impressive.”

“Putting her mouth - ohhhhhhhh!”  She giggled, then frowned.  “But what does that have to do with lizards?”

“No idea.”

She let go of his waist and took a few steps back.  “I’m sorry I -”

He glanced around for somewhere to sit, then sighed.  “It’s okay, Merrill.  Really.  I know you mean well.”  

“Did your spirit friend find his way home?”  She asked suddenly.

He gave her a flat look.  “You didn’t hear about that from Hawke?”

She arched an eyebrow.  “He talks a lot, but he rarely says anything.  I can see why he and Varric get along so well.  Co-bullshitters.”

“Something like that.”  He stared up at the sky.  “It didn’t work.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.  Did he - can I ask what happened?”

He felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath speeding up, his chest prickling along the scar from the shit job he’d done healing where the sword had gone through him.  “Templars.”

“The ones I’ve met were very rude.”  She bit at her lip.  “Just because I was an elf too, not even because I was a mage.”

He rubbed at the scar.  “Good.”  He paused.  “Good they didn’t notice you were a mage, I mean.  Shitty they were bastards, but, well, you know.”

She nodded.  "I'm just a filthy little elf, not worth noticing except for them to shoo me away.  But you, you're the healer of Darktown!  How do you avoid them?"

How honest did he want to be?  Justice already was getting itchy from his lies about Tabris.  "My friend is . . .we merged.  Justice is part of me, and . . . it's not going well.  He wants to help so much and I-" he covered his mouth to shut himself up.  Bad enough to think it, worse to say it.  Justice still had trouble parsing out thoughts that weren't directed at him, so if he just . . .didn't think too hard about it, maybe they wouldn't hurt each other as often.  Or Karl.

She put her hand on his shoulder and steered him off the road, behind the trees.  "Can I talk to him?"

"You're not going to bind him, are you?" he asked warily.

"Of course not, you don't practice blood magic on your friends."  Her brow furrowed.  "Unless it's the only way to save them, I suppose.  Like I did for Tabris."

"But he's not your friend, you've never met."

"But you are, right, lethallen?"  She smiled gently.  "And I don’t think you'd take in just any spirit."

"I am no demon."  Justice bubbled up before Anders could even think to stop him.

The blood mage cocked her head at him like he’d informed her the sky was blue, or water was wet.  "Of course not."

Justice slumped against the nearest tree.  "But I do . . . make mistakes.  This world, I thought I understood enough, but, in a living breathing being, it is so much more than I was prepared for.  Our merge endangers us both.   I cannot seem to stop hurting him, and he cannot seem to stop doing it in return."

Merrill reached for his chin, tilted him to look at her.  She felt strange and oily, but not physically.  Likely something to do with her blood magic.  It held a kind of music, but not the high sweet chiming of lyrium, or the dissonant thrum of darkspawn; it thudded and rumbled like a drum.  Or a heartbeat.  It chanted of promises and bargains, of vengeance and sorrow.  The spirit wanted to cover his ears, but the noise was everywhere, pressing against him, pulsing through him until he . . .what could he do?  Nothing.  There was nothing to fight here, only a tiny little blood mage who had no idea the power she could wield.

Or perhaps she did.  He shrank back.  "Come no closer."

She smiled sadly.  "You heard it, didnt you?"

He nodded as he tried to take deep breaths.  Breaking contact with her had helped, but the demon that followed her was still near.  Still lurking.  "Why show me this?  Why consort with demons?"

"Remorse is just a spirit, like any other.  She's my friend and companion, but still dangerous.  As are you.  As is Anders.  As am I."  She spread her arms wide.  "Friendship isn't enough, Justice.  You have to trust him to understand the mortal world better than you do.  And he has to trust that your questions are genuine.  You have to work together.  Both of you."

"But, the singing . . ."  Anders started, as Justice reeled and sank back down to safety and quiet.  "How can you stand it?"

"You make new music together.  For yourself, for your spirit."  She stood up and brushed herself off.  "The Dalish have had to remake their culture from scraps so many times, but we never stopped singing."

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age #fanfic writing #anders #justice #merrill #prompt fills

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

Hi, I'm back 😩

Sorry for just like, dropping off the face of the earth there for a hot minute, but my life has been this specific brand of absolute dogshit that has left me hiding under the floor boards - quite literally - since mid october, and I'm only just starting to get my battery back to like, maybe 10% again now.

TMI under the cut, and probably quite a bit of a ramble;;

SO.

Life has been shit. Like, shit shit.

Like, I'm warning you now, this is trauma and abuse shit.

Suffice to say that I'm the kind of person who tends to get taken advantage of and not speak my feelings or stand up for myself. It comes from a place of pretty severe trauma and mental illness, of course, but knowing that and knowing myself doesn't make things any easier in my life really. It just makes me self-aware and subsequently frustrated at my own slow progress.

For example, at present: I've been locked inside my room since the above mentioned, mid october. I have to ration food and water, I can't be too loud for fear of being caught, I sneak out for one bathroom break a day, if I'm lucky, and I have had to work with sanitary wipes instead of showers since this bullshit began - which is fine for the body, but fucking useless for the hair 🤷‍♂️ this wouldn't be such an issue if I didn't have eczema, but I do and so I am suffering, I guess.

Why, do you ask? What has caused this situation? Stupidity has caused this, my friend. Stupid people including my stupid self.

For a bit of backstory context: Several years back, I was chased out of my house by an abusive family member. It was 30 below and I had nowhere to go but, I remembered someone offered to help me, if I ever needed it - so I ended up on his doorstep! He happily took me in as he was like a father to me. There was no expectations for me, it was clear I was abused and traumatised (I was horribly malnourished and anemic at the time) and I was a naturally reclusive and quiet person anyways. So they gave me an old dusty room and left me be.

They being him and his father. For simplicity's sake, we will call them Dad and Gramps. I'll start by saying that I love and adore my Dad. Also, I don't hate Gramps, despite all he's done to me. Even if sometimes I think I should.

Gramps is an old cowboy. Crass and backwards and poorly educated. He's spent his whole life working and drinking and smoking and driving really really fast. He thinks insulting people is how you make friends and his favourite past time as a young man was starting fights. He's had several failed marraiges and has several dozen people (related or not) that call him dad. He's done more than anyone that I've ever met but that also means he thinks he knows more than anyone and no one can tell him what's wrong or right.

He's got a lot of good and bad qualities. Is what I'm saying.

Among those bad qualities, unfortunately, is sexual harassment. Which, I suppose should have been a very clear and blarring warning sign right from the beginning but, as a survivor of child abuse and SA, my boundries have always been miles behind from where they should be. Additionally, I had nowhere else to go 🤷‍♂️ it took several months and me getting visibly angry with him and telling him about my previous abuse before he finally stopped slapping my ass but, his language towards me never really fully went away;;;

Despite this, I stayed. I was unemployed and terribly ill and struggling to get through my previous traumas and depression, so I stayed and helped around the house however I was able to make up for me occupying space. The room I was staying in was musty and filled with mice and their filth, so I had to clean the space. The big old bed was filled with droppings (inside the boxspring especially) but Gramps refused to let me get it replaced unless someone would pay for it. So I layered it up with a dozen blankets and it's still the bed I sleep on to this day. In my brain, it wasn't much different from the bed that I had as a child, so I just put up with it 🤷‍♂️

As the years went on, my health continued to decline. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, they tossed around words like 'heart failure' but wouldn't confirm a diagnosis. My muscle wasted and I was never able to catch my breath, I started having fainting spells. At my worst, I would spend days in bed.

Despite all this, I somehow became Gramps's unofficial caretaker. Unbeknownst to me, his whole family couldn't stand to put up with him because he would complain for sympathy and demand to be waited on hand and foot. I can't deny that I'm gullible, so when he started his sob stories, I went out of my way to help. If you can't tell by now, my fawn response is pretty strong - I've been told more than once to consider myself before other people but, it just never occures to me in the moment, I guess.

And so, I took care of him. No matter how aggrivating he was, no matter how often he belittled me or insulted me, no matter how stubborn he was or how little he listened to me; no matter how disgusted I was at the kind of things he suggested to me. It was nothing I hadn't dealt with before so I just 🤷‍♂️ put up with it - like an absolute fucking idiot.

This went on for several years.

It affected everything I did. My health never got better because I was too busy taking care of him (and others) to set time aside for myself. My friendships were impacted and even started to decay in several instances because of my declining mental state. It felt like, no matter how hard I tried to mend things with people, to keep up face and hold things together, it all just kept slipping through my fingers - until I had nothing to hold onto at all.

In the beginning of 2023, Gramps got diagnosed with cancer.

Now, an additional note that I should add here is that his family throughout all of this was entirely absent. In those several years I was caring for him, I was calling 911 nearly once a month for his heart or his breathing or because he stumbled and fell. I was helping him get dressed and cleaning his (and his friend's who is also an asshole old man) shit and piss off of the hallway and bathroom floors. I was cooking his meals and giving him baths and sitting on his bedside in the middle of the night when he had a breathing attack or got too lonely. I was buying his groceries and carting them up two flights of stairs, I was fixing his tv and enduring his fits of anger and yelling and pandering to every nonsense request he had on top of that. On top of all of my own problems, I was entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he got cancer, I was still entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he started getting angrier, more stubborn, more vocally abusive. When his diabetes spiked and his eyes started going blind and he was swearing and yelling at me because he didn't want to go to his appointments or use a walker or a wheelchair despite not being able to see 5 feet in front of him. When he refused to eat, when he refused to let me sleep.

When he started with the verbal threats of violence.

When he started touching me again.

And I had nowhere else to go.

I tried to ask for help. I genuinely did. Which is honestly a huge blarring warning sign for me because, if I'm asking for help, I'm probably close to a mental break - and I was - but, despite me saying, mulitple times to multiple people "I need help. I can't do this. I'm out of my depth. Can someone help me." No one ever did.

It all came to a head shortly after my friend group fell to pieces. I just wanted everything to turn off after that. Gramps and I got into an argument, a real proper one where I finally got angry back, and he took a swing at me and I decided that was enough. I was done. I went into my room and locked the door and curled up in bed and did my best to ignore his threats and his yelling. I cried until I fell asleep and thought about killing myself and I continued to think about it for the next two days. The entire time I was in there, he was upstairs, right above my head, promising to call the poliece to kick me out or promising to beat my face or break my neck.

I texted my Dad, I told him how I felt. He called his sister and she took over where I left off.

I still had nowhere to go 🤷‍♂️

So now, here I am, over 3 months into this bullshit. I filed for emergency housing within the following week of that madness and I've been hiding in this room and waiting ever since. My laptop was packed up in an emergency bag for the first month and a half / two months since I was in perpetual fear at that point of making even a whisper of noise or being caught without my bags packed and ready to go. I've had one dear and solid friend that's stayed with me and helped me through the worst of this all, even despite being an ocean away. Without them, I don't think I would have made it this far tbh.

So!

As you can probably tell, tumblr has been the LAST thing on my mind lately 😂 I've only really started coming back to it in the last month or so and I have just had no energy to put towards my blogs at all.

But, I'm slowly coming back!

I have a few drafts saved, so I'll probably trickle those in eventually. OL has been on my mind as of late, as well as BG3, which is why I'm posting here again at all. So, I hope to do something with this little sprout of inspiration that's managed to grow out of my head.

In the meantime, yeah 🤷‍♂️this is where I've been, under the floor boards, hiding in the dark, and just biding my time until I can escape.

Sorry for the long ramble! But also, not sorry at all, because this is my blog and all that 😂 For me, it's nice to finally put all this down somewhere, at the very least. Hopefully I won't have anything to complain about again for a long while after this. Honestly, I'm just hoping that I get that email soon that says there's finally somewhere safe for me.

#tw abuse #tw trauma #long post #this is a lot of TMI #you've been warned #personal #iwrite posts #iwrite diaries

[amistytown]

tbh, as much as I'm very "of course I'll be a nuisance on my own blog," I still get days where I feel as though everything is a lie and there's no point to me being online or talking about anything or my oc or trying to socialize when I'm dogshit at keeping up with people, and those times I get the strongest urge to delete my blog too. I've come close a couple times, and while sometimes I'm able to distract myself from thinking about it with stay off the site a bit, I find that... the most helpful thing for me is to remind myself that there are people who really do seem to enjoy my presence?

And while it's very easy to give in to the voices that tell you that you're annoying, unwanted, and that everyone could be lying to you about how much they like you, idk it just seems like the evidence points to no, you're not nearly as bad as you think you are. This is my thought process:

If I really were as unbearable as my mind makes me think I am, then more than half the people I'm mutuals with would've either unfollowed me or blocked me straight up already. They're not lying to me about liking me because that's just so much effort on their end when again, it really would just be easier to be rid of me. If I were unwanted, they'd have curated their feeds to where I am no longer around for them to be annoyed at. We're on Tumblr for a good time, why would anyone put themselves through the hassle of faking liking someone? This isn't Twitter lmao (and if people here are faking, well. That's on them. It's much more convenient to just block someone. What are you hate-following someone for?)

And even then, there's considering the fact that the people who do find that they don't enjoy my presence have already done something to filter me out. The people still around want me around. Perhaps it's on some level parasocial, but it's not as if we're random fans in someone's comment section having one way conversations; there's actual dialogue, a sharing of experiences on and one-to-one level. Internet friendships really are a Thing.

I think taking certain things into perspective helps as well. Simply knowing that the feeling comes and goes helps remind me that the feeling does come and it will go. And it reminds me to ask myself; if I delete my blog and cut myself off from the things I enjoy here, how much will I regret it once the feeling has passed? Would it be better for me in the long run to not have this outlet for sharing my experiences and finding others who enjoy the same things I do?

Which will sometimes bring up the question of "perhaps I should delete my blog for my better health?" and you know what? That's fair! If you really think you need to cut yourself off from it, then sure. In the end, it's still a blog and you can easily remake. (Or you can just leave it inactive and delete the app, that way if you ever change your mind, everything is still here)

I know I'm like, annoying when completely unfiltered lmao but another thing I think to myself is that there is are whole communities of people here who are fucking unbearable and whose ideals and content actively harm others, and I think they should all delete themselves off the internet but they're still here.

If TERFs, transphobes, racists, and all the like get to freely have their presence on here (and even actively intrude upon others' spaces to spread their agenda), why can't you? When you're literally just here enjoying your blorbos with your friends?

You've got every right to be here and have a good time.

But yeah. Tl;dr I kind of try to ground myself in some way by considering the external since like, I get the impulse to delete blog at least once a week yet I know it's an intrusive, unwanted thought. Hope some of this helps even just a little; I like having you around. We can be annoying together <3

That's exactly how I feel! You described everything really well, and I'm sorry you have those thoughts and feelings too. They can be difficult to deal with. Though a part of me is relieved I'm not alone lol. I think there are a lot of people who share our worries, but don't want to voice them because they're afraid to. I love reassuring and comforting others when they need it; your feelings are completely valid, and you shouldn't be ashamed of them. I know I enjoy you and your blog, and Tumblr wouldn't be the same without you!

Yeah, sometimes my mind goes to a place where it convinces me I don't matter to people or I'm a burden. I've been better at controlling those feelings, but my therapy session seemed to make me relive some of my darkest moments, and I felt very anxious and dissociated after. Maybe it's something I should mention to her, but I imagine talking about those memories becomes easier over time. I'm feeling a bit better today after getting out of the house at least. I hope you're doing well!

I really like your thought process, and I'll have to practice changing my way of thinking when I spiral. It's crazy how your own mind can pit you against yourself! I know I'd regret deleting my blog because it brings me more happiness than anything. My anxieties seem to seep into everything when I get in that frame of mind, but I need to stay positive and think things out logically. And this definitely helped and put things in perspective. I really appreciate you reaching out and being supportive! If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always here ♥

#your message really does mean a lot T . T #thank you so much iah #em #asks

[sleepsentry]

That moment when someone says they don't like something, but their wording is very insulting and condescending so you're holding back tears trying to agree with them because you don't wanna get worked up over something stupid.... but this is a reoccurring issue and you've got a blog so you make post about it instead!

[I've tried to tag occasional "vent" posts as such so if you don't want to see those you can block them. I wouldn't want to spread any negativity and I hope I won't do so with this rant.] That being said....

I'm getting very tired of people staying stuff like "this is dogshit" or "some people like this and they're freaks gtfo"

and then turning around and acting like others are being "oversensitive" for getting upset at that....

they're not upset because you don't like the thing they like, hopefully, and if they are then I agree it is silly...but sometimes they're upset because instead of saying:

"it's not my thing"

They say:

"this is a steaming pile of SHIT! But but if you like it that's ok I guess."

like- what did you expect? I know often peeps will take out their issues in very horrid and undeserved ways but it goes both ways!!!

Good lord can people just try and be polite about something online???? Is it too much to ask that you don't insult something or call it shit when a simple "eh" would've been enough?

Wording is always important sadly and a lot of people take that for granted and would rather act like swearing and shouting are better means of communication than simply being polite or respectful when it's deserved.

And acting like if you get hurt by someone using hurtful language you're being oversensitive?

I don't mean to say swearing automatically makes someone dumb or devalues what they're saying but if it's directed at people (who don't deserve it) then they're obviously going to feel bad even if the person expressing it doesn't see a problem.

This goes for all social media platforms btw toxicity can come from anywhere and to anyone saying:

"well what did you expect from tumblr?"

I say:

"You can say that about any platform!"

you can't pin the blame on any one even if there tends to be more in one platform than another. I'm getting tired of people joking about any specific online space being hellish when they all can be.

It's important to moderate your online experience to your tastes and do your best not to take things too personally.

But I'm getting very tired of hyperbole, passive aggression or condescension, being the main means of communicating with others who don't agree with you, usually topped off with any one of these emojiis: 🙃🙄🤭 It gets far too tiring when it's bloody constantly! From both sides. Especially if it's over something like a show or a character or a ship.

But hey that's just mesksksksk😘🙃🤭🙄

Sorry for ranting, I try not to be negative all the time especially online, but this is my blog and I needed to vent.

I do NOT want to start an argument with someone and I will NOT respond to any kind of aggression in the notes if this post gets a lot of attention. I'm really hoping it doesn't get to that point at all. And I'm likely screaming into the void.

EDIT: I find it interesting that one of the first people to like this is a Steven Universe fan (based on their pfp) I really feel for you guys with how much undeserved hate the show got and anyone simply saying they didn't like it would express that opinion with a condescending "oh nooooo a different opinion haha hope the crazy stans don't roast me on a spit. Am I right fellas?"

Kind of a perfect example of my point.

#vent #not art #text post

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 7/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: thank u so so much for all the continued love and support on this!!!! i am absolute dogshit at replying to comments but i do see them all and screech at everty single one, so thank you sosososO much for every like, ask, reply and reblog! in this chapter u all get some answers to the questions the last chapter brought up........apologies if ur not keen on them though xo

last chapter: the girls broke their own rules and had their own kind of kitchen "afterparty" after Lawrence's friend's flat party, but Tayce couldn't give A'whora the answers she desperately wanted.

this chapter: tensions run high in block 4 flat 10, as feelings struggle to stay hidden and truths begin to surface.

***

A’whora is happy.

Really, why would she not be? She gets to hang out with and sleep with the girl that’s been on her mind for months and months and months. They go out for drinks with the others and fall into bed together afterwards, steal glances at each other in the kitchen which end in holding hands and pulling each other into one of their bedrooms. They’re incredible and intense and their chemistry rages like a fire and A’whora can never get enough.

The thing about Tayce paying for brunch on Valentine’s day is that they’re caught in a cycle of having to pay each other back, one that A’whora doesn’t ever want to break. They go for lunch after lectures and treat each other to dinner and walk around the city together where they look through the windows of the designer shops and gawk at the bags and shoes. Tayce brought her car up from Newport at the end of last month and she’s driven A’whora anywhere and everywhere too, day trips to the beach and the forest and the huge reservoir just outside the city. They smile at each other across tables and link arms when they walk and laugh and chat like it’s easy. It is easy. It’s nice and it’s comfortable and it feels right.

They’ve started sleeping over too, sometimes. If it’s late and they’re both that sleepy, overwhelmed way after they’ve tired each other out, Tayce will chuck A’whora one of her huge t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts and they’ll curl up together, Tayce spooning her with her arm around her waist and resting on her tummy. It’s strange- A’whora’s always felt a little self-conscious of her stomach, the way it isn’t flat like a supermodel’s despite the fact she knows that’s not how human bodies work. But when Tayce is holding her like that she doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed; just appreciated and protected, like she’s as beautiful as Tayce tells her all the time.

It’s funny knowing how Tayce sleeps: the way she flops over onto her side and stretches out in the middle of the night, the way A’whora will sometimes get an arm to the face or a kick to the shin; because if a single bed isn’t enough for the pair of them at the best of times it’s certainly not enough to accommodate Tayce trying to spread her entire body over every square centimetre of it while unconscious. What’s equally strange is having Tayce know how she sleeps too. A’whora’s always been a sleeptalker, she knows this, but it gives sleeping next to Tayce a new element of terror any time she wakes up to her giggling, telling her the stupid things she’d been saying punctuated by forehead kisses. A’whora worries that one night she’ll say something she’s deliberately been keeping hidden.

Because even though she’s happy...she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t want more. Not much more. Just to be able to call Tayce hers properly. She would love to tell Tayce just how much she likes her; more than a friend, more than a friend with benefits.

“Why don’t you just be honest with her?” Ellie had asked, when they’d gone for a debrief drink together after a lecture that had ended at six at night.

They’d had a couple of these kinds of drinks; the first being the evening of Valentine’s day after Ellie and Lawrence had inadvertently walked in on them both. Ellie had practically dragged A’whora to the nearest bar and demanded to know details, something in her sparkling eyes growing dull after A’whora had told her it had been going on for over a month. A’whora had felt guilty- aside from Tayce, Ellie is her best friend in the flat, and not telling her about what had been happening between her and Tayce had admittedly felt weird. It was clear that keeping it from Ellie had hurt her too even if she didn’t say it, and even after A’whora had apologised twice she’d still felt guilty even though Ellie had batted her away with a ‘don’t be silly!’ and ‘it’s fine!’.

To make up for it, A’whora has let Ellie be her agony aunt about all things Tayce-related ever since. Which has been great, until she gives her ridiculous suggestions like telling Tayce how she feels.

A’whora remembers scrunching her face up as she sipped her too-strong cocktail, shaking her head in a no . “There’s no way. I’m not risking her telling me she doesn’t feel the same, are you insane?! It’d totally ruin the friendship.”

Ellie had choked on her drink in a laugh, rushing to explain herself to A’whora as she gulped. “Babe. You’re literally shagging without putting a label on it. You ruined the friendship a long time ago.”

A’whora had shared the laugh but something heavy and uncomfortable had settled itself in her gut in response to Ellie’s words.

It’s the same feeling that settles in her gut whenever Tayce reacts to Lawrence’s jokes. On the whole, the reaction from the others to her and Tayce sleeping together has been relatively muted- Bimini will just smirk at them every so often, a knowing smile on their face, while Tia will just grin at them all dippy and tell them that they’re cute- but Lawrence has really gone off the deep end. She sends memes to the flat group chat about them (a screenshot of her Google searching ‘can you write fanfiction about your flatmates’ springs to mind) and will constantly poke fun at the apparent ever-present sexual tension between the pair of them.

A’whora knows Lawrence doesn’t do it to be malicious; it’s half borne out of jealousy, as A’whora knows by now how much she’s infatuated with Ellie. If she’s being honest, she actually doesn’t mind the jokes. Even though they’re a bit embarrassing, they serve as a little illustration to A’whora that she and Tayce are in this together. Lawrence joking about the pair of them is like a validation; that they’re good together, that they work, that they’re seen as a unit by others. It’s silly, but it’s almost contributing to the argument that they should be together for real. That they should be girlfriends.

Girlfriends. Even just thinking about being Tayce’s girlfriend sends 100 volts through A’whora’s bloodstream.

But Tayce doesn’t seem to appreciate Lawrence’s jokes like A’whora does. At first Tayce had given them a courtesy snort, the sort of reaction an adult would give a child telling a weak knock-knock joke. But the more jokes Lawrence makes, the less time Tayce seems to have for them. She’s started firing back with biting quips of her own about Lawrence’s own single situation, balls of rolled-up barbed wire lobbed at a friend just trying to take the piss. Of course, Lawrence being Lawrence sees that Tayce is bothered by the jokes and uses this as an invitation to continue making them. She enjoys winding her friends up because it always comes from a place of love, and A’whora knows this. She knows they’re just jokes.

She doesn’t get why Tayce doesn’t appreciate them the same as she does. The wondering puts doubts in her head, ones she wishes weren’t there.

A’whora’s glad, then, when the heat is off them and on the other couple in the flat- the official one, that is. It’s an ordinary Thursday evening and Lawrence is rifling through the fridge looking for something to make for dinner from the sorry selection of food in the fridge. Bimini is perched on one of the sofas with their head in their phone smiling slightly at the screen as they type, and Ellie is at the other end with her head in one of the books she needs to read for her course, a frown deep on her face and her mouth moving silently as she tackles each line. A’whora is cuddled up next to Tayce on the other sofa, both of them on their laptops as they allegedly begin research for their final essay of the year but are simply using it as a guise to watch old Vivienne Westwood runway shows.

It’s calm and it’s quiet and it’s chilled until Tia nearly boots the fire door down, an excitable smile on her face like a puppy as she carries her open laptop in her hands, Veronica in tow behind her.

“Ladies and gentlethem, a moment of your time please!” she announces with a grand gesture, making all heads snap her way. Having got everyone’s attention, Tia places the laptop on the dining table and claps her hands together with pride. “I’ve decided...I’m running for activities officer in the student elections!”

There’s a small cry of delight from the girls, but the moment is short-lived as Bimini snorts a laugh from the sofa. Horrified at this out-of-character unkind moment from her friend, A’whora whips her head around only to find Bimini’s head still in their phone. Suddenly realising eyes are on them, Bimini blushes red, flinching a little as they look up.

“Shit, sorry. Just Asttina...sent something funny. Anyway, sorry, activities? G’wan, girl, you’ll nail it!”

Veronica pipes up with pride beside her girlfriend. “Oh, she absolutely will with what we’ve just put together. Come see!”

Intrigued, A’whora shares an amused gaze with Tayce as they slide off the sofa, gathering round the laptop with the others and waiting with bated breath as Veronica hits play, Tia standing bashfully beside her.

What follows is what can only be described as a hallucinogenic trip. It’s Tia standing in the middle of the campus square as Tik Tok by Ke$ha plays in the background, and a second later she begins singing.

“ Wake up in the morning thinking we need more, we need more space, we need more storage, we need more sup-port…”

“STOP!” Lawrence yells with delight, reaching out and clutching Tia’s arm in excitement.

A’whora, for her part, genuinely can’t tell if it’s the most iconic thing she’s ever seen or a total disaster. The campaign video rolls on with Tia singing the parody of the song as a soundtrack to her popping up around campus; in the union, in lecture theatres, in the square outside the graduation hall. She can’t quite believe it when it reaches the chorus, though, and Tia, Veronica, and a couple more students start dancing in what appears to be the library foyer.

“ Vote Tia for Activities if you want bet-ter facilities, it’s al-right, I’mma fight for more events on inter-site…”

“Oh, Tia. What is this?” Tayce giggles beside A’whora. She doesn’t miss the glare Ellie shoots her way.

“Shut up, ya shady cow! I think it’s brilliant.”

“Did you just get random fuckers off the street to do that dance with you?” Bimini inquires patiently.

“They’re my flatmates. You’ve met them,” Veronica explains, not without an edge of irritation.

The video continues for the full duration of the song, and when it’s over A’whora has to fight every shady urge she possesses and clap for Tia, because she does look proud of what she and Veronica have made, even if it’s making A’whora cringe so much she feels her muscles constrict.

“Fuckin’ brilliant babes. You’ll walk it wi’ that,” Lawrence thumps Tia on the back encouragingly. Her face turns scheming as she opens her mouth again. “When you do become the activities officer, d’you think you could officiate some kind of anti-sickness pill for whenever Tayce and A’whora start cuddling on the sofa?”

A’whora can’t help the laugh she blurts out as she curls her fingers around Tayce’s. Tayce’s don’t wrap around hers in the same way. Instead she stiffens, smiles falsely at her flatmate.

“Yeah, Tia, do you think you could officiate some sort of anti-bullshit procedure for whenever Lawrence opens her bloody gob?”

“Aw, alright, alright. I’ve clearly touched a nerve,” Lawrence protests apologetically, but the twinkle in her eye suggests there’s more to come. “Although not as many as A’whora’s touched, clearly, aren’t there 8,000 of them in the clit?”

“Lawrence!” A’whora yells in outrage, but she’s laughing like the others are in spite of herself. Her heart drops though when Tayce tugs her hand away, crosses the room briskly to the hall door and wrenches it open, gone before she knows it.

All that’s left is a silence as awkward as it’s long.

Bimini bites their lip as they move first. “I’ll go talk to her.”

A’whora frowns. “Should I-”

“Best to leave it a bit, yeah?” Bimini advises apologetically, opening the door gentler than Tayce had before they disappear.

The silence only resumes for a second before it’s Ellie that breaks it.

“Lawrence!” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at her. Lawrence’s mouth drops open, shocked as she is offended.

“What the hell did I do?!”

Ellie gives a derisive laugh before A’whora can even say anything. “Are you joking?! You keep winding her up and it’s so obvious she doesn’t like it. You need to stop that shit.”

“Would you chill out? Tayce will be fine in about five minutes. The girl’s got a life threatening case of cannae-take-a-joke-itis and she fell and bruised her pride. I didn’t fucking...come in her mouth.”

Ellie gives a colossal roll of her eyes, folds her arms over her chest. “Cut the jokes out for a goddamn minute. You’ve hurt your friend’s feelings, are you not even going to go see what’s up with her?”

Lawrence gives a light shrug, unbothered. “Aw, listen to yourself! You’re being so overdramatic, Tayce is my friend, it’s just banter. She knows I don’t mean it. Anyway, it’s not like A’whora minds!”

“Well a relationship consists of two people, Lawrence. Not that you’d know,” Ellie snaps. Her bluntness shocks A’whora and she’s vaguely aware of Tia and Veronica making a slow, awkward exit from the room, but this doesn’t stop Lawrence from firing back.

“Aw, says little miss loved-up herself? Where’s your fuckin’ other half then, eh? Since you know so much about relationships, clearly?”

For a moment, Ellie’s face is slapped with a look of pure hurt. It’s clear she didn’t expect Lawrence to match her energy, hit her with words she doesn’t mean just like Ellie has done to her. But then her expression steels and her jaw sets tight before her mouth opens again. “I might not have a boyfriend or a fucking girlfriend but at least I have the common sense and emotional range not to rip the piss out of my flatmates’ fragile fucking friends with benefits setup!?”

Lawrence scowls back, shakes her head with derision. “You know what, maybe you would have somebody if you didn’t spend half your fucking life moping about your flatmate, who by the way, is in love with her girlfriend and has been for fucking months!”

“Well at least I have feelings! What the fuck are you, a joke book in a skin suit?” Ellie retorts quickly.

All of a sudden it looks like part of Lawrence crumbles. Shutters fly down behind her eyes and A’whora can see Ellie regrets her words. It’s too late, though, because they’re out, and before Ellie can say anything else Lawrence is turning to A’whora and laughing with a sneer.

“Jesus Christ, who left the gate to the cunt farm open?!”

“Fuck you, Lawrence,” Ellie spits, before storming towards the door just as Tayce had done minutes earlier.

All that’s left is A’whora, Lawrence, and a tense silence. A’whora bites her lip. She knows she should go after Ellie, and she will. But Lawrence is standing rooted to the spot, her eyes trained on the door Ellie’s just left through, and they’re drowning in a deep regret.

“Lawrence,” A’whora starts, making to comfort her even though her mind is still on Tayce and what the matter with her is too.

“A’whora, it’s fine. I’m not arsed,” Lawrence waves her away, crossing the room to the kitchen. “Well, the human fucking joke book is gonny go make her dinner, if you’re wanting a bowl? I’m just making bolognese-”

“Babe,” A’whora cuts in again, without really knowing what she can say. Just then the door opens again and her heart rises with the thought that Tayce might be on the other side of it, but it’s Tia and Veronica, concern on both their faces.

“Sorry. We thought it was best to give you both a minute,” Tia explains, hovering nervously with her girlfriend at the door. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Tia,” Lawrence sighs, her back turned and her shoulders heavy as she grips the side of the countertop. “I’ve just…”

There’s a pause that’s left lingering in the air like a heavy fog that not one of them can see clearly through.

“...fucked it with the girl I’ve liked for two years.”

A’whora watches Tia’s face contort in recognition. “...Ellie?”

As Lawrence sighs, her shoulders sag. “Yeah.”

Tia blinks, appeals to Veronica as if she would have any more of an idea. “Oh, Loz. I never knew.”

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty wrapped up in tiny blonde puppy love since the end of January,” A’whora says, unable to muster up the joy or good humour to make it into the joke it’s intended to be.

“Well if she was never going to see me as anything more than a friend before, she definitely isny going to now,” Lawrence says quietly, shuffling her feet as she moves to the fridge. “Especially since she’s got her heart set on someone else.”

“Who?” Veronica asks. A’whora holds her breath. Tia and Veronica clearly hadn’t heard what Lawrence and Ellie had said when they’d been arguing. If Lawrence is angry at Ellie for the things she’s said, now would be the perfect time to throw her under the bus, to make things awkward between her and Tia.

But Lawrence just shakes her head as she starts taking out her ingredients for dinner. “It’s not anyone you’d know. Someone we know from back home.”

A’whora takes the opportunity to distract the two girls, namely since her head is beginning to fill up with worst-case-scenarios involving Tayce. “Did you two hear Bim come out of Tayce’s room at all?”

Veronica shakes her head at the same time Tia speaks. “They’re still in there.”

A’whora nibbles on a little ragged nail on her right hand. Is Tayce annoyed at Lawrence or is she actually annoyed at her ? She doesn’t know what she’s meant to have done. Lawrence’s joke was lukewarm, fair enough, but she can’t help but think about Tayce’s reluctance to take her hand, the way she didn’t even crack a smile at the joke.

She shakes her head to clear her mind and moves to the kitchen door at the same time. If Tayce is busy with Bimini, she’s at least going to be there for her other close friend in the flat. “I’m going to go talk to Ellie.”

Before anyone (Lawrence) can protest, A’whora’s making her way down the hall and knocking on Ellie’s door. There’s a rapid snuffling before a thud of heavy, irked footsteps on the other side, and then the door is thrown open to reveal Ellie; mascara smudged, eyes red, and her mouth set in a line of irritation before her expression softens when she realises it’s A’whora.

“Can I come in?”

Ellie relents and opens the door, snuffling as she pads back to her bed and grabs the soft and well-worn Piglet plushie from on top of it, curls up into the foetal position, and thuds her head against the pillow.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” A’whora says softly, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of Ellie’s bed beside her. “Obviously, like...things were said.”

“Obviously,” Ellie snorts out snarkily. A’whora narrows her eyes at her before realising Ellie’s got tears in hers, and her voice is thick with upset as she speaks again. “Fuck...I’m just so hurt and angry but I feel so guilty at the same time? I know I was nasty to Lawrence, and I know we argue all the time but this was different. This was real, and I hurt her, and…”

Ellie sniffs and wipes her nose on the back of Piglet’s ear. A’whora fights with every embryo she possesses not to screw up her face at the action.

“But fuckin’ hell, Lawrence...she hurt me too, you know? I mean she knows how much I liked Tia, and it’s taking me a while to get over her, and fuck, I know that’s stupid because we didn’t even go out, but like...I fucking take things to heart, you know? I care, and it’s not my fault she’s never cared about anybody other than herself.”

“Lawrence cares about you,” A’whora says, and it’s out before she knows it. She bites her lip as if to prevent any more words from coming out, but if Ellie’s picked up on her transgression she doesn’t show it. Ellie’s scowling as she sits up in bed, fixes A’whora with a disbelieving glare.

“She’s got a funny fucking way of showing it, then, doesn’t she? Lawrence’s default is just joke, joke, joke, deflect, and then joke some more. She’s incapable of being serious.”

“Ellie…” A’whora tries to interrupt. She doesn’t know what she wants to say, and she doesn’t know how she can make Ellie understand without revealing Lawrence’s secret. All she knows is that her exasperation at Ellie’s blindness and Lawrence’s moping is reaching a boiling point, and she’s never been so dangerously close to letting things spill.

“I mean I know that joke book in a skin suit thing was harsh, but she said it first, not me! She said that ages ago on my birthday night out, when I’d been upset about Tia and she was trying to cheer me up. And she’d said she had a heart underneath it all but fuck that, she doesn’t know the first thing about feelings.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you know of all the years we’ve been friends, she’s never once told me about anyone she likes? I mean I’ve told her every single time I like someone new. But it’s like, if she can’t even open up to me, who’s like, her oldest friend, then really who the fuck will she open up to-”

“Ellie! For fuck’s sake, listen!” A’whora cuts in, exasperated and at her wit’s end and still all too aware of the fact Tayce ran from the kitchen and hasn’t returned or attempted to see her. Squeezing her eyes shut and apologising to Lawrence in her head in case this goes disastrously wrong, A’whora opens her mouth again. “Lawrence likes you. Properly.”

It’s only when it’s out that A’whora feels the drop in her stomach, not least because she’s questioning how loud she actually blurted the whole thing out. She wants to say it’s worth it from the way Ellie’s left silent, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but the possibility that she’s just completely wrecked a friendship only makes the guilt and dread sink in her stomach like a stone in a canal.

“I…” A’whora begins, unable to formulate her words properly for the upteenth time that day. She wishes she could be more like Bimini- think first, speak after- and, with a stab to her heart, she imagines what Tayce could be telling them in her room, how she could be opening up to Bimini in a way she couldn’t with her.

“Well,” Ellie finally formulates, her mouth still wide like a goldfish’s. “That’s, um. Unexpected information.”

There’s another silence where A’whora is just about to apologise, but then Ellie speaks again, wiping her eyes with her tears now completely gone. “Did she tell you this?”

A’whora scuffs her foot awkwardly, bites her lip before she lets her words out. “Lawrence told Tayce a while back. And Tayce told me. But nobody else knows, I don’t think.”

Ellie exhales heavily. “Okay. Good.”

There’s another pause where A’whora reaches out and takes Ellie’s hand. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin anything-”

“No, you’ve not. It’s just…” Ellie looks up to the ceiling, then squeezes her eyes shut. “...fuck, it’s complicated.”

A’whora’s stomach stops twisting with anxiety at Ellie’s words, and instead she finds her eyes widening a little as her curiosity is piqued. Ellie clearly notices her response and huffs a little sigh, tense and anxious and reluctant to reveal what it is that’s bothering her.

“Like...two years ago? Three years ago? A while back, anyway...I had feelings for Lawrence,” Ellie mutters into her plushie, and A’whora can’t stop the way she gasps Panto-style in shock. She would never have guessed that at all- in fact at times Ellie's friendship with Lawrence seemed one based on mutual exasperation- so to know that she had once felt the same about her friend is a revelation to say the least.

A’whora’s managed to elicit a smile from Ellie at her over-the-top reaction, and it seems to prompt her to keep going. “We were still in high school and we lived on opposite sides of the country...it would never have worked, and fifteen-year-old me knew that despite what I wrote in my diary and the initials I drew hearts round in my notebooks. So my feelings just ended up...dying off, I guess. We ended up being friends, and that’s been fine, you know? It’s not like I’ve been hiding a crush from her for years. But now...knowing she feels like that about me...it’s weird. It’s like all those feelings from when I was fifteen…”

“...have all come flooding back because you know Lawrence is a possibility for you now,” A’whora finishes for her, completely in sync with how Ellie’s rationalising things. Ellie rapidly points at her and nods emphatically.

“That’s exactly it! It’s strange. Like even though I know she’s my friend and nothing’s changed between us...I know I’m blushing, I can feel it, and my stomach’s got wee nervous butterflies. For fuck’s sake,” Ellie shakes her head in exasperation, covers her face with her hands. “It’s so embarrassing. And it’s awkward? What the hell am I meant to do, just go through there after a bust-up and be like ‘oh by the way, heard you fancy me’ ?”

A’whora hums in understanding. She thinks for a moment, both girls sharing a comfortable silence that’s cushioned by the secret that’s just been shared. And then she speaks. If only she’d had the wherewithal to do things in that order when she’d been with Tayce.

“You don’t need to do anything about it now. I’d say re-establish the friendship first. Sit on it for a bit,” she says. “See how you feel about her knowing what you know now as time goes by a bit.”

“Yeah,” Ellie nods slowly. She smiles gently, squeezes A’whora’s hand in gratitude. “Thanks, chick. I’m lucky to have made you as a friend.”

A’whora smiles back in affirmation, and she’s about to say the same when the door to Ellie’s room cracks open a little to reveal Bimini on the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt,” they say, apologetic and quiet. “I’m off round to Asttina’s. Just thought I should let you know so you could go talk to Tayce, A’whora.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Bim,” A’whora frowns minutely, a little thrown by their phrasing. She’s about to dig a little deeper when Ellie interrupts, a mischievous smile on her face as she addresses her other flatmate.

“Bimini, what’s actually going on between you and her? I know a lady never tells, but what about an enby?”

“Depends ‘ow much wine you put in ‘em. Laters,” Bimini winks, tuning on their heel and letting the door shut behind them. It leaves A’whora and Ellie alone to laugh, and then fall into a comfortable silence.

“I know you’ll want to talk to Tayce. I’ll maybe phone Anne. Talk this fucking...Eastenders episode of my life through with them,” Ellie laughs, shaking her head in disbelief and running her hands down her face. A’whora’s thankful for her permission, and she gives her hand a squeeze in return as she slips off the edge of the bed, pads softly to the door.

“Wish me luck. Got a feeling I’ll need it.”

Ellie bats her away flippantly. “‘Course you won’t. It’s Tayce. She’s so bloody gone for you it’s ridiculous.”

As A’whora smiles shyly and waves Ellie goodbye for now, she really hopes her friend is right.

The walk to Tayce’s room from Ellie’s is only a matter of metres, but with every step A’whora takes it only seems to drag longer, the mixture of apprehension and dread a deadly cocktail in her gut. She finds herself replaying Lawrence’s joke and her own reaction to it in her head, trying to figure out what she’s done wrong. She can’t come up with anything. So why does she feel responsible?

Finally reaching Tayce’s door she knocks gently and hesitantly, everything in her body tense as she waits to hear the yell of permission to enter. What comes instead is a come in that’s so muted A’whora’s left wondering if it’s even Tayce’s voice at all. She pushes the door anyway just in case, and as it slowly opens it reveals Tayce sitting on her bed with her knees up to her chest and her phone in her hand, her thumbs twisting furiously as she taps out a message on the screen.

Presumably a message to her friends back home about how much she now hates her. Good.

Tayce’s gaze flicks up from the screen when she enters, and unlike in Ellie’s room where she chose to sit on the end of the bed, A’whora remains at the door. “Hey. Am I alright to come in?”

Tayce gives a disinterested shrug. “Free country.”

A’whora feels her shoulders sag in response. Well, we’re off to a great start here.

Trying not to get too disheartened too quickly, A’whora moves to sit on the chair at Tayce’s desk. On top of it are scattered sketches, pieces of paper with little brush strokes of paint samples that resemble the colours cast against a wall when a diamond catches the light. In amongst the clutter of creativity, the scraps of insight into Tayce’s mind, A’whora’s eyes are caught by a sketch of a girl she thinks looks a lot like her.

“What’s up?” Tayce tugs her out of her observations, reminding A’whora why she’s here.

“Uh, just wondering what that was all about in the kitchen there,” A’whora checks her nails, picks at one of her cuticles nervously. “Just wanted to check you were alright.”

As A’whora looks up, she finds Tayce with her eyes still on her phone and her eyebrows raised. Her body language is tense as she nods slowly. “Mhm. I’m fine.”

A’whora can’t help the exasperated laugh she gives, finally prompting Tayce to look up from her phone with annoyance. “Tayce, come off it. You never hide how you feel. You practically held a UN summit that time Tia accidentally knocked your chicken shawarma on the kitchen floor. Look, don’t take anything Lawrence says too seriously, you know she just does it for a reaction.”

“I’m not annoyed at Lawrence,” Tayce says almost immediately, throwing her head back against her pillows and staring up at the ceiling before covering her face with her hands.

A’whora’s stomach feels tight. She’s never seen Tayce this in her own head. Normally she’s honest about her feelings, upfront and real. Throughout their whole situation together, Tayce has always been open about the fact that they’re only hooking up, that they’re just friends that happen to have good sex, to the extent where it sometimes hurts A’whora’s own feelings. It doesn’t make sense that she’s in such turmoil about a pathetic joke.

“So you’re…” A’whora puts the pieces together, frowns at her deeply. “...what, annoyed at me?”

Tayce doesn’t reply. Her hands are still over her face. A’whora’s gut ties itself in a knot.

“How come? What have I done?” she asks, instantly hating how pathetic her words sound as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

“I just feel humiliated, alright, A’whora?” Tayce sighs exasperatedly, hands suddenly launching themselves away from her face. She won’t look at her. “I’m sick of being embarrassed while you laugh along with the shitty jokes like an idiot. There. Happy?”

A’whora’s bottom lip sticks out in response to Tayce’s words, feeling like she’s been punched in the stomach. It’s the delivery that’s almost worse; Tayce isn’t a shouter, and her anger isn’t loud, instead quiet and muted and so out of character. Her annoyance clashes so violently with the way she expresses other emotions that it knocks A’whora for six. She’s confused and she’s hurt and that feeling of dread just won’t go away.

“Tayce, I can’t...I can’t apologise to you and make up if I don’t know what I’m apologising for. I’m really sorry I’ve made you feel like shit but...I don’t get how me laughing at Lawrence’s stupid jokes has affected you that badly?”

“Brilliant. Because famously any apology that’s followed by a “but” is always an award winner,” Tayce finally looks at her through narrowed eyes, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“You’re being unfair,” A’whora says, unable to help the way she glares back at Tayce. The upset and the guilt is slowly being mixed with frustration and irritation, the emotions seeping together like watercolour paints down a drain when Tayce washes her paintbrushes. “I want to give you a proper apology, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what I’ve done wrong. You’re this upset over me laughing at a couple of jokes? I don’t buy it. Tayce, what are you not telling me?”

Tayce gives a laugh of irritated disbelief, launches herself up to a sitting position. “Oh my God, do you hear yourself? You’re literally telling me I’m not allowed to be as annoyed as I am about the situation? ‘You can’t be this upset over a couple of jokes’, well what if I am?”

A’whora falls quiet, but she can feel the fury bubbling in her blood, simmering under her skin until there’s goosebumps forming on her arms and she has to fold them across her chest, hoping that the slight hug she’s giving herself is going to make her feel better. She bites her lip as she flounders in her thoughts, not quite drowning but not quite keeping her head above water either. She needs some coherency. Nothing seems to make sense.

“Tayce, please. What is going on? You’ve been off with me for a while,” A’whora sighs helplessly. A little puzzle piece slots itself together in her brain, a small speck of clarity in the chaos of her thoughts. “In fact things haven’t been the same since everyone found out about us.”

“Don’t just start making shit up,” Tayce shakes her head, but her voice is quieter and with less conviction than it held previously. It sounds as if even she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

It’s with this that A’whora seems to find another puzzle piece, and then another, and then another, until they all fall together as a clearer picture with only perhaps one or two bits still missing. The fact Tayce hates the jokes. The fact Tayce gets embarrassed when A’whora laughs at them. The fact Tayce only seems to be herself when they’re together just the two of them.

“Oh my God,” A’whora says quietly, realisation making her face drop. “You hate that people know.”

“You know what? Yeah. I kind of do,” Tayce’s voice is heavy with exasperation, and she huffs another sigh that seems to rip through her whole body. The irritation flares up at A’whora’s heart again like a pilot light, and she feels her hands fly out wildly and her voice raise as she speaks again.

“Christ, Tayce, well if the idea of the others knowing we’re shagging is such an embarrassing prospect to you then where the fuck do we go from here?!”

Tayce shakes her head, rubbing her forehead with a free hand. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. So what now, then? What, you just want us to stop?”

And then it’s only in the way Tayce avoids her gaze and the silence of the pause that follows that A’whora feels her worst fear launch itself into the forefront of her mind, so visceral and powerful that it seems to grab her throat in a chokehold, rendering her incapable of saying anything more.

Another puzzle piece falls into place. The fact that the reason A’whora secretly likes Lawrence’s jokes is the same reason why Tayce doesn’t; because they’re a reminder that, for all intents and purposes, that they’re together, that they’re seen as a unit.

Maybe Tayce doesn’t want that.

A’whora finally speaks again, her voice plaintive and small as it breaks the silence like a mirror. “Tayce?”

Just as Tayce exhales, runs a hand through her hair, and opens her mouth to speak, there’s a cataclysmic screech from down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen, followed by a litany of swearing in a voice that couldn’t be anyone but Lawrence’s. They both immediately look at each other in horror and, even though there’s still a sick feeling of dread in A’whora’s stomach, she shoots up from her seat and opens the door to Tayce’s room. As she runs down the corridor urgently, Tayce is following after her.

What they find in the kitchen is nothing short of chaos; Tia and Veronica are standing in the middle of the room helplessly while Ellie stands near Lawrence in the same way a lion tamer would approach a lion, as Lawrence hisses and growls and clutches her hand. It soon registers to A’whora what’s happened judging from the blood on the countertops, the blood on the kitchen knife, the blood on a half-chopped carrot, and the blood that’s currently flowing out of either Lawrence’s fingers or her hand (A’whora doesn’t want to look hard enough to check).

“What in the name of Christ has happened here?!” Tayce asks quickly, as Lawrence looks at her with exasperation.

“I don’t know, Tayce, I’m no Taggart, but it would appear I’ve sliced my fucking finger off!” she bites back sarcastically, tears of pain in the corners of her eyes as Ellie tries to hand her the kitchen tea towel. Lawrence looks at it as if Ellie may as well have handed her a toddler’s shit-filled nappy. “Not the tea towel, are you off your nut?! I cannae mind the last time we washed that. I’ve sliced through my fucking finger, I don’t want to add sepsis into the fuckin' mix!”

“I’m just trying to help!” Ellie fires back, equal parts hurt, worried and cross.

“I’ll get a clean towel,” Tia says quickly, running through to her room with urgency.

“Should we call an ambulance?” A’whora asks, biting her lip and unable to do anything except watch the events unfold. Veronica shakes her head.

“It’s not really life threatening, we shouldn’t phone 999.”

“Not life threatening?!” Lawrence cries in outrage, as Tia returns with a towel and hands it to her. “Have you seen the amount of blood I’m losing? I’ll be amazed if I’m still alive within the hour!”

“Don’t be dramatic. It looks worse than it is,” Ellie shakes her head, helping Lawrence wrap the towel around her hand and getting blood on the sleeve of her jumper in the process. The gesture renders Lawrence less hostile towards her than she seemed to have been before, and she grips Ellie’s hand with the one she hasn’t injured.

“I think it’s Accident and Emergency or Minor Injuries for something like this,” Veronica explains calmly, looking at her phone where she’s presumably just looked the information up.

A’whora turns to Tayce quickly. Even though they still haven’t resolved their argument, their friend is still in need of help and they have to work together. “Could you drive her?”

Tayce pulls an awkward face, looks at the blood splatters surrounding Lawrence. “Is there not a bus that goes out to the hospital? I’m just thinking about the stains in my car-”

“Aw aye, that’s right, yeah. I’ll hop on the number six out to A&E just so you don’t get blood stains in your ‘13 plate fuckin’ Corsa,” Lawrence snaps, Ellie looking at Tayce with a similar incredulity.

“No, no, you’re right, fuck, of course,” Tayce shakes her head, running her hands down her face. Even after everything they’ve said, A’whora feels her heart hurt for Tayce; she’s clearly distressed by the sight of the blood, and A’whora can see her growing more tense with each passing second.

“If you drive I can come with you and keep an eye on Lawrence while you concentrate on getting us there,” she suggests. Tayce nods with a grim acceptance.

“Okay. I’ll need someone to direct me anyway, I’ve got no idea where the fuck I’m going.”

“I can come and sit with Lawrence in the back and A’whora can do the directions?” Ellie immediately suggests. It seems as if her argument with Lawrence has been forgotten, and the two of them are still holding hands.

“Okay, great. I’ll get my keys,” Tayce shrugs, dashing out of the room.

Tia turns to the rest of the girls. “While you guys are gone, me and Ronnie can clean up? I don’t know if we’ll get our deposit back at the end of the year if there’s blood stains on shit.”

“Tia, babes, there’s a human element to all of this, fuck the deposit!” Lawrence hisses, her eyes squeezing shut in agony. Ellie’s face is distressed, and her eyes dart to the kitchen cupboards.

“Do you want ibuprofen? Might help with the pain?” she suggests. If the situation wasn’t so dire, A’whora would laugh.

“Are you joking?” Lawrence asks incredulously, then upon seeing Ellie’s face realises she isn’t. A’whora watches as Lawrence pulls a face and a tight, uncomfortable smile takes hold on her face. “No. I don’t think ibuprofen is going to do much good somehow. But thank you for offering.”

Tayce returns with her car keys and rallies the four of them out the door, getting some odd stares from the other students in the courtyard as they run past frantically, Lawrence’s entire hand still wrapped in a too-big towel. They have to jog for a considerable length of time to get to Tayce’s car, the busy nature of the winding city streets rendering parking anywhere near their flat nigh on impossible. Usually A’whora wouldn’t mind the distance. Usually she’s happy to stroll easily, one hand in Tayce’s and the other relaxed by her side, butterflies in her stomach and a tug in her chest as they talk about their plans for wherever they’re headed.

This time, though, with an argument still hanging over their heads like a thundercloud which isn’t yet resolved and a friend with half a finger hanging off, the journey to the car is more than a little unwelcome.

Soon enough though they’re all scrambling to get inside, Ellie helping Lawrence with her seatbelt in the back seat and A’whora scrolling her phone ferociously to bring up Google Maps for the directions to the hospital. Tayce drives irresponsibly with scant regard for road safety regulations. In any other situation, A’whora would find it insanely attractive that Tayce is driving like she’s in a game of Gran Turismo just to get Lawrence to A&E quicker. Fuck, she does still find it attractive. But her stomach is still in a huge tangled-up knot over the note their conversation got left on.

“What actually happened, Lawrence?” Tayce asks, A’whora having to hold in her gasp of a reaction as Tayce narrowly avoids getting rear-ended while pulling out into the overtaking lane of the dual carriageway.

Lawrence gives another hiss of pain before she answers. If A’whora didn’t blink she could’ve sworn she saw Ellie squeeze her hand in the rear-view mirror. “Was talking to Veronica and Tia while I was cutting up the carrots. They said something and I turned around to respond and I didn’t look as I chopped. Stupid fuckin’ cow.”

“You’re not stupid. It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve nicked myself so many times when I’ve been cooking!” Ellie placates her. Lawrence gives a laboured chuckle in response as A’whora checks the map and tells Tayce to take a left at the next roundabout.

“Aye, fuck’s sake. The most un-co-ordinated, clumsy bitch is sat beside me with all ten fingers in tact after nearly a year of having to fend for herself meanwhile I’m sat fighting for my life. Honestly, if you fell in the Clyde you’d come out wi a salmon in your mouth.”

A’whora sneaks a look in the mirror to see both girls giggling softly and quietly, their gazes either in their lap or out the window. They’re still holding hands. A’whora thinks it’s ridiculous to be jealous of two girls who haven’t even so much as kissed, but their soft friendship and what could eventually become a mutual crush makes her nostalgic for what she and Tayce used to have.

They eventually arrive at the hospital, and once they’ve all collectively recovered from the prospect of having to pay £5 for parking they run into A&E and up to the little desk, where it takes an infuriatingly long length of time to check Lawrence in. They then are required to wait amongst the other invalids of the city on four hard blue plastic chairs, which are uncomfortable after five minutes, never mind how long Lawrence will inevitably have to wait to be seen.

The little whiteboard on the wall says that the wait time is eighteen minutes.

The conversation between the four girls is stilted; it’s not the free and easy style A’whora has come to expect between any of her flatmates. But there’s still two sets of arguments without a resolution that’re preventing them from interacting like they usually would, and a hospital waiting room that’s already covered in a blanket of tense, awkward silence shared between strangers is not the place to reconcile either of them.

Eventually, and long after the promised eighteen minutes, Lawrence’s name is called. She half-walks half-jogs up to the nurse at the little door through to the hospital, then hesitates as she reaches her.

“Can I have one of my friends in with me?” A’whora hears her ask, her voice still strained and the pain she's feeling evidently still very much present.

The nurse nods kindly, and as Lawrence turns around there’s a sudden hesitation to her usually confident body language.

“Ellie?” she calls over, gesturing with her free hand for the other girl to come with her. Ellie barely even looks back at A’whora and Tayce as she gets up from her seat quickly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she follows Lawrence into the hospital.

There’s a moment’s silence where A’whora looks at the squeaky green linoleum floor, and then Tayce speaks.

“Aw. You’re welcome, love,” she says, soft and sarcastic and already putting a little smile on A’whora’s lips. “All I did was drive you out to the arse-end of the suburbs to get your finger sewn back together. But go on. Pick Ellie. Heard getting stitches is a great time to shoot your shot.”

A’whora laughs softly. Maybe this whole situation has been forgotten about. Maybe their entire argument was just a dream (a nightmare) and she’s just happened to have woken up in a hospital waiting room.

And then Tayce gives a heavy sigh, her body tense beside her own. No such luck.

A’whora thinks it’s apt that they're stuck in the waiting room. She feels like she’s waiting herself. For what, she doesn’t know. Waiting for an end to her and Tayce’s conversation from earlier, waiting for closure. Waiting for Tayce to reassure her that things are okay between the pair of them, or at least for her to explain what she’s meant to have done wrong. With every passing minute her stomach grows tighter, to the extent where it’s almost painful. She feels like following Lawrence and Ellie through those doors to get it checked out. Her heart rate alone would probably break the machine.

Sitting in the heavy emptiness of the lack of conversation, A’whora attempts to muster up the courage to breach the topic they both had to drop so frantically earlier that day. The thing is, she doesn’t want to. The fear of not knowing Tayce’s response to her question- the fear of the worst-case-scenario answer- is enough to lock A’whora’s jaw shut. If she doesn’t speak, they’ve still got what they’ve got. If she doesn’t speak, their relationship hasn’t changed.

She’s not even fooling herself.

Sure enough, Tayce eventually gives another huge huff. A’whora can see her turning to look at her but she doesn’t tear her eyes off the floor. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the conversation that’s about to take place.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me earlier.”

A’whora stays still and quiet, like a child hiding under her duvet. Tayce’s tone doesn’t hold a lot of promise. It’s flat and quiet and sincere and so lacking in life that maybe A’whora can try and pretend it’s not her that’s speaking at all.

“And I think, yeah. I think we should stop.”

A’whora is glad she’s looking at the floor. It’s suddenly an anchor that she never knew she needed. The walls of the hospital seem to crumble, the people around her seem to disappear. Her gaze is concentrated on the shiny green, that horrible shade of shiny green, and she holds onto it because if she lets go she’s going to have to look at Tayce and she can’t look at her right now. Not if the way her eyes are stinging painfully and her heart has dropped into her stomach and her throat has gone all tight and constricted as if she’s being choked is anything to go by.

“I think things have changed between us and I don’t want to lose the friendship we’ve got. And to be honest, the others knowing is weird. And we said it’s only awkward if we make it awkward, and I think at this point things are awkward. So...yeah. We should go back to just being friends,” Tayce continues quietly.

A’whora barely even registers her words, just their pitch and tone that burrs like an organ at a funeral. There’s a horrible, sickening sense of finality that grips her body, so much so that she feels as if she can’t move. If she moves she’s acknowledging that life goes on, that Tayce’s decision is final. The small background noises that were once so present in the room seem to cease to be, and instead a ringing, buzzing silence fills her ears. She blinks and she’s relieved when tears don’t appear. She takes one slow, deep breath and takes her time before she trusts herself to speak.

“Okay.”

What else can she say? She’s not going to sit and plead and ask Tayce why, even though she doesn’t really understand her reasoning. Tayce doesn’t owe her an explanation; they weren't girlfriends, she reminds herself cruelly, and it’s not as if they’re breaking up. They’re just...stopping. Going back to being friends, just like that. As if nothing had ever happened. It’s something that’s clearly going to be easy for Tayce to manage.

A’whora feels like an absolute idiot. For being in too deep, for doing exactly what Ellie had said would happen way back in December when she first got with Tayce. She feels like she’s sunk with her heart to the bottom of the ocean and has to swim to the surface and her lungs are so tight as she tries to keep her breathing steady that she feels like she might as well be drowning.

She’s being dramatic. Maybe she isn’t. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what this is all meant to feel like.

Tayce doesn’t say any more, so neither does she. She keeps her blinking methodical and her breathing deep, having to concentrate on doing both. When she’s sure she’s mastered them, she brings her hand up to the pocket of her hoodie and takes her phone out.

How can it feel weird to move?

Her fingers are slow and deliberate as she hits each letter on the keypad. Ellie’s Whatsapp picture stares back at her, her happy smile clashing so violently with the situation at hand. Maybe it’s a strange first reaction, but A’whora is just going through the motions like a robot. Anything beyond not crying in front of Tayce is a bonus right now.

A: me and Tayce not together anymore please tell the others x

She stares at the screen after it’s sent, reads it over and over again torturing herself. She hopes Ellie will read it before she and Lawrence come back. Having to act as if everything is normal is so far beyond her at the moment.

It takes what must be her twentieth time reading her own message to realise what she’s sent, and in spite of everything she feels like laughing at her mistake.

Because she and Tayce were never together.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #ortega #me and you together #taywhora #lesbian au #college au #university au #freshers au #british au #roommate au #angst #tayce #a'whora #friends with benefits to lovers #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #tia kofi

[hootenanie]

Tagged by @longwander

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you want to know better.

1. Name/Nicknames: jackaro, but folks also call me Jack or Jackalope

2. Gender: I don't find the idea of innate gender useful but I present as more or less a (fruity) guy

3. Star Sign: sagittarius! Not what I was assigned at birth but it's the one that fits me

4. Height: I'm like 5'9.5? Around that

5. Time: it's 3:42

6. Birthday: November 20th, 1998

7. Favorite band: that's really hard! I've been listening to Giles, Giles & Fripp a lot lately so let's say them

8. Favorite solo artist: who do you think 😔. my wife david bowie

9. Song stuck in my head: I'm listening to Long Haired Lady rn and that's all I've got in my head

10. Last movie: I honestly don't remember, I don't really watch movies anymone

11. Last show: Seinfeld! I got into it because I co-wrote a ttrpg based on it

12. When I created this blog: late last year, but I've been on tumblr since 2012

13. What I post: music, comics, and jokes :-) I like to goof around on here

14. Last thing I googled: "Dando Shaft", that band julian recommend me

15. Other blogs: none at the moment

16. Do you get asks: infrequently, unless I ask for them. I like getting them tho

17. Why I chose my url: I used to be very into american folk music and it's a kind of folk jam session

18. Following: 166

19. Followers: 282

20. Average hours of sleep: most nights I get about 7, but I often wake up in the night and I don't know how long it takes me to fall back asleep

21. Lucky number: 666 (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

22. Introments: I have a vintage harmonina somewhere that I was going to teach myself how to play before I lost interest (I don't actually like harmonica music that much and it's rusty)

23. What am I wearing: Cotten scarf with a colorful pattern (butterflies) and jacket over a vest over a long sleeve shirt over a tshirt, with blue jeans and missmatched socks. Basically the jackaro uniform lol

24. Dream job: I have no idea what I'd like to do, recently I was daydreaming about being an olympic level figure skater (not something I actually want but I picked up rollerblading again recently so it's fun to think about)

25. Dream trip: peyote seems fun!

26. favorite food: idk, milkshakes?

27. Nationality: american and I hate it here

28. Favorite song: I've been listening to Kiev by Renaissance a bunch lately, it's fantastic. Definitely the band's best song, at least that I've heard recently

29. Last book I read: I've still got frankenstein around here somewhere...

30. Top three fictional universes I'd like to live in: hm well I'm gonna say the metal gear universe for a start, not because it's utopian (it's pretty dogshit, geopolitically) but because I think I could integrate well. Then I'll go with DC's Earth-Twelve, the alternative universe DC put their goofiest stuff in. Lastly I'm going with the fantasy world portrayed in prog rock album covers, partially Yes albums.

Tagging @psygull @steampunkforever @nikcage @glam-master-glammer @boffin-in-training @birdlizard @shiny-good-rock @lrvu @sybilius @girlfriendsofthegalaxy ok I'm not gonna think of 20 people who I haven't already seen tagged I'm sorry. Do this if you'd like to

[peachymess]

Any advice on how to deal with bad news or an undesirable outcome? Or just anticipating the worst? I've always sucked at handling that and I'm not dealing with the last chapter of SNK well. Any general tips for the future? 😔

Hi, anon. I’ll do my very best to give some advice, although it is not lost on me that it’s a bit of an ironic act, as I can be very slow to let go myself. But then again quick, it just depends.

And what it depends on, is emotion dependency.

If I have used something as a comping mechanism, connected something directly to my happiness or health, or otherwise feel like I need something in order to be ok, then... it’s hard to accept losing it. For instance, I can not stand change in my childhood home or mom and dad’s mountain cabin - and least of all grandma and grandpa’s country side cabin. Why? Because due to my depression, I feel like happy moments is hard to obtain. I know I’ve had many good moments in these places, and so I’m terrified of them altering so that they will no longer be able to produce the same happiness-inducing environment as in the past. (But guess what, there will always be happy moments; I am not dependent on having any given building/place accessible to me in order to obtain it).

What I’m trying to say is, the most important advice is this: don’t trick yourself into thinking your life or happiness makes or breaks depending on this or that thing. Bar the things you actually need, like meds and doctors and all that (I trust you to tell essential and non essential dependencies apart). I’ve made this very mistake. I put an ‘=‘ between “my ability to be happy/live” and “Armin surviving the story”. And at one point: “snk in general”. Try not to to give into that urge. This is a coping mechanism. When you need a solid thing to turn to, because happiness feels otherwise too elusive. In the future, try not to take the easy way out and bind yourself to something so concrete. Because when you do - when happiness begins to actually depend on something concrete never changing - you will at some point lose. Because everything solid eventually changes. Ends. Sours.

So begin to build trust in yourself. The goal is to know that even if everything around you crumbles, you will be ok in yourself. I’ve come to learn that this also applies to people. All friendships change over time. Some last a lifetime, others drift apart. Others might hurt you. And it’s natural to hurt from drifting or betrayal... But so long as you don’t lean your full weight on someone else, you will maintain your balance once a pillar crumbles. Just like older family will one day leave you and you’ll need to be secure enough in yourself to stand not having parents to run to forever.

... ok, that got bleak, I’ll shift gears. Anon, for the future, my advice would be to approach situations with the knowledge that very few things will actually break you. And even more: that no situation has a fixed way of being read. Take arriving too late at the bus stop, for instance. The bus is pulling back into traffic and you barrel after if, but it’s too late. In the dust, you stand there panting and cursing. It’s easy to get mad, say “day ruined” or worse “damn it, this is the third time I’ll be late for work, I’m getting fired”. But... the bus is lost, man. It’s done. It is something you can’t change now. So you have two options: either spend your good time pulling yourself down into the negative by cursing how much you hate what is. OR, you can acknowledge that this turn of events leaves you off somewhere, and utilize it the best you can. It’s the “when life gives you lemons” - only with dogshit. Yeah, it smells bad and I guess you could like... make it into compost or something. Or, anon, you can just walk away from it. Who said you had to take the shit?

Now that you have to wait for the bus anyways, might as well take the time waiting to listen to some more of a podcast you like, or reply to the emails you didn’t get to answer before running out the door. And what about the job? Well, firstly, it’s not a given yet that you lost it. But if you did - listen. This is where the “many ways to read a situation” comes in. Who decided this job was your only possible path? You. And falsely. “No, it’s the only job I could get, I can’t just sell the house and live in an RV for a year selling my art on Etsy”. Why not? That’s you deciding certain options to be a non-option. But the option is there. Do things come with work and sacrifice? Yes. Just like the job you had meant you had to live within physical reach of it. Every path takes you shaping to their requirements. And some things might seem daunting because it asks you to bend into a new shape than you’re used to. But look at all the different kinds of people and paths taken by people. Losing that bus today, was not a make or break of you having any path at all. It didn’t end your path. If it did anything at all (because who knows, maybe work didn’t even notice you came late or turns out there was a flood so they were closed anyways), and at most it just altered the path.

This is my stilted way of saying: when you realize just how non-essential most things are to your life - how you’ll always be ok as long as you keep going and looking for solutions - you’ll stop feeling doomed every time seemingly bad stuff happens.

“So you want me to be apathetic and care about nothing?” No. Not at all. I want you to love and enjoy the life around you. But I want you to be ok with it not lasting forever. Because when something ends, you don’t end. For you, their end, only alters your surrounding.

I don’t know if I’m making sense. And if I am, I’m still aware that “that’s just the way it is” is a hard pull to swallow. I know some situations are much, much harder to be ok with... and to that I say: yeah. I’m sorry about that. Some paths are harder than others. And some paths are only available to some and not all. But mindset is - simply is - your most important tool. You have the power to make any situation awful to you, or even good.

When bad shit happens to me, I have that essential steam blow of going through all the negatives, then I breath and look around for where to head next. I move on, because I realize no amount of moping will undo or alter the situation. It’s up to me to make something of the lemons/dogshit - or leavening it to find something else. Otherwise, I’m just standing still on the trail, crying next to a foul smelling shit for eternity. No thanks.

Another good trick I’ve found for when unlucky things alter the path, is this: I ask myself “what lesson can I take from this?” I even go as far as think “I guess this was meant to be a lesson for me”. I try to always find a way to grow from a situation, good or bad.

I don’t know... it’s taken a long while for me to live by this as well, anon, but I think the most important thing is just attitude. If you tell yourself: “I am able to grow from bad experiences and move on”, you will be more prone to do so, than if you say “this has ruined my life”. The event was the same, but the mindset shaped it.

So I ask you... even though it’s bitter, will you be able to heal from snk with time? Will you be able to move on and grow?

#I believe in you anon #anon #snk 139 #Also lifehack: listen to music with banjo in it #I’ve found that you can’t be mad or mopey when you listen to banjo #oh my god I love banjos

[pettyprocrastination]

Hell is a Nine to Five Max Philips x Reader

Summary: Max Philips is your new boss at your hellscape of a job. He can’t help but be drawn to you and when he learns your lineage and last name (Harker) he fears this may put a dwindle on his plans. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask you out though,,,right?

Chapter summary: Max doesn’t show up until next chapter this one is just set up about your place in the office environment. And for those who don’t know her last name is Harker as in Jonathan Harker from dracula. Don’t worry future chapters will be full of that sweet sweet tension and yearning. 

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ this legend has fucking iconic writing and got me to watch bloodsucking bastards and HERE I AM. Please check out their stuff yall holy shit. 

“Yo Harker!”

Your eyes flicked away from your computer screen just in time to see your grinning blonde coworker push himself over to you in his cubicle chair with a flourish. “Mike is kicking my ass this round and I know somewhere under all that nerd there is a girl who loves video games, tap in?” He pointed to his own cubicle, his computer screen flashing with some video game that he and 90% other men on the floor were constantly playing. You knew this because no matter how loud your sales call was, you can always hear him scream profanities in agony when he inevitably gets killed by some other dumbass who should also be doing his job instead of playing video games like a fifteen year old with a rattail.

You feigned interest for a moment, before your focus went back to your screen, fingers tapping away on the too-damn-old-and-fucking-sticky-to-properly-work keyboard so you can finish this report that Mike was suppose to have done...Yesterday. 

“Hard pass.”

“Oh come on!” Tim pushed his chair closer to you so he could slump his head on your shoulder, but you remained focused on the task at hand. The task being doing your goddamn job which nobody on that floor seemed to do. “I've got to piss like a racehorse but if I drop this round I owe him fifty bucks!”

Okay. That got your attention. 

“Where the hell did you get fifty bucks?” You pushed yourself away from your tiny desk for a moment, wheely chair spinning to face him. “I know for a fact that not even ten fucking minutes ago you asked Evan if he could spot you a twenty so you could pay Dave for the NBA pool that you always lose.”

Tim opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a huff. “You fucking suck, you know that Harker?”

“Love you too Tim.”

That’s how your work days went. 

Spend hours on end stuck in a windowless room, hunched over a computer from the fucking 90’s, doing not only your work, but the work of 70% of your coworkers who are too busy playing video games, gossiping, or watching porn to even pretend like they're doing their job. Occasionally Tim would try to pull you away to tag in for him on his video games, rate the new interns, or make fun of Evan during your lunch break.

Speaking of which. 

The fluorescent lighting wasn’t any less nauseating in the breakroom, but it offered you a slightly lower volume of the endless ringing of phones, piss poor marketing tactics used by your coworkers to convince people to buy whatever dogshit product you had to push for the week, and the oh-so-obnoxious shouts of Mike, who’s main purpose in life was to bully nine-year-olds who he played video games with. 

“That’s right you fucking pussy! I’m the king!”

Keyword: slightly lower volume. 

“All I’m saying is that you're one of the smartest people here.” Tim plunked himself down in the plastic chair to your right, while Andrew sat on your left. “You’re always doing work-”

“Because I’m at work.”

“-you can type without looking at your hands-”

“Really not that complicated of a skill but okay.”

“-And you're not easily distracted!”

“Because nothing in this hellhole is worth my attention.” You mumbled into your sandwich, which was then flung out of your grasp and onto the floor as Tim slapped you on the back with what you assumed was supposed to be gusto.

Five second rule maybe?

“Which is exactly why you-oh my bad sorry- but that is why you should team up with me and Andrew to kick Mike’s pimply ass!”

Andrew’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Dude. I agree with you but I could do without the description.”

You stood up to retrieve your fallen turkey on rye. Looks like you're going without lunch today “Yeah, I second that notion.”

“Listen I just think-”

Evan, your lanky acting sales manager walked into the breakroom with purpose, and coincidentally, right onto your lunch.

Yup. Definitely no saving that. 

“Hey Tim, have you started on the Phallicite presentation yet?”

Tim froze, stroking his chin in fake thought before letting out a sharp laugh “Yeah no.” Evan threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry buddy.”

“Come on man! Could you please, just this once-”

“I already did it.” You cut in, Evan turning to you, bagged eyes wide. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked twice, then again before his mouth hung open.“Like..like the WHOLE presentation? All on your own?” 

You shrugged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him as you waited for him to take his foot off your fucking sandwich. “Yeah. stayed overnight yesterday because I knew damn well Tim wasn’t gonna do it-”

“Rude but fair deduction Hark.”

“-so I pieced something together. I emailed it to you ten minutes ago. Now all you have to do is nail the actual presenting part.”

Relief washed over your not-acting-sales-manager-but-still-kind-of-sales-manager’s face. “Oh thank you so much Harker, really. That means a lot. If we land this then-”

Enough was enough.

“You're standing on my sandwich.”

“What?” Evan looked down at his feet and winced at the site of your squashed lunch under his shoe. “Shit. Sorry Harker.”

You gave your food one last wistful glance before shrugging. “It’s fine. My break is almost over anyway.”

“Harker.” Mike snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only goddamn person who adheres to a timed lunch schedule. Just stay over! Who the fuck cares?”

You stuffed your water bottle back into the fridge before standing up straight. “This job may suck ass, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t feel like losing it. So I do what I can to keep it.”

You turned on your heel, their voices dying as you walked back to your desk. As you sat down, the hairs on your neck seemed to stand and a prickle went down your spine, you turned around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. 

Coworkers not doing their job? Check. 

Interns being taken advantage of? Check. 

Broken clocks still broken because it keeps employees from constantly seeing if it’s time to leave? Double check. 

You pushed your paranoia away and answered a sales call, though the feeling never truly left you until the work day was over and you were driving out of the parking lot. 

Notes: Anywhomst chapter one is just set up of your place in the work place, as well as relationship to the other characters. In future chapters their will be plenty of interaction between you and max, as well as a deeper look into your family line! Please don’t hesitate to send me reuquests and headcanons i need some fuckin interaction lmao

#max philips #max phillips x reader #pedro pascal #x reader #bloodsucking bastards #imagine

[altcvnningham]

1, 3, 5, 15, 18 and 20 😳😳😳😳

thank you for the ask!!! (also superior url omg 👁👄👁🤲🏻)

also my answers here are suuuuper long, because i’m a rambling idiot who’s way too involved in my OC’s. so uhhhh sorry in advance,,,,,

1. what radio station(s) do you listen to?

Vana’s a Samurai stan. She wishes she wasn’t. But, y’know, Morro Rock it is. Once upon a time when she was an even angrier teen, though, she’d listen to shit just like Ritual FM.

(My music taste is all over the place, and though blues is technically my fav bc i love old music, i never listen to it in 2077. So I switch between Body Heat, the Dirge, Vexelstrom for like 2 songs, and ofc, Morro Rock. But of all stations, there’s at least one song that i HATE so I can never stick to one for a whole ride sknsksjsjs)

i think i got the names right?? Idk yall i dont have it in front of me ndndndndhjs

3. how did you feel about Johnny that first night in the apartment, and how does it differ from what you feel now after everything?

so i’m gonna cut a read-more here because i decided to just lore dump Vana x Johnny here so uhhhhhh rip also //SPOILERS//

Vana is an extremely, seriously private, guarded person. Before Johnny, Panam, Kerry- Jackie was the only person she’d ever truly let near her, to get to know her. So obviously waking up to someone else living inside her fucking head was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to her. Her past is also something she’s not particularly proud of, so Johnny getting to witness all that is traumatising. Getting Johnny out of her head was priority number one, even if digging the chip out would kill her.

But after getting fucked over by the VBs, and both of them thinking she was gonna die, Johnny takes her to that abandoned hotel in Pacifica- it’s the first time he’s given her even a sliver of kindness, and the first time she’s ever openly expressed her fears to him, even if he could already sense them before. Oaths and promises are something she holds to incredibly high importance, so obviously when Johnny gives her his dog-tags, ‘proof of my promise’, she never, ever lets them go, never takes them off. (she still doesn’t. they keep her grounded. holding them to calm herself has become a reflex, for whatever reason.)

Everything just seemed to slowly change after that. For two people who hate vulnerability, it’s the only thing that helped them actually see each other. As the Relic continues to take over, they both understand each other more, feel each other more- and eventually it becomes hard to discern where Vana ends and Johnny begins. In cliché Johnny x V fashion like yeah duh it goes further,,,, cockwhore!Vana,,,,,, but with that they also start to become extremely possessive and jealous over one another- Johnny immediately on the defensive about whoever comes close to her, Vana selfishly hiding and keeping Johnny’s existence to herself, even if it slows the hunt for a remedy to the chip- to the point of seriously toxic co-dependency. It’s full of volatile ups-and-downs, fights and make-ups, and Vana almost comes to like the fact that she never has to explain nor hide what thoughts and feelings pass through her mind, no matter how dark or vulnerable. She prefers most things to remain unsaid, but values the fact that they both have a clear, transparent understanding of each other regardless.

But there's also... softer moments. When Johnny puts aside his ego for once, he learns to like the quiet that Vana does, brief as it can be sometimes. He'll sort of just... stay around the room, even if just to procrastinate retreating back into her head, because they realise they like each other's silent, wordless company. He'll wake her up from nightmares, hold her neck and kiss her back to sleep, or until the sun comes up, if she can't. It's all tender things they often pretend doesn't even happen, out of pride, I think, but they both know deep down that those are really the best parts.

Comes to a place where she suddenly hits a wall, and realises, I don’t want him to leave.

She’s never the same again after Mikoshi.

(But uhh anyway fuck V I’m horny on main for Keanu so i was here for the whole riiiiiide yeeeeeee)

5. how do your loved ones (LI, found family, etc) feel about you being a merc? or if you’ve given up the life now that everything’s finished, what was their reaction?

Vana grew up in a rich corp family, and after all the shit she’s endured just to appease her father, don’t think anyone could hate corps more than she does (some details of her past here!!) So when Arasaka kicks her out and Jackie finally convinces her to start merc work, it’s amazing how quickly she slips into the role, almost like she was made for it- an anonymous face within the city, free to roam and drift as she wants, relying on herself and herself only.

Vana works quickly and quietly enough (though not at all with clean hands), relying on stealth and netrunning, so she doesn’t cause too much of a noise that’d have her loved ones (rare as they are) all too concerned. Judy isn’t scared Vana’d be caught in gunfire, because when Vana works, her targets rarely know she’s even there. She’s smart, cunning. Panam appreciates that these skills have helped her out, so she can’t complain. River- who is unfortunately more fond of Vana than she is of him, given that she’s not too comfortable at accepting affection- isn’t too happy about the life she leads, but hey, it’s her skills as a merc and as one of NC’s most adept netrunners that he even stood a chance of finding Randy as quick as he did, so he feels indebted to her for that. Kerry thinks it’s fuckin awesome that she gets to do as she wants and provides for herself, bestieeees

Given she isn’t all that close with many people- keeping her distance and all- the only people who seriously worry about her are folks like Vik, Misty, and Mama Welles, especially the latter two, who knew how much Jackie meant to her, and how easily she cracks under the weight of grief. The only thing, really, that concerns everybody around her, is how insatiable her bloodlust becomes, and how much she'd throw away just to try and quell it.

Johnny’s just in it for the ride. Rather she work for herself than a filthy corp, anyway.

After Mikoshi, losing Johnny, making it to the major leagues, she fuckin... just doesn't care anymore. She hates the big glass house that was practically forced onto her (reminds her too much of her stifling corp childhood), she hates that she has 20 cars that clog up her garage and not just her trusty red Yaiba Kusanagi, hates that folks keep giving her all this shiny golden shit that she doesn't want, like any of it's worth a damn. Since then she's hardly in one place- never at home if she can help it, and either wanders aimlessly around the streets and crashes over at Kerry's to sleep through grief. It isn't the merc life she wants to leave, but major leagues turned out to be a glittering pile of dogshit she wants no part in. She only really stays there because Jackie would've wanted it.

(i’m a lazy bitch like i don’t wanna be a merc. i wanna be one of those cute npc’s with the glowy earrings and bunny backpacks and skimpy plastic skirts, who picks up noodles on the way home to go watch watson whore. in my ideal life i am NOT the main character snnsmsnsks)

15. which NPC is your bff?

Kerry. Kerry is Vana’s ride or die. No fucking questions asked. Kerry’s the only person (besides Johnny, i guess) as close to her as Jackie was. He’s really the only person that ever gets her to smile, like really, stupidly, goofily smile, and despite being almost complete opposites, they just understand each other so well. Whenever they need something, they're the first person they'll call. Happens so often that just as Vana sifts through her contacts to find his, Kerry's already calling for her first. They're practically joint at the hip.

They both live loud, fast lives, but also know how to make time for silence and introspection, something they both need to stay grounded. Vana doesn't buy into his zen-wellness-yoga crap, but sure, she tries copying a couple moves while he's doing it on a lazy afternoon, before scoffing how this is fuckin' dumb and retreats back to the couch. Also, as much as she hates being reminded of the wealth that came with her corpo upbringing, she loves using up all his expensive products, and tends to klep a bottle of his shampoo when she runs out. Cute how she thinks he doesn't notice.

After what happened in Mikoshi, she practically lives at Kerry's place, just dozing away miserably as he lounges by the pool, or curl up on the couch to mindlessly watch his old Samurai tapes (he doesn't like it much, but if it helps her through whatever shit she's going through, he's not gonna take that away from her). On better days, when she actually pulls herself out of bed, he teaches her to play guitar, slipping in a couple tricks Johnny taught him. Funnily enough, the whole thing helps him find some closure too.

( me,, I need a girl like Panam in my life to endorse all of my stupid ideas )

18. what’s your dream cyberware (either something that was shown in lore that wasn’t available in game or mental creation of your own)?

I don’t have access to the tabletop lore stuff rn so i’m gonna pull this out my ass jsjsns

Anything that helps Vana become more deadly at stealth and netrunning. The most eddies she’s ever blown are on increasingly powerful cyberdecks, cooling systems, netrunning gear she can comfortably slip on under a jacket and boots- she likes convenience and functionality, but she needs it to be comfortable, too. She’d fucking kill for anything that lets her scale silently up walls and across ceilings, though- like a spider- and anything that lets her get her hands reeeeal bloody, but quietly. Guess that’s just called a knife, though.

(Me?? Fuck uhhh man i just want synth-skin that looks normal but also shimmers all pink n cute. Literally wanna be an edward cullen sparkly lookin mf. Also, i’m sorry but scanning shit w Kiroshi’s are so dope that’s literally all i want?? Idk i’m boring and mantis blades freak me out uhh)

20. is there anyone you’re crushing on that’s unavailable? (yes this is the “what romance option(s) are you foaming at the mouth for” question)

Answered here :)

(And i’ll say it again, PLACIIIIIIIDE,)

#ask #vana #vana lore #i am #SO SORRY #that this is so long #u ask me ab my OCs it's bound to happen #thank u v much for the ask!! #i had a ton of fun! #:D

[thewhumperinwhite]

Café: Treetops

Previous: Teaser 1, Teaser 2, Hospital/Squad Car, Empty Bar, Used Car Lot 1, Used Car Lot 2, Gas Station, Roadside 1, Roadside 2, Forest

TW for: illness/fever, mention of decapitation/murder, smoking mention, very lightly implied parental neglect, Thing That Seems Like Deadnaming For A Second But Take This As My Personal Guarantee That Sol’s Deadname Will Never Be Said Out Loud In This Story.

Also i’m not gonna check but i think this might be the first chapter where Sol smiles? so look forward to that.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

----

Rainwater is dripping from Sol’s hair down the bridge of his nose and soaking into his shirt collar, even though if you asked him five minutes ago he’d have told you his poor abused work shirt had absorbed literally all the liquid it could physically hold. 

“Just for the record,” Kent says in a slightly breathless voice, “when I used the phrase ‘huddled in trees,’ that was sarcasm.”

Sol thinks about rolling his eyes, but given that nobody would see it from this angle, he doesn’t bother and just leaves his eyes closed instead.

“Funny,” Pax snaps, sounding, at least, no longer pretend-cheerful. “When I told you to shut the fuck up, I was serious.” Sol can hear them shifting, but doesn’t turn to look, partly because he does not care and partly because he thinks he might fall out of the tree if he tries.

“I think you should both shut up,” he says flatly, knowing he’s wasting his fucking breath.

It does earn him almost a full minute of silence, which is a step up, technically.

“The bleeders are too clumsy to climb trees,” Pax says testily, apparently unable to help themself. “Therefore, being the wonderful, coordinated living beings that we are, we are taking advantage of that weakness.”

“I know that,” Kent says, also sounding slightly testy, but even more tired and kind of in pain. “I am aware of the logic, but I gotta say that I am not feeling super coordinated at the moment.”

“I know that,” Sol growls. “I was the one who had to help you up, and since we are all fuckin’ exhausted from that little ordeal, how about we all just go the fuck to sleep, huh?”

Kent makes a noise that is probably supposed to convey irritation but just sounds sort of— pathetic. “I can’t sleep. I don’t understand how either of you can sleep when it’s so hot up here.”

Sol blinks his eyes open. That— does not sound like a great sign.

Careful not to overbalance and throw himself off the narrow branch currently supporting his ass, Sol cranes around the trunk of the tree to squint through the driving rain at Kent, who is leaning back against the tree with his eyes closed. Sol half-carried him up this bigass goddamn tree and set him with more care than he wants to admit in the stablest position he could find, at the fork of two large branches, but at the moment his perch there looks kind of precarious.

Checking to see that Paxon, on the opposite side and several branches higher than either himself of Kent, probably can’t see— not that he cares what they think— he leans carefully forward to lay his wrist against Kent’s forehead. It’s hard to be sure of anything when the freezing rain has turned his hands and arms into icicles, but the heat coming off Kent’s face almost makes him jump.

“Aw, great,” he mumbles, grabbing hold of his own branch so he can lean forward a little more to examine Kent’s face, which, now that he’s looking, does have kind of a greenish cast to it. “Hey, man,” he says softly, giving Kent a gentle poke on a part of his cheekbone that doesn’t seem to be bruised yet. “How ya feeling?”

Without opening his eyes, Kent heaves a tired sigh that turns halfway through into a cough. Sol freezes like a popsicle, going very quickly back over the last several hours to try and determine whether one of the bleeders could possibly have bitten him without Sol noticing— but Kent’s brief coughing fit fails to bring up any red-flecked phlegm, so Sol tries to reel in his panic. He doesn’t sound crazy, anyway— just sick. 

“Not very good,” Kent croaks, letting his eyes drift open. They look kinda glassy, but Sol sees with knee-weakening relief that they are not particularly bloodshot. “Too warm. And also shivery.”

“I fuckin’ bet,” Sol says. “You look like microwaved dogshit, dude.”

Sol chews his lip, something uncomfortably close to worry churning in his stomach. When he doesn’t move away, Kent laughs faintly, though it turns into a cough at the end.

“You sure you want to get that close?” he asks, smiling a little, though it doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. Sol doesn’t think Kent’s smiles usually do, actually.

Sol blinks. “Huh?”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll suddenly decide to take a bite out of your arm?” Kent says, and it sounds like it’s trying to be a joke but isn’t quite making it.

Sol stares at him for a second. Then he snorts.

“Please,” Sol says, smirking. “You? I could definitely take you, crazy or not, you fucking stick. Besides, look.” Sol fishes around in the pockets of his sopping-wet jacket, ignoring Kent’s look of utter confusion.

His lighter is freezing and dripping wet, and who knows if it’ll still work as an actual lighter after this, but it makes a serviceable mirror, in a pinch. He holds it up so that Kent is blinking into his own wide blue eyes.

“See?” Sol says, and is surprised at the softness of his own voice. “Not a drop of blood in sight, man. You’re probably just feverish from running around in the mud with open cuts and stuff.”

“Heartening,” Kent says, reaching up to change the angle of Sol’s grip.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Sol says, smirking.

And then Sol suddenly realizes that Kent’s hand is wrapped loosely around his own, and is horrified to feel his own cheeks heating up, which is--so fucking stupid.

“Who’s ‘Rina’?” he asks curiously, blinking down at the lighter, and Sol starts badly, jerking his hand away like Kent’s question burns his fingers.

“No one,” he barks, shoving the lighter back into his pocket, leaving Kent with his hand still outstretched and lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Oh,” Kent says, blinking. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to— “ He pulls back, looking carefully anywhere but at Sol’s face. “Sorry.”

Sol stares at Kent. Kent stares at the unnervingly-far-away ground.

Goddammit, it’s like kicking a puppy.

“Ugh,” Sol growls, running a hand through his hair. “Look, fine, whatever, don’t look at me like that— Karine is my little sister, okay? She always hated it when I smoked, so she used to steal my lighter all the time. That’s why it’s— that’s why.”

He had been very mad at the time, in high school at some point, when he had finally wrestled his lighter back from her— after almost a week of searching and shouting half-hearted threats at her when their father wasn’t home, which was often— only to find that she had scratched Sol Sux Shit on one side and her own big girly signature on the other, with a big fucking heart around it. He didn’t talk to her for a few days after that.

He didn’t throw the lighter away, though, either. That was junior year, or thereabouts; he’d been Sol for a short enough time that seeing the name scratched permanently into metal was--something, even if it was followed by the words “sux shit.”

It’s been— Christ, almost four years since he’s seen her, which means she’s all grown up and definitely has at least two boyfriends by now. That thought makes him unconsciously ball up his fists, and then he’s distracted by the sound of Kent laughing at him.

“Wha— what are you laughing at?” Goddammit, is he blushing again?

“I’m s-sorry,” Kent says, amid honest-to-god giggles. “I-it’s just— your face—!”

Sol just barely resists the urge to cover his cheeks, trying to will the heat back out of them. “Sh-shut up, I was just—” He pulls up short. “H-hey— are you okay?”

Kent is doubled up with hard, damp-sounding coughs, so much so that Sol has to dart out a hand to keep him from falling forward off the branch.

“Kent— hey—”

As he’s readjusting himself to hold up Kent’s weight without falling off his own branch, there’s a rustling in the branches above them, and Paxon Field drops abruptly onto the end of Kent’s branch, like an enormous pink cat.

“Let me see your hand,” they say sharply. When Kent doesn’t immediately respond, they reach forward to tug his hand away from his face.

“Hey!” Sol snaps, trying to shove them back, “what the hell are you—”

“Shut up,” Pax says, turning Kent’s hand over so they can examine both sides. Finding no blood on it, they relax, their hand sliding off the hilt of their sword.

“Idiot,” they say, not unkindly, and reach up to lay their wrist against Kent’s forehead. Kent, his coughing fit finally starting to subside, lets them, his weight pressing into Sol’s chest in a way that is— neither embarrassing nor pleasant but in fact entirely neutral, fuck you. Pax sighs. “You’re burning up, you dumbass.”

“That’s not exactly his fault,” Sol snaps, to his own surprise more than anyone else’s. Pax raises their eyebrows at him. Kent’s eyes flutter shut. “Well,” Sol goes on, into Pax’s surprised stare. “We’ve been wandering around in the rain for a long time. He’s got— broken bones and stuff.”

Paxon gives Sol a look he can’t quite read, and then frowns down at Kent, whose cheek now sits just under Sol’s collarbone, like coughing has used up all his remaining energy. “How long have you been feelin’ the shivers, sunshine?” they bark.

Grumbling like an annoyed child, Kent turns away from Paxon, which involves burying his face against the sodden front of Sol’s shirt. Sol freezes, a violent electrical current making its way up his spine. When Kent mumbles his answer (which is unintelligible but seems to contain the words “the car”), Sol can feel his lips move against his chest, and would readjust if he could move. ...probably.

“Then it’s entirely your fault, you daft idiot,” Paxon snaps, annoyed. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Kent turns back, opening one blue eye. “I suppose,” he says coldly, “I was worried you’d decapitate me.”

Paxon, to Sol’s surprise, starts like they’ve been hit. There’s a very awkward silence. Sol is afflicted with a bizarre desire to laugh.

Then Paxon growls, long and low, and starts their descent out of the tree.

“Uh,” Sol calls after them. “Where are you going?”

“To get sunshine some medicine, I guess,” they shout back, bitterly. “Since neither of you is in any way equipped for survival, apparently.”

Sol stares down at the top of their head as they make their weirdly nimble way down out of the tree. Then he looks down at Kent, who is also frowning down at Paxon’s retreating form.

“Someone should go with them,” Kent mutters.

Sol shifts uncomfortably. “You can’t stay in this tree by yourself.”

An embarrassed flush makes its way into Kent’s pale cheeks, and he shoots Sol an apologetic look from under his lashes. Sol’s brain stops working for a second and he misses what Kent says next, but makes an educated guess that it’s some variation of “sorry for the trouble.”

“Don’t be dumb,” he says, biting his lip.

Sol runs through their options in his head, and from the unhappy look on Kent’s face he suspects the blonde is doing the same.

“Fuck,” Sol mutters, and then, making sure Kent has a firm grip on the tree trunk to go with the confused look on his face, turns himself very carefully around on his own branch so his back is to Kent, the blonde’s bony knees digging into his back slightly.

“Um,” Kent says.

“Shut up,” Sol snaps. “Put your arms around my shoulders. Try not to choke me or we will both fall and die.”

“Um,” says Kent.

Sol takes a moment to bury his rapidly-reddening face in his hands and groan because why does shit like this keep happening to him. “Paxon shouldn’t go by themself, and you can’t stay here or climb down. This is the only fucking solution, okay? I don’t like it anymore than you do, so shut up and get on.”

There’s another terrible silence, which Sol uses to pray to anybody who might be listening to give him a fucking break already.

Moving carefully, like he’s waiting for Sol to stop him, Kent slides his slim arms around Sol’s shoulders, knitting his fingers together around Sol’s chest and being careful to avoid his windpipe. After a moment’s hesitation, he moves closer, awkwardly scooting forward so his legs are wrapped around Sol’s waist.

Sol, very aware of Kent’s chest and biceps and thighs, clears his throat loudly.

“Okay,” he says, trying his very best to sound businesslike. “I need my hands to do the tree-climbing thing, so hold on, yeah?”

Sol can feel the heat coming off of Kent’s face where it’s buried against his shoulder even through the thick wool of his jacket, though he can’t tell how much of that is the fever and how much is embarrassment roughly equivalent— if there is a loving god— to his own.

“Yeah,” Kent mumbles miserably into Sol’s jacket. Sol feels a slightly insane giggle building in his chest. 

“Okay,” Sol says slowly. “I am now moving to the next branch over. You good?”

“Perfect,” Kent says in a very muffled voice, and shifts slightly against Sol’s back. Sol clears his throat again, and reaches out for the next branch, shifting so that he’s carrying most of Kent’s weight.

“Christ, do you ever eat?” he says before they can stop himself. God, maybe they will make it to the ground, after all. “My sister’s cat weighs more than you.”

Kent, his face very warm indeed, chooses not to respond. In fact, he keeps his mouth mercifully shut for almost the whole awkward, painful climb down, and Sol’s left foot is actually on solid ground when he finally mumbles, so low Sol can’t be entirely sure of the words, “Thanks, Sol. You’re wonderful.”

Sol freezes with one foot still on the lowest branch, feeling an unfamiliar sort of heat spreading in the center of his chest. Before he can stop it, his mouth twitches into something that feels suspiciously like a grin.

The feeling fades pretty quickly when he turns and sees the color Pax is turning from trying to hold in their amusement. Seeing Sol’s fiery glare and immediate, violent blush, they give up and throw their head back, sending bright peals of laughter up into the still-raining sky.

Sol bristles, his hands tightening under Kent’s thighs. “Sh-shut up! Don’t— don’t laugh at me!”

Pax laughs hard, holding their stomach. “Your face!” they crow delightedly. “You’re turning purple, babe!”

Sol’s blush doesn’t get any worse, but probably only because there’s no more blood left in the rest of him. “Shut up!” he squawks. “It’s your fault for leaving us up there, anyway!”

Pax shakes their head, grinning. “I didn’t say you had to come with me,” they point out. 

“Kent didn’t want you wandering off by yourself,” Sol snaps, looking over his shoulder. “Did y— oh.”

Kent, his lips slightly parted and rain making his long lashes sparkle a little in the moonlight, has rested his head against Sol’s shoulder and is breathing long and steady, his breath making faint snuffling noises through his broken nose.

Sol stares a little.

“What’s up with sunshine?” Paxon says, a trace of worry in their voice. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No,” Sol says, a confused smile spreading over his face. “I think he’s fallen asleep.” Looking carefully anywhere but at Paxon’s stupid smug grin, he clears his throat. “Let’s just go. I’ll carry him. He isn’t heavy.”

#hurt/comfort #original whump #original hurt/comfort #the café at the end of the world #sickfic #fever #piggy back ride #Emotionally Fraught Gay Piggy Back Ride

[edierone]

26 and 77 for the mash up list

Five Miles Is a Long Way to Walk In Florsheims

She really did it. 

She — she just pulled over, told me to get out, and — kept on driving. 

I know I was pissing her off this entire case (but especially today), I know I probably (definitely) pushed it too far when I did the vehicular version of Dutch-ovening her just now, a little juvenile humor to lighten the mood … ok, honestly, with the heat on, it was really kind of nauseating, even for me. 

She’s threatened to dump me out before, like a dad yelling at the kids to pipe down or he’ll make ‘em walk home. 

But — this time, she really did it. And here I am, by the side of a two-lane road in the far yonder of cow country, in a cold drizzling rain, in my suit (minus the jacket, which is … still in the car) and cheap dumb dress shoes from JC Penney — thank god I left my Nunn Bush oxfords at home, I guess? — watching the rented Ford’s taillights recede in the far distance.  

I’ll wait a few minutes. She’ll come back. 

Nope. It’s been fifteen already. New plan: Walk till I’m just over that next rise — probably she’s sitting there, waiting for me to catch up, parked on the narrow shoulder with the radio on one of her channels (theory: might’ve been the fourth airing of “Livin’ Lovin’ Maid” that pushed her over the edge; note to self, that’s enough classic rock for today). I’ll show up, she’ll forgive me, and we’ll get back to finding the Phantom Murderin’ Cowboy of BFE. 

*************

Nope. Fox and his tired old dogs are walkin back to Cowburg. 

*************

Five miles is a long way to walk in Florsheims, especially when the seams start to give and your socks are soaked and your hair is in your face and even your belt is ruined. It’s enough time to get titanically self-righteously angry, then run out of steam on that and rethink your position, then feel like utter dogshit for the way you’ve treated the most important person in your life, then script and rehearse your most abject apology speech dozens of times, refining it to remove all traces of self-pity and accusation and adding a few jokey lines so she knows it’s you and not some shapeshifting asshole wearing you as a skin suit or something. 

I’m — I’m properly chastened, is what I’m saying, and all I want is to get back in her good graces. And maybe get some dry clothes on; my balls are rubbed pretty raw at this point. 

Room 27, adjoining room 28, the last two on the end farthest from the road. I start to feel just how bad off I am as I cross the parking lot: I’m freezing, my left knee hurts like a bastard, my ankles feel swollen to the point of sloshiness, my back is killing me, and my feet — oh god, my feet … I limp to good old 27, then realize with a wave of despair that my key is in the pocket of my suit jacket, which I can see crumpled on the floor of the Taurus’s backseat. 

Shit. 

Rather than add “broken rental car window” to my list of crimes and expense items, I gather what’s left of my dignity — there ain’t much — and shuffle over to 28. 

“Knock knock, it’s the bog monster of Black Rock Creek, I’m here to —”

The door swings open so fast I almost fall through it. 

There she is, keys in hand and coat on — that determined/worried little furrow between her eyes quickly smoothing out and hiking skyward as she takes in my bedraggled state. I don’t get a chance to give my apology speech, because she’s already launched into hers: “Jesus, Mulder, you look like a drowned rat! I’m so sorry — I thought it was only a mile or so, but it took you so long, I got worried — you — I was so angry, I guess I just didn’t realize how far it was — oh, look at your shoes! I was coming to get you — god you must be so cold —”

The whole time, she’s dragging me inside, running to the bathroom to grab towels which she tosses at me, bending to help me shuck the worthless bits of leather that used to be size 11 Fed footwear, checking through my sopping-wet hair for head trauma — at least I think that’s what she’s doing, but I don’t really care cause it feels pretty good. 

But I can’t let her do all the apologizing, so all the while, I’m trying to interject with my own mea culpa — about how it’s OK, I’m OK, I was being a dumbass and I deserved it and I’m sorry for questioning her take on the third vic’s cause of death (she was right, I was reaching, and being a dick about it besides), if she wants to Dutch-oven me as revenge, I’ll take it like a man … 

That one finally makes her stop fussing and laugh, her big surprising Scully-laugh that makes me feel like a god for bringing it forth. 

“Mulder …” she finally says, looking me up and down with a mixture of pity and amusement that kinda makes me tingle. “I’ll save that idea for another time. Why don’t you go get a hot shower and I’ll — try to find something to eat. I’m already dressed to go out anyway.” 

I agree to this plan, and in less than an hour, we’re side by side in comfy warm sweatpants on the surprisingly decent couch, eating some of the best tortilla soup I’ve ever tasted. She brought icy cold glass bottles of Coke, too — “Hecho in Mexico, oh man, Scully, that’s the stuff!”

She puts hers down and hops up, going to dig something out of her trench pocket. “I almost forgot! I found something else to warm you up.” She holds it out to me — a pint bottle of Jameson’s. 

“Heyyyyyy!” I reach for it, cracking it open and smelling it. “Where’d you get this? I thought this was a dry county.” 

“It is,” she smiles, with an arch aren’t-I-clever look. “I bought it off the front desk clerk — smelled something on her breath and took the big investigative leap. She charged me a pretty big markup, but I thought it was worth it, under the circumstances.” 

I agree, and ask if we have glasses — but this isn’t the kind of place that furnishes barware, so I guess we’ll have to swig it like a couple of winos under a bridge. 

“I don’t mind swapping spit with you, Scully, if you’re ok with mine,” I say, landing a pretty ill-timed glance at her lips that I hope she doesn’t notice. 

She does. It makes her blush a little, which she brazens through with a big manly belt of the Jameson’s. She hands the bottle to me and dares me with her eyes to do better. 

I can’t, of course, but I try, and as the first gulp slides down my throat, warming me from the inside, I have one of those hot pulses of the deepest kind of affection for her — the kind that just shouts in my head, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, so loud that I almost give it voice for real. 

But, of course, I don’t; we finish our dinner, taking occasional nips of whiskey, calling out increasingly sloppy answers at Jeopardy! and then Wheel of Fortune on the crummy motel TV. 

The news is next and neither of us is in the mood, so I click through the five working channels and get lucky: North By Northwest is just starting. I scooch around to get comfortable, but I must’ve stiffened up — both of my hip joints and something up high in my back crack audibly, and the girly scream whistling out of me at the way my calf just seized would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

Well, I guess it’s funny to Scully — she laughs, but apologizes. Then laughs again. She’s ruthless, not to mention mean. I tell her so. She laughs harder. I pout dramatically, and eventually she relents.

“All right, all right — you’ll be useless in the morning if I don’t get you fixed up, and I don’t plan on carrying your bag through DFW airport. Get up on that bed, I’ll massage the kinks out.” 

I swear I do not even have time to open my mouth before she warns, deadly serious: “And if you say one word about this is how some of your favorite movies start —”

Ahh, she knows me, doesn’t she? 

I make like a totally innocent man — pure of heart, mind, and deed — and lie down on my stomach with my feet toward the headboard, propping my chin up on a pillow so I can keep watching the movie. Scully gets to work. 

And she’s good. Got those doctor hands. Whoever’s in 26 must think we’re making the world’s weirdest sex tape in here, or else that we’ve kidnapped a moose that sometimes converses with Cary Grant. 

By the time she gets to my feet, I feel like a melted marshmallow.  

Scully says dreamily, “I remember watching this once somewhere when I was about twelve, and thinking Eve Kendall was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.” I make an inquiring noise. “You know — this scene —”

They’re on the train. Eva Marie Saint’s lookin ol’ Archibald in the eye, telling him she’s twenty-six and unmarried and likes his face, how it’s gonna be a long night, and

“And I don't particularly like the book I've started,” Scully murmurs along. I crane my neck to look back at her; her lips curve upward in the most delicious-looking arc, her eyes twinkling with that sort of mischievous/impressed look she gets toward me sometimes. 

I love it, but it makes me a little jealous, so I tell her so. She just giggles and says, “Oh, don’t be jealous of old crushes!” I want to ask her who’s the crush, Eva Marie or Cary, but she grabs the other pillow and flops down on her stomach beside me and suddenly I can’t talk — I just lie there, grinning like a fool. 

She passes me the one-third-full Jameson’s — one more sip each before she caps it for the night. We watch for awhile longer. During the next commercial break, she turns to me, studying me with a gentle smile.  

“You look a little dopey,” she says fondly, and I laugh. 

“I’m also happy, sleepy, and tipsy — wonder where the other three dwarfs are?”

Her eyes are on the TV again. “Doc … Bashful … Horny …” 

Suddenly my heart is thumping way too hard. When I talk, it comes out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t think ‘Horny’ is one of the original septet, Doc …”

She shifts a little. She’s smiling but she won’t look at me. “Neither is ‘Tipsy,’ but I spotted you that one — fair’s fair, Mulder.”

“Oh, we’re being honest?” Where did this voice come from, the one that makes her shiver? There — just then — she did, she did shiver. I saw it. “Well, maybe there was a Horny. And a Woody, and a — Smitten, and a —”

“I think you better stop there, Prince Charming,” she interrupts, finally half-turning her face toward me. She still won’t make eye contact; maybe she knows, like I do, that if she does that, we don’t stand a chance of keeping this from happening. 

The thing is, I want it to. I have for a long, long time, and I think — so does she, so has she. 

That’s the source of so much of the tension between us; that’s really why we fought earlier, why there’ve been so many of these little flareups lately, embers dropped into dry grass and then stomped out with such vigor. We’ve been careful not to get into situations like this one, where the space separating us is so small that we can feel the other’s exhales on our own skin. 

I drop down from my elbows to lie flat, facing her. I can see her eyelashes silhouetted against the washed-out lights of 1959 onscreen. “Scully,” I say, barely above a whisper. 

It’s a long moment before she finally whispers back, “Not here.”

I know what she means, of course I do. Not on a case, not in a janky motel, not even a little bit under the influence. 

“Then where?” 

She shakes her head, a tiny movement that makes her hair fall forward, obscuring any part of her I could read. 

She doesn’t know? Or she doesn’t want to say? I can’t tell, so I try another question.

“Soon, do you think?”

She tenses, and for a second I think she’s going to get up, or order me out of here. But then she drops her head to the pillow, facing me. Her eyes are huge, serious, full of something unnameable that I nonetheless understand. 

“Soon,” she agrees. 

I nod, nearly overwhelmed by my love for her, the tremendous weight of this moment, the desire that’s been there for so long I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t. 

She reaches to touch my face, skimming lightly along one side, barely barely barely there on my eyelid, so softly; I close my eyes as she traces where she likes. 

Her hand falls eventually, coming to rest in the little valley between us. I take hold of it, gently, risking a glimpse at her. Her eyes are shut now, but I’m not sure she’s asleep. 

“I love you,” I say, but silently, the coward’s way. “So much.” 

If she hears me, it’s only subliminally; that’s all the daring I have tonight. Sweet dreams, Scully, I think as I drift off. Sweet dreams. 

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

[Thanks for the long-ago prompt, anon -- from the Fic Trope Mashup list, Massage Fic and In Vino Veritas]