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plazmafields · 4 years

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“You asked to see me?”

Cullen lifted his head from his work to lock eyes with the mage in his doorway. He sighed as he gestured for Dorian to sit.

“Yes. I have a…problem, of my own creation, that I could use some advice on.”

Dorian lowered slowly into the seat across the desk from Cullen, curiously raising an eyebrow. “I’ll see how I can help.”

“Thank you,” Cullen smiled softly before clearing his throat to continue, “There’s…a person who I continue to find catching my eye, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’d really like them to know how I feel, but I don’t think I have the confidence to tell them with words.”

Dorian blinked several times, a bit taken aback that Cullen was so upfront with his ask for romantic help.

“Well,” he began, shifting forward in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, “I am certainly no expert in women—"

“I never said they were a woman.”

Dorian’s mouth still hung open from his comment. He shut it quickly and nodded, silently asking Cullen to continue.

The Commander sighed, running a hand through his groomed curls. “I’ll be honest: I’ve never really…courted anyone before, so we’re essentially starting from scratch here.”

Dorian gave a comforting smile, “That’s perfectly alright. Perhaps a blank slate is best.”

The mage pulled his chair up, resting his elbows on the desk. “Now, you don’t want to come off too strong too soon. So let’s start very basic: what is something almost anyone would like to receive?”

Cullen looked down at his hands, clasped and nervously twiddling. After a moment of thinking he replied tentatively, “Praise?”

Dorian chuckled, “Yes, that’s true, but let’s think most simply. Something superficial, to start. Something physical…?” he guided.

Cullen’s eyes bounced around Dorian’s features for clues. “Gifts?”

Dorian nodded encouragingly, making a rolling motion with his hand to encourage something specific.

“Such as…flowers?” Cullen said it like a question.

“Perfect!” Dorian Tossed his hands up. “Now the next step is easy, what flowers do they like?”

Cullen sighed, rubbing at his scruff, “No idea. And I’m not sure I have the nerve to ask them.”

“Well you wouldn’t want to do that anyway, you want to bring it up casually. Otherwise, they might catch on to what you’re planning.”

Cullen was still looking away, distracted with his own anxiety. Dorian offered a gentle smile and a friendly suggestion. “Why not get a bouquet? A little mix of everything? That way there’s bound to be something they like in there. After all, it’s the thought, not the gift, that matters here.”

Cullen nodded continuously, deep in thought of what to get for his muse. “Yes…a little of everything. That’s…that’s an excellent idea! I’ll go to Orlais, to a florist, pick out the most exotic things they have, the most colorful, most pungent. It’s perfect!”

Dorian couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his lips at Cullen’s excitement.

“Thank you, Dorian. You’ve no idea how much this helps me.”

“Glad to be of service, my friend.” Dorian rose from his seat, gave a friendly bow, and left Cullen to his plans.

__________

As Dorian sat in his little alcove, reading over a new study, the sound of quick and precise footsteps drew closer. Soon, the Inquisitor, ever nimble on her feet, ran into his nook, a massive smile on her face.

“Have you been out today?”

Dorian glanced over the edge of his book. “Not yet, no.”

She bounced on her toes, “So you haven’t seen the garden?”

The mage raised a brow, closing his book with one hand. “Should I?”

The rouge practically squealed as she gestured for Dorian to follow her.

They were in the main hall in no time, Vivienne calling down from her balcony, “It's simply exquisite, darling! Who knew our Commander had such taste?” Varric shrugging as if to say Not me.

Once outside, Dorian had to push through a wall of onlookers, all gawking at the sight before them. The Inquisitor slipped through almost effortlessly, turning to check for Dorian every few seconds.

Finally, they broke through the crowd and Dorian’s jaw nearly dropped. There were flowers everywhere; no patch of dirt in sight. Flowering ivy spiraled up and around the pillars and railings, columns tangled in vines. Each plain tree had been replaced with a flowering fruit tree; one apple, one cherry, one pear, and one orange.

The Inquisitor squeezed his hand to bring him back, saying in a sigh, “Isn’t it beautiful? Like a magic forest!”

Before he could turn to acknowledge her, the red head was already frolicking like a school girl, skipping and bounding through the garden, hoping to find every flower she could. Dorian watched her with a smile, shaking his head at how adorable she could be.

A sudden realization washed over him as he watched the young woman stand on her toes to reach an apple: she must be Cullen’s secret muse. Watching her enjoy every last bit of the garden, even the new insects that had been attracted by the plants, cemented this truth in his mind. Cullen was head over heels for Lyann Trevelyan.

After spending time with his friend amongst the flowers, admiring every scent, Dorian slipped away to consult Cullen on his next move. As he poked his head into the Commander's office, he saw Cullen excitedly pacing, grinning to himself.

“Do you know what a bouquet is, my friend? Perhaps something was lost in translation last we spoke.” Dorian teased, grabbing Cullen’s attention.

Cullen’s head shot up and he smiled widely, rushing over to Dorian to get his reaction. “Well? What do you think?”

Dorian chuckled at Cullen’ childlike glee. “I think you did an excellent job. Maybe a bit over the top, but I can certainly say it made an impression.”

Cullen nearly melted, “Oh, Dorian, I am so glad to hear it. Your advice was invaluable!”

Dorian grinned as he said lowly, “The Inquisitor especially liked it, might I add.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide as he blushed, straightening his back, “O-oh! Well, I suppose I should have run it past her first, but it’s a bit embarrassing to tell her my intentions. Josephine was good about keeping it confidential.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing to the floor.

Dorian gave a hardy chuckle, “Oh I understand. Now, what did you have planned for the next step?”

Cullen froze. “Next…step? How many steps are there?”

Shaking his head, Dorian grabbed the blond by the shoulders and lead him to his desk.

“May I?” Dorian snatched a quill and paper.

“Step one: a sweet but generic gift to show your interest. Something to casually say ‘I might like you'. You already did that one. Following?”

Cullen nodded, leaning his elbows on the desk as he watched Dorian write.

“Alright. Step two: a more personal gift. Something you know they like. This shows them not only are you interested in them, but you’re interested in their interests as well.”

“Right…” Cullen chewed his lip.

“What is it?” Dorian sighed.

“I don’t know much about their likes. They aren’t very…direct. Ever.”

Well that doesn’t sound like Lyann… Dorian thought to himself.

Dorian had to restrain from rolling his eyes. “Well, in that case, an easy thing to get for someone indecisive is sweets. Candy, chocolate, biscuits, pastries. Things like that. Just get them sweets that remind you of them.”

Cullen looked utterly concerned. “Am I supposed to…guess what they…taste like?”

Dorian stared at him with a blank look, completely astounded. “No. What does that even—no, never mind, please don’t attempt to explain.”

After drumming his fingers on the desk for a moment, Dorian tried to be more clear—though he thought he had been plenty clear before. “Think of how they act, yes? Are they kind and sweet? Flowery and fun? Warm like spice?”

Cullen nodded along, seemly understanding this time.

Dorian smiled, placing a tender hand on the blonds arm. “I’ll leave you to it then."

__________

Several days later and not a word from Cullen, Dorian felt a bit anxious. Had he not been clear enough still? Did Cullen get too nervous to continue? Oh no, did he have a falling out with Lyann; she didn’t return his feelings?

Just as he began to lose himself in his nerves, despite having research to focus on, Dorian caught a subtle whiff of something delicious. It was warm and baked, but chocolatey and rich, and somehow tart all at once. Cullen must have asked the cooks to do their damnedest.

After a while the scent became too much, it was too intriguing, Dorian had to go to the kitchens and see for himself what was being baked. As he descended the stairs to Solas's area, the elf came from the main hall with a plate of goodies. Tarts and cookies and all sorts, laid out decoratively on a porcelain dish.

“My my,” Dorian quirked a brow, “Someone has a sweet tooth it seems.”

Solas didn’t look at him as he replied, “There is a spred out there. I would be a fool to turn down free food. Especially Orlaisian pastries.” He popped a fruit tart into his mouth.

Dorian exited to the main hall and was greeted by long dining tables over flowing with every dessert imaginable. Full cakes, cup cakes, full pies, hand pies, everything he loved and things he hadn’t tried before, but was more than eager to.

Everyone in Skyhold, and a few visiting nobles, huddled around the tables making sure to heap their plates, and at the front of the room, with a towering plate nearly spilling down her shirt, was the ever graceful Inquisitor, shoving candied dates into her gob.

“Well aren’t you looking marvelous today,” Dorian laughed as he approached.

“Hm? Oh, Dorun!” Lyann mumbled through half chewed food.

She took a second to chew and swallow before nearly shouting, “Isn’t this amazing?! Cullen and Josephine planned this in only a few days! I don’t know how they got it all here and kept it so fresh! It taste like it just came from the ovens, or maybe the Maker's own kitchen.” She swooned as she crammed another treat into her mouth.

Dorian chuckled, picking up a plate to load up himself. “Cullen planned this, did he? Any idea why?” He feigned curiosity.

“No idea,” Lyann shrugged, nearly dropping a pudding, “He usually doesn’t care about impressing nobles, so I don’t know who he’s trying to impress. Maybe he just felt like the troops deserved it!”

“Oh, I’d bet he’s trying to catch someone’s attention...” Dorian hinted, but the Inquisitor was already going in for seconds. Well, more like fourths.

Dorian shook his head with a smile as she walked off to her chambers with a mountain of sweets. Just as he began picking out his favorite treats, a soft voice spoke up behind him.

“Have you tried the jam biscuits yet? They’re heavenly. I might actually die if someone doesn’t stop me.”

Dorian turned around just in time to see Cullen with a jam cookie half way to his lips. Just as it was about to touch his tongue, Dorian snatched it away, downing it in one bite.

Cullen looked at him in shock, mouth still open to receive the sweet. They laughed together as Dorian tried to chew the mouthful.

“So? What do you think? Did I hit all the right flavors?”

Dorian chuckled, “If everything under the sun reminds you of them, then yes.”

Cullen sighed dreamily, “Everything…”

Dorian had only seen that look a handful of times, but by the Maker, it was his favorite expression on the blond. That look of complete adoration, losing himself to a daydream. It looked beautiful. He looked beautiful…

Dorian shook his head, reminding himself he was helping the man court someone else. The Inquisitor, of all people. But they seemed like a good match, both very…Ferelden.

When he looked back, Cullen was staring at him with bright eyes, an innocent smirk lopsided on his lips. Dorian smiled back.

“Is everything alright?” Cullen asked so gently.

Dorian swallowed hard before clearing his throat, “Yes, of course. Just thinking about your next step.”

“What’s that?”

Dorian led Cullen to a less crowded area of the hall. “Well, everything you’ve done so far has been very…grand. You may want to think about doing something one-on-one with them, personally.”

Cullen sighed, rubbing his neck. “Right, one-on-one…If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been trying to take an indirect approach.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “But how are they ever supposed to know it’s you?”

“Well, I thought it would be rather obvious.” Cullen gave him a very confused stare.

“Listen,” Dorian sighed and shifted his weight, “they know it’s you, but you have to show that it’s for them.”

Cullen’s eyes lit up, “Oh! Oh, of course, I should have—I’m sorry Dorian I didn’t understand—”

“That’s alright, I just hope you’ve planned for something one-on-one, because I can’t help you with this next bit.”

“What?” Cullen’s eyes seems almost terrified, losing his only advisor.

Dorian wraps his fingers around the back of Cullen’s neck, pulling him closer so he could hear the whisper, “You must make this personal. I’m always willing to help, but I can’t tell you everything they like and how to fit it all together. That’s up to you, my friend.”

Cullen sighed and let his head fall forward, forehead almost leaning against Dorian’s. “Alright. I’ll try to do you proud.”

The mage smiled reassuringly, “You will, Cullen. Don’t worry.”

__________

After nearly a week without any word, Dorian received a surprise visit just as noon struck.

“Glad to see you haven’t given up. I was starting to wonder if you had gotten cold feet.” Dorian teased, slapping Cullen’s arm playfully.

Cullen grinned wide and chuckled, “Well, I’m not actually here for advice this time. I was wondering if you might come with me. I think I’ve found the perfect place for a date!”

“Oh?” Dorian was shocked by the confidence in the Commander’s voice. “What are we waiting for then? Need I pack a bag?”

“No, it’s not too far.” Cullen eyed him up and down, considering his outfit. “Though I might wear something more casual, were I you.”

Dorian looked down at his attire, about to ask why, when Cullen called back to him, already on his way, “I’ll meet you at the gates in an hour. Don’t be late.”

So he dressed down and packed a bottle of wine to sip at on the ride there. Where ever “there” was; Cullen was being awfully secretive about their destination, only repeating that it was the perfect spot for a date.

Just as the two had run out of things to banter about on the ride, Cullen stopped his horse by a gap in some trees.

“Through here. We’ll have to tie up the horses, I don’t think they’ll make it through the foliage.”

Dorian sighed an exasperate sigh, “Are we in for much of a hike? You know I get more exercise than I truly want while adventuring with the Inquisitor.”

Cullen chuckled and held some leaves out of the way for Dorian to duck under. After a short walk, Cullen looked back and smiled, “I think it’s beautiful out here. Tell me what you think.”

Dorian stepped forward through the last bit of trees to be greeted by the most sparkling, clearest, gentlest lake he’d ever laid eyes on. The water rippled steadily with the slight breeze, waves barely formed yet still enough to rock the lily pads and fallen leaves. The sun was just visible through the trees, but not enough to blind them, slowly lowering in the sky, ready shine orange and pink light across the water when dusk came.

“I…” Dorian couldn’t find his words, “Cullen, this is gorgeous…”

He looked back to Cullen who leaned confidently against a tree, pleased with the mage's reaction.

But as he turned back, Dorian remembered who all this was for, and it put a heaviness in his heart. His eyes dropped as he said “She’ll love this, Cullen. I know she will.”

Long moments went by with no response before Dorian felt a gentle hand on the small of his back.

“Who?” Cullen asked softly, seeing Dorian was upset.

“Lyann, silly. She’ll find this all so lovely, I’m sure.” He had a hard time keeping eye contact with the Commander, curious eyes meaning no ill intent.

“Lyann?” Cullen pulled back slightly. “Why would I bring her—”

Cullen’s eyes went wide as he muttered, “oh no…”

He stepped away to pace, continuing his “no”s under gus breath, thinking of something to say or do to make it right.

“Cullen? I don’t understand, what’s wrong?” Dorian followed his pacing, trying to grab his arm.

“I’ve screwed this up royally, that what’s wrong! Lyann?! You thought this was all for the Inquisitor?”

Dorian stopped in his tracks. “Yes? I saw how much she enjoyed everything you did, so I assumed…”

It struck him like a charging druffalo. “No.” He whispered. “For…for me?”

Cullen looked over his shoulder sheepishly, waiting for a better idea of Dorian’s reaction.

“All of it?” Dorian’s words were hardly voiced, sliding out along a whisper of disbelief.

Cullen turned around fully and began taking cautious steps toward Dorian, trying to gage if his surprise was good or bad.

As Dorian continued to stare forward, slack jawed, Cullen placed a warm hand on his neck, the other finding the mage’s chin and tilting his gaze up to lock eyes.

“Everything. Every flower, every tart, everything. I wanted to give you the world, but I didn’t know how to start. I wanted you to see I would do anything for you, Dorian. You want flower, I’ll plant you a garden. You want sweets, I’ll bring the world’s best bakers to you.”

Dorian’s eyes only showed more confusion. Cullen leaned forward, stopping just before their lips touched to whisper, “I love you.”

“You—” But the words were stolen from his lips as Cullen pulled him in, chest to chest, arms around his waist, surprisingly deft lips making him melt into the blond.

He lost track of time. It could have been seconds, minutes, maybe an hour, before they pulled away, each out of breath and shaking from a single shared shiver down their spines.

“That was…electrifying.” Cullen sighed, hugging the mage close.

Dorian could hardly think straight, just hugging Cullen back as he gathered his thoughts.

After a moment of silence, Dorian finally relaxed against Cullen and said, “I…didn’t think I could be so dense.”

They laughed together, Cullen pulling back to plant a gentle kiss to the mage’s nose.

“But in my defense,” Dorian began, returning to his regular self, “who asks the person they plan on courting for advice on how to court them?”

“Well, you liked everything, didn’t you?” Cullen teased back.

Dorian shook his head, still feeling like this couldn’t be real. But those eyes, those golden eyes…

“I…feel strongly about you, Cullen. I’d dare say I’m smitten.”

Cullen smiled even wider before placing a quick kiss to Dorian lips, stripping off his shoes and tunic with impressive speed, and jumping like a cannonball into the lake. Dorian put his hands up to shield his face from the splash, but his casual clothes soaked up the water on contact.

“Looks like you’ll have to let those clothes dry. What should we do in the meantime?” Cullen called over smugly.

“You little southern…” Dorian shook his head before stripping down and diving in himself, making sure to get Cullen in the face.

They laughed together as they splashed the other back and forth, stopping only to share a passionate kiss.

#da #dai #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #cullrian #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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tmnt-brave-new-world · 3 years

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Interaction guidelines- The Rules RPs are currently open, please read the rules before interacting

The Rules

- Please Read the rules before interacting

-This is an Ask and RP blog. Rps will be taken under consideration, on a case by case basis

- Absolutely No one under 18, preferably 21+. I’m not planning to censor anything on this blog. If you are not of age, do not follow or interact. You will be reported and blocked

- Patience is a virtue. The Mun works an incredibly difficult and stressful job, that, because it pays the bills, takes priority. This blog is a platform for fun and interaction but can’t take precedence over the real world. Sometimes I’m super busy and it could be awhile before I respond to a post, or an RP. If you aren’t capable of patience don’t interact.

- Please be respectful. The level of respect you show this blog and others is important to the Mun. if you aren’t capable of acting in a mature fashion, you will be blocked. BE NICE…

- Absolutely no popup RPs in ask, without having discussed or plotted a story with the Mun.

- If you would like to RP please dm me with a story idea.

- This is not a tcest site. I’m sorry I don’t know how to write tcest, and don’t have a desire to do so. I feel that I would not be a decent or supportive rp partner if I’m not able to give it my best, and thus do not wish to mistreat or neglect those in the community who enjoy this type of RP

- No randomly appearing in the lair without being invited. Donnie has gone above and beyond to give them safety in their sanctuary. If you weren’t invited, you are not welcome in their home, as is the case with any stranger.

On to the boys!

- The boys are 2014/2016 Bayverse turtles but are mature adult men. Human age wise they are around 50, but maturity and body wise, somewhere in their 30’s respectively. They do not age the same as humans due to the properties of mutagen and their turtle mutant base type

- This is an AU set several decades into the future- please read the prologue to help understand a little more about the world they live in

- They live in a skyrise, penthouse. With state of the art- Donnie certified level protections put into place. Nothing gets in or out, without his knowing. He does not take the safety of himself or his brothers lightly

- The Boys do not belong to anybody and will not belong to anybody. They are free to interact with whomever they would like, in any way that has been discussed and planned between the two muns.

- They don’t know your muse, nor have had any previous interactions with your muse, and thus are not in love with your muse, or have an established relationship with your muse.

- If you want their love and attention you will have to earn it, just like you would in any other type of interaction

- Absolutely no god-modding. Example: its your 3rd time to respond and you’re attempting to have Leo princess carry your character to bed. This is not a natural flow to the story, and not going to happen.

- The boys may like certain features, or admire certain characteristics, however they are open to all body types, shapes and beings, so long as they feel a connection.

A quick explanation as to what the boys do with their free time in a world that knows they exist.

Leo: “We each found our interests and talents opened up a several viable options that had lead us each to a “unique” position.” Leo led as he gathered his thoughts. “Keep in mind after we managed to stop Krang and those who worked closely with him, the world was vulnerable. As far as my brothers and I were concerned, we had fought too hard and for too long for someone to simply slip into the power vacuum we had created and to continue to harsh reality Krang had created for Earth’s inhabitants. Due to this we each chose to do what we knew how to do and could most easily adapt as challenges presented themselves.”

He paused for a moment as he thought about the hardships, they had each faced and managed to overcome as they slowly helped right the world and returned her to standing on her own. A shimmering blue jewel among the galaxy and other worlds that had become familiar with the planet and its amenities.

“During our years in the resistance we managed to acquire wealth and assets. We were able to accumulate quite the little nest egg using those. Along with our acquired influence it opened many a door which in the old world would have remained not only closed but permanently locked to us.”

“I became a strategic investor. Buying the remnants of properties, businesses and services and either helping them to return to what they once were or repurposing to better suit the needs of this new era and turn a profit. It proved to be very profitable and allowed for me to continue to churn out profits which allowed for me to seek other properties and businesses to invest in or connect the right individuals with each other in away that led to my ability to offer the initial capital for a small percentage of the quarterly earnings. It helped people to create jobs and led to a lot of normalcy for those who desperately needed.

One hand washes the other, and this in its essence has lead to my own sector of the Tartaruga brothers incorporated. I have a multi-billion dollar operation on Earth and several branches operating throughout the universe currently.”

Donnie: “As Leo has said,” Donnie commented calmy, “our time resisting and fighting lead us each to our own talents. I spent a lot of time wearing many hats, which included, chemists, doctor, surgeon, agronomist, engineer, electrician, etc. to put it simply I spent a lot of time learning how to save lives, human and otherwise, and the best way to stretch our available resources in a way which led to people surviving. I also had to learn how to create medications which were so commonplace that many died without having them available. Most antibiotics don’t have a very long shelf life and when those ran out initially, we were in constant jeopardy of losing lives to the simplest of bacterial infections. My knowledge, and subsequent research lead to significant improvements and branching into many other factors, and shall we say break throughs.

Needless to say, the value of others wants, lead to my ability to fund the needs of the many. In my sector, I have several leadings areas including pharmacy, medical research, agrarian development, as well as generalized research and development in multiple fields from domestic to military. For obvious reasons, more detailed information is strictly classified.”

Raph: Raph chuckled as Donnie glossed over his closely guarded research. He was willing to kill to protect his research and continue to control the aspects that allowed him to fund the bulk of his interests and common welfare of those he blanketed with his programs. “They ain’t lying. After the world came back from going to shit, it took awhile to get it back up and going. Additionally, there were a lot of people, generally those not from this world that were way too determined to make sure we failed. This led to a lot of infighting and groups struggling for control. That tends to lead to a lot of shady business if you know what I mean, and it wasn’t like we had any type of social services such as police, fire fighting, or anything else. I initially took charge in areas like these.

I took a lot of care to train groups so that they worked together and were prepared to handle whatever problems came. It took a lot of time to cultivate proper training programs and help prepare people on how to help a traumatized world get back to functioning in a healthy way. I still help do this on planets and areas that are in recovery.”

“That being said however, my primary interest and “job” if you want to call it that, is training mixed martial artist prize fighters for the world federation galaxy league. Simply put we aren’t the only species that likes to watch trained athletes test their skills against one another within their respective brackets, or on specially contracted prized fights. I used to fight for the league and earned a lot of titles and prestige. I won most fights and was often the favorite to win after a while. I’m semi-retired and only occasionally enter the ring now days. However, I take and train promising talents for the league and other groups. I have also trained personal bodyguards for a variety of individuals. Different specialties come with different specifics and contracts as well as costs. It takes a specific might set for each, and a lot of time to drill into a thick skull.”

Mikey: Mikey laughed at the turtle in red, “Oh yeah, and you were the king of thick skulled back when we were young, and dumb.” He barely dodged the throw pillow that was chucked at his head. “Let’s see for me personally,” Mikey flashed a big grin, “I happen to be a master of many trades. During our days in the resistance, I learned a lot of different tricks to help make the food rations we had on hand not only palatable but nutritionally sound while feeding a literal army of people! So when it was possible I spent a large amount of time learning how to take fancy old world recipes and revamped them with food sources that were still available or recreated them with off world goodies. I also still paint, and love to collaborate with others to create amazing new concepts!”

His face darkened for a moment as he thought back to the early days of the resistance. “There were so many people who in the blink of an eye had lost everything, and unfortunately it was insanely common to find kids who had either been separated from their families or were the only survivor. In a lot of instances they were traumatized and it took a lot of creative thinking to coax them out of their shells and help to reteach them on how to live. This happened fairly frequently with adults as well. Because of this and what seemed like a never ending shortage of textiles, I had to learn and create new ways to make things and often times help find things that brought the sparkle back to peoples eyes. Because of this however, I have a multimedia conglomerate that allows me to work in a wide area of creative outlets. The fashion world is a flippant mistress, but there are a lot of ways in which one can compete and stand out. It’s led to a lot of lucrative contracts with those who are “starving” for the next amazing piece of creatively, or at least that’s what they tell me. The great thing about taking high end contracts and commissions is that a lot like my brothers, the revenue lets me continue to reach out to others. I fund a program that includes shelters called “Uncle Mikey’s” for those who are missing, exploited, or just need help. I also teach cooking, and practical skills for those who need them, and they are streamed to community centers such as local libraries, after school programs, and the like, to try and continue to help those who never received a chance to learn to do things due to the world kind of going through an apocalypse level event.

#tmnt au brave new world #tmnt au the beginning #TMNT au blog #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo

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chelsfic · 4 years

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A Familiar’s Familiar - Guillermo x Reader (Gender Neutral) One-shot

Summary: Guillermo serves Nandor. You serve Guillermo. You are an under-familiar. That means you're responsible for all the household grunt work, specifically: dead body disposal. When a careless mistake results in injury, Guillermo has to pick up your slack and he's not happy about it. The guilt and shame you feel at disappointing your master is intense. But Guillermo knows just will make you feel better: a spanking.

Warnings: Dom/sub, spanking, Mean Guillermo

A/N: Pure fantasy.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you to be careful with the lye?!”

Guillermo holds your hands under the faucet as ice-cold water rinses and soothes the angry red burns. His fingers are tight around your forearms, digging angrily into your skin.

“I’m sorry, master,” you whimper, hanging your head in shame. You can feel his disappointed eyes burning holes through the top of your head. What would he see if he could look inside? Would he recognize your pitiful love for him? Would it look anything like the feelings he has for his own master?

“I bet you are,” Guillermo responds, shaking his head. “You’re going to be useless to me for days because of this.”

Your breath catches and tears sting your eyes worse than the damn burns. “No, please, master!” you beg, hating the sound of your own voice, so whiny and cloying. “Please, I can still be useful!”

Guillermo turns off the tap and grabs a towel from the rack, gently wrapping your hands in the fluffy fabric. His touch is kind and soft even as he speaks with steel in his voice. “How, when you’re too stupid to do the simplest chores without nearly crippling yourself? I can’t believe how much time I’ve spent training you and still I have to deal with this shit.”

You sniffle and bite back the words that come automatically to your tongue. Simplest chores? You’ve been dissolving human remains in a solution of lye and water! Your more gruesome familiar duties include grave digging and dismembering corpses! And you work so hard to be good at it. Why? You don’t give a shit about Nandor. It’s all for Guillermo.

You swallow the angry words, and what’s left is the hollow ache of disappointing your master. Tears finally spill over your cheeks and you collapse forward, leaning your head into his soft chest and sobbing. Guillermo wraps his arms around you and rubs a few soothing circles into your back.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he sighs, pulling away after only a few seconds. Shame burns in your throat as you try to follow him, unwilling to let the embrace end so quickly. He retrieves a roll of gauze from the medicine cabinet and takes your hands in his, delicately covering your burns. “You think you can manage folding my laundry after this?”

---

It’s freezing outside but Guillermo’s forehead glistens with a thin sheen of sweat. He grunts as he hauls the heavy cadaver over the threshold, tossing it down the steps with impressive strength. You’d be swooning if you weren’t currently being eaten up with the guilt of your beloved master having to do your work for you.

“I’m sorry, master,” you say for the thousandth time as he turns to retrieve the next body from inside the house. You’re holding the door open, your bandaged hands hanging limp and incriminating at your sides.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Guillermo snaps.

His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose and you yearn to reach out and fix them for him, but that level of presumption is unthinkable at this very moment. It’s not that you don’t share soft moments with your master sometimes. At the end of the night after he’s tucked Nandor into his coffin, when everything is quiet and still, you turn down his bed for him, collecting his dirty laundry as he undresses and changes into his pajamas. You hardly ever speak during those moments but the quiet intimacy between the both of you is enough to fuel your hopeless fantasies. You pull the covers up over him and let the backs of your fingertips graze over his body as you do so. You dream about climbing into that big, soft bed with him, cuddling up and pressing your lips to his…

But Guillermo is not in the mood for soft indulgence. He’s annoyed and exhausted. The heavy burden of his disappointment weighs on you. You’re jumpy and nervous; you feel like at any second you’ll either burst into tears or scream at him to forgive you. Possibly both.

He comes back out with another wrapped bundle, significantly bigger than the last. He pauses in the doorway and glares at you; his cheek is spattered with blood. You might faint with how sinfully attractive he looks while giving you murder eyes.

“You know what?” he says. “I think you did this on purpose. When was the last time we had five bodies in the cell?!”

Nadja and Laszlo had themselves a blood feast last night. You’d spent ages scrubbing the fancy room before starting the grisly job of dismembering and dissolving the first corpse. Your accident had cut things short.

“No, master, I wouldn’t!” you plead. “Please let me help you!”

You bend down to grasp one end of the bundle but Guillermo stops you with a sharp slash of his hand through the air. “What did I tell you? You need to let those heal or you’ll have permanent damage.”

You’re forced to stand by and watch as your master painstakingly saws, hacks and cuts the bodies down to size. His jacket and apron are covered in blood by the time he finishes stuffing all the parts into the large, heavy-duty trash bags that you awkwardly hold open for him. He’s panting with the exertion and the job still isn’t done. Now he needs to carry everything into the basement where the vats of lye solution stand ready to do the job of dissolving the evidence.

He pauses to catch his breath. You catch his eyes and it’s suddenly too much to hold everything inside. A sob wracks your form and you drop your head, hiding your face as tears fall. Guillermo sighs and you imagine him rolling his eyes at you as he gathers the bags and trudges around to the basement entrance.

“You filled the tubs up too high,” he comments. “You need to leave some room at the top otherwise they’ll overflow like earlier, okay?”

He puts his hand up to the outside of one tub, indicating the fill line and you nod your head, eager to appease him even as exhausted, overwhelmed tears sting your cheeks. Guillermo is so strong. He lifts the deadweight of each body part with seeming ease, carefully lowering them into the tubs until each one is filled. When he’s finished he turns back to you and regards your crying, whimpering form for a moment before speaking.

“I’m going to go take a shower. There’s nothing more for you to do. I want you to go to your room and stay there. You’ll just be in the way, otherwise.”

---

The next day is the same, although thankfully Laszlo and Nadja refrain from another blood frenzy. But, again, you’re forced to stand idle as your master toils with the tasks that should be your responsibility. You can practically feel his aggravation with you bubbling beneath the surface of his cold demeanor, and it sends you into an anxious spiral. You live for Guillermo’s praise, for the rare little smiles he gives you when you’ve done something particularly good. For those coveted words as he strokes a hand through your hair. “Good familiar.”

This just feels awful.

You want to be good again but you don’t know how. You can’t make your body heal any faster. You can’t think of a way to make it up to your master. Well...certainly there are ways you’d like to make it up to him, but Guillermo has never indicated that he’d be interested in you in that way. Why would he be interested in you? A worthless, stupid excuse for a familiar who can’t do anything right…

You find yourself standing outside his bedroom door, heart in your throat as you rap your knuckles on the solid wood. His face is a stoic mask when he lets you in. As soon as the door shuts you fall onto your knees at his feet, wrapping your arms around his legs and pressing your face into his thick thighs.

“Please let me be good again, master!” you cry, not even knowing what you mean by the words.

But Guillermo sinks his fingers into your hair and you weep with relief. Guillermo knows what you need, doesn’t he? He’s served his master for so long, he must know how to help you.

“I wondered how long it would take you to finally come to me,” he muses, his fingernails dragging lightly over your scalp. You mewl and nuzzle your face into his thigh. For a fleeting moment you think about shifting over a few inches and pressing your mouth to the crotch of his khaki pants, wantonly rubbing your face against him and begging for the chance to pleasure him. But that would be for you, and that’s not what this is about, is it? He says your name and a shiver runs down your spine. “You won’t feel better until you’re punished.”

The revelation is so simple yet so fucking profound. You can earn back your place as Guillermo’s good familiar. Oh, god, you’ll let him do anything to you if he’ll only scourge the shame from your soul.

“Please punish me, master,” you tilt your head back and look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Guillermo’s lips curve into a smile. It’s not his “good job” smile or his “secret joke” smile and it’s certainly not the smile he reserves for Nandor. This is a smile like a knife’s edge and a sudden qualm echoes through your stomach. You’ve devoted yourself to this man, making it your goal to please him in the pathetic hope that he might simply like you. But you’ve never been at his mercy before.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Your voice quavers.

Rather than answer you, he shows you. He helps you up, grasping your elbow rather than your injured hand, and walks you over to the bed. He sits, regarding you with cold, expressionless eyes and indicating your pants with a nod of his head. “Take those off.”

For a brief infinity you are struck motionless. Like a squirrel who, seeing a car on the road, cannot decide whether to sprint across to the other side or turn back to safety. You don’t have to do this. Guillermo might be mean and exacting, but he wouldn’t force you. Your fingers tremble as they move to the button of your jeans. Popping it open feels like opening Pandora’s box. What are you starting? And is it something you can ever come back from? Would you even want to?

“Good familiar,” he purrs, his voice soft as always. All doubts fly out of your head at those words. You scramble to shimmy the jeans down your legs, discarding them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Guillermo eyes you with a single arched brow and he doesn’t even need to say anything; you pick up the jeans and neatly fold them, setting them down on the bed beside him. His smile waters you, makes you feel stronger even as you’re putting yourself under his control.

He pats his lap and you step closer, stopping right next to him, unsure. It’s obvious what he intends to do but you’re horrifically shy about it. Does he want you to drape yourself over his knee? Or should you sit on his lap to start? What if you look like an idiot--a kid sitting on Santa’s lap? The questions and worries chase each other around in your mind until you’re paralyzed with indecision.

“Hush,” Guillermo says, reading the panic on your face. He puts his hands on your hips, turning you and pressing down on the small of your back until you’re lying across his lap, pinned. You sigh in pure relief, melting against him and shutting your eyes. Guillermo will take care of you. You don’t need to worry about what comes next or how to behave; you don’t even have to worry about displeasing him. Guillermo won’t let you mess up. He’s in charge now. A tiny sob escapes you at the thought.

“Thank you, master!” you cry, rubbing your cheek against the side of his fleshy thigh.

Guillermo’s hand smooths over your backside and goosebumps break out on your flesh. His hand is soft, delicate. He strokes you through your underwear, circling each round cheek before taking hold of the waistband and pulling down to expose you completely. From your position you can’t see his face. Is he looking at you? Inspecting you? Is he pleased with what he sees or is he detached and clinical?

“Don’t thank me yet, my little familiar.” There’s a smirk in his voice and then the first smack lands.

What did you expect? For a man who regularly lures people to their deaths to be gentle? His hand lands on your quivering flesh with brutal force. You hiss, tears springing to your eyes on impact. Before you have a chance to grapple with the pain of the first blow, a second one is falling on your other side. This time you moan and cry out, squirming on his lap.

Guillermo’s quiet voice reaches into you and tugs you back from the pain. “My good familiar,” he says and delivers another bruising smack. “Look how well you’re taking your punishment. I’m so proud of you, chiquis.”

His words unlock something inside of you and all of your anxiety, your shame, your sorrow and your love comes pouring out. You weep; big, wracking sobs shake your shoulders and you dig your fingers into your master’s leg, desperately clinging to him.

You cry out your thanks as his hand continues it’s merciless assault. The violence of that soft, delicate hand is shocking. He hits you over and over again, never landing on the same place twice, but always leaving behind a stinging, burning ache that feels like a brand on your skin. A brand of Guillermo’s dear name. You belong to him. The thought sends a thrill of arousal straight to your groin. He’ll never be yours but you don’t care if he’ll only allow you to be his .

Eventually the pain eclipses everything else, even the sweet surrender of giving in to your master’s justice. Even the revelation of his hard erection thrusting against your belly. The pleasant, fuzzy cloud that’s enveloped your senses begins to thin and you jump and sob with every slap.

“Please, master,” you finally cry, flinching and trying to pull away when you sense his hand raising for another blow. “Please stop.”

Guillermo’s hand comes down one last time, resting gently on your burning, bruised flesh. He brushes his palm over his handiwork and asks, “Do you feel better now, little one?”

It’s like waking up from anesthesia. The pleasant buzz of submission fades from your mind and you feel shaky and vulnerable, but also clean and renewed. “Yes,” you breathe, affection and gratitude filling your voice. “Was I good, master?”

Guillermo replaces your underpants and gently tugs you off his lap, laying you down on the plush fabric of his comforter. “You did so well, chiquis. I’m proud of you.”

You’re in your master’s bed, your head resting on his pillow. You’re shameless, burying your nose into the pillow and inhaling Guillermo’s scent. Your eyelids feel heavy and you really shouldn’t fall asleep here in your master’s space but oh, how you wish your little fantasy could come true.

“Am I a good familiar, master?” you ask. Your voice is tiny and afraid in the soft quiet of Guillermo’s bedroom.

He strokes his hand through your hair, pressing a kiss to your cheek and whispering, “You’re the best familiar.”

You laugh sleepily and scoff, “That’s not true, master. You’re the best familiar.”

Your eyes have somehow drifted closed and the next thing you’re aware of is the mattress dipping behind you as Guillermo climbs under the covers. He manhandles you a bit, until he manages to drag the blankets up over your body.

“Well…” he finally answers, reaching over to click off his bedside lamp. “Then you’re the best familiar’s familiar.”

#Guillermo de la cruz #guillermo de la cruz x reader #guillermo de la cruz fanfic #wwdits #wwdits fanfic #guillermo de la cruz imagine

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aquinoa · 4 years

Text

My Muse | ft. Tsukishima Kei

-`,dedicated to @hinaaspanda for her belated birthday! ⹁՛-

muse

/myo͞oz/; noun

(in Greek and Roman mythology) each of nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences.

a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

something Tsukishima thought he’d never find, until you came along.

pairing: Art Student!Tsukishima x Art Student!Reader (female)

genre: Art School!AU, fluff, angst if you squint

word count: 6345

warning: swearing, drinking, like one instance of hinting at the devil’s tango

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you braced yourself for your class' relentless nitpicking of your latest painting. Group critiques were the one thing you dreaded the most about art school.

"Could you explain your reasoning for that type of brushstroke?"

"The message is intriguing, but I'm not so sure about the techniques you used for the foreground portray what you intended."

"The colour scheme seems random." It's been over a month into the semester, but you could never get used to being in the hot seat and facing the criticisms of your peers.

"It looks like a lame Cy Twombly imitation to me. Did you do this in, what— five minutes?" This comment from a certain classmate particularly bothered you. You turned to glare at the culprit.

"Kei Tsukishima! Constructive criticism only, please." The art professor gasped. "How about you go next for your critique?" Tsukishima sighed and shifted his easel, revealing to the class his assignment.

As always, his canvas contained a masterpiece. His technical skills were insanely advanced and the whole class knew it; they could not keep quiet it about it during his crit. His own explanation for it, however, was lacklustre. Most of his responses to comments were the likes of "I don't know," or "I just felt like it." To you, that might've been what aggravated you about Tsukishima the most—he was so gifted, but he treated his pieces as if they were mere doodles. If only you had even a percentage of his technical skills.

You ruminated in your thoughts, as other students continued with their critiques until class ended. In the midst of the class packing up and leaving the studio, your eyes glanced over to Tsukishima a couple of seats down. His eyes eventually meet yours as he passed by, noticing how irritated you still were.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"I'll have you know that painting took a long time to make." You began. "What you said during my crit stung a bit."

"It's called a critique, pipsqueak. What else do you want?" He rolled his eyes, turning his back to you and headed toward the exit.

"I'm not a pipsqueak!" You shrilled, jolting up from your seat. You took a deep breath. "At least be more considerate in my critique. Like—give me a specific thing to improve on?" The boy paused just before the doorway, his back still to you.

"Y/N, was it?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Work on your hatching or something. Gives it more depth." He muttered before walking out. You glanced back at your piece for a second before tucking it away in your case and exiting the studio.

—&

Your body shivered from the evening breeze as you walked back to your apartment. As you rummaged for your keys in front of your door, a cheery voice greeted you from the next door down.

"Oi, Y/N!"

"Yamaguchi!" You beamed. Yamaguchi, your neighbour, was always a ray of sunshine. "How's your essay coming along?"

"Actually, I just submitted it earlier today! So, fingers crossed for that coveted C+!" The boy chuckled before he glanced at your discouraged look and raised a brow. "What happened to you? Rough day?" You nodded, letting out a sigh.

"We had group crits today in studio class. I was able to respond to the comments, but it was obvious what they thought about my work: my technique isn't good enough. God, there was this one particular guy in my class who was just so— so insensitive about it!"

"H-hey, don't mind the haters!" Yamaguchi butted in to calm you down. "He's probably just jealous of you." You raised a brow.

"Jealous of what? It just felt like he was punching down." You looked down, letting out a sigh. "I put a lot of thought into this piece and I thought it would show."

"You're talking about that piece you worked on last week right?" You nodded, Yamaguchi's mouth gaping open. "Wait— that one is so good! I've seen art galleries where they feature a white canvas with a singular black line painted! If those can end up in galleries, you're absolutely fine!" You chuckled, before he continued. "The message behind the art piece is just as important as the piece itself, if not more. And Y/N, you put a lot of thought to the message behind each of your pieces, which is awesome! Don't be too hard on yourself."

"Thanks, Yamaguchi." You grinned. "I honestly am beyond lucky to have ended up with you as a neighbour."

"Hey, I feel like I'm the lucky one having such a talented artist as a neighbour!" The boy grinned back before bidding you goodbye. You waved back and stepped inside your apartment.

—&

"Alright, folks. Now that we're a couple of months into the semester, it's about time to talk about your final term project." The studio professor began explaining the logistics and requirements of the final project. It was essentially another painting but with higher stakes. "Keep in mind: while the technique is absolutely important, your projects also need depth and meaning. Otherwise, you are going to have quite a rough critique. Let me tell you, the other professors can be ruthless!" The professor chuckled. "Now, on with the class." You groaned. The only thing worse than being criticized on the spot by your class was getting criticized on the spot by a group of professors—actual artists. If you were gonna ace the final project, you were gonna have to grind hard.

In the middle of the period, you placed your brush on your easel to take a quick break. You took a deep breath and rolled back your shoulders before letting your eyes wandered around the class—from the wide window pane wall on your left as it welcomed the sunlight throughout the studio, to your classmates on your right as they either quietly worked on their next pieces or chatted amongst each other. Your eyes eventually fall on Tsukishima, a couple of seats from you, as he's quietly slouched over his canvas with a Filbert brush in hand.

"He's probably just jealous of you." These particular words from Yamaguchi left you baffled even after a few days since that interaction. Why would Tsukishima—that gifted asshole—be jealous of you? What could you have for him to be jealous of? Compared to his skills? If anything, you should feel jealous of h—

That was not a thought you wanted to finish. You must've stared at Tsukishima for too long, since his attention has suddenly shifted to you, with a puzzled look.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I—" You stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. "I...was just wondering if you could...share more brush technique tips...?" You grinned feigningly. The boy glanced over at your canvas then back at you.

"Figures. Looks like you really need it." He snickered, causing you to scoff.

"God, you are hard to talk to."

"Oi, I didn't say no." He rebutted. "I can't be bothered by explaining it to you, though. Since you're already slacking off anyway, just watch me." He adjusted his glasses before focusing back on his own canvas. You rolled your eyes at the ego of this guy, but was puzzled at his odd offer. You kept your eyes on his brush and took mental notes as he continued painting. You were fascinated by the advanced brush techniques he applied as if it was child's play. After watching his brush for a while, your eyes eventually wandered over to his hand. Then to his broad shoulders. Then to the pale nape of his neck. Then to his short, ruffled, blonde hair. Then to the golden-brown eyes behind his glasses, a little sorry that they a lack a glint to them.

"Tsukishima! Do you mind if I talk to you for a second?" The professor asked as she walked up to his easel. It was more than enough to snap you out of your gaze. You darted your head back to your own easel and continued to work away at your canvas, with your flustered confusion blocking out Tsukishima's conversation with the professor. Why did he leave you in such a daze just now?

When the clock signaled the end of class, the class began to pack up. As you put your paint away, you glanced over at Tsukishima once more as he quickly packed up his supplies. This time, he looked more annoyed than usual.

"Oi, Tsukishima." You called to him. "What did the professor talk to you about?"

"None of your business." He retorted without batting an eye as he grabbed his bag and walked out of the studio without another word. Quite rude, but he seemed in a bad mood, so you disregarded it. You grabbed your things and left the studio to continue with the rest of your day.

—&

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

You jolted awake from the knock on your door. You reached for your phone to check the time—it was noon. It was only mere hours ago when you finished pulling an all-nighter to work on an assignment because your inspiration apparently likes to strike at 3am. The knocking continued. You groaned as you sat up and grudgingly made your way over to the front door. You opened the door and peeked out to find a tall, familiar figure standing off to your left.

"Tsukishima?!" For the last few classes, your interactions with Tsukishima have been scarce. He'd somehow manage to insert an insult whenever you'd ask him a question. There were also moments in class where you swore you felt a glance coming from his direction, but when you turned your head to him, he was occupied with his canvas. Seeing him now at your doorstep was a surreal experience.

"Y/N?" He looked at you quizzically. "You live here? Whatever. What do you want?"

"What do you mean "What do you want?"," You mocked sluggishly. "You knocked on my door— what do you want?"

"Wait, you thought I knocked on your door? Dumbass." He snickered. You rolled your eyes and hit his arm.

"I'm too tired for this, Kei." You retorted, leaning against the door frame. "Who are you here to see, then?"

"I'm here to see a friend." He pointed over to Yamaguchi's door and—as if on cue—his door opened and a frantic Yamaguchi stepped out.

"S-sorry, Tsukki!" Yamaguchi shrilled. "My readings took longer than I expected!" He caught sight of you and waved. "Oh! Hi Y/N! I see you've met Tsukki…shima." He chuckled softly.

"Hey Yamaguchi!" You waved back. "Wait, you call him Tsu—that's so cute! I wanna call him that too!" Tsukishima furiously shook his head.

"No way I'm letting anyone else call me Tsukki. I only make an exception for Yamaguchi." He sighed, turning to Yamaguchi. "She's in my studio art class."

"Unfortunately." You muttered under your breath.

"Oi, I heard that." Tsukishima glared.

"Hey Yamaguchi, how do you know Tsukki?" You asked, teasingly emphasizing the latter name. Yamaguchi chuckled.

"Oh, I've been friends with Tsukki since we were young!"

"That's insane. You're way too nice to be hanging around Tsukki."

"Y/N, I will tell Yamaguchi you thought I was knocking on your door, if you don't stop calling me Tsukki." Tsukishima threatened.

"You just did though." You furrowed your brows.

"Wait Y/N, did you just wake up?" Yamaguchi asked.

"Yeah, Tsukki woke me up." You pouted.

"Serves you right, pipsqueak." Tsukishima scoffed.

"Oi, I'm no pipsqueak! It's not my fault you tower over everyone, you bean pole."

"I'd rather be a bean pole—if it means not being caught in public with those on." He pointed down at your panda slippers. You gasped theatrically.

"How dare you insult my precious pandas?"

"Alright, you two!" Yamaguchi finally chimed in. "I get it. You two fight like a married couple. Horribly, I might add." He chuckled, causing both you and Tsukishima to scoff. "Anyways Tsukki, let's get going and let Y/N get some rest." Yamaguchi bid you goodbye, while Tsukishima gave you one last glance before he turned around and followed the other. "Seriously, Tsukki. Just use the doorbell next time!" You chuckled, hearing your neighbour lecture the bean pole as they walked away.

When you stepped back into your apartment, you rubbed the nape of your neck. You've almost forgotten why you've antagonized Tsukishima so much. Aside from the rocky start and the constant teasing, he's never been inherently bad to you. It's almost as if he's nice to you in his own, subtle way.

Nah. It must've been the sleep deprivation talking. You let out another yawn and went back to get some more shut-eye.

—&

The deadline for the studio class' term project was approaching. For the past couple of weeks, you've often found yourself spending late evenings painting away alone in the studio after class. The warm, quiet atmosphere of the studio with golden rays shining through the window pane as the sun set was where you've lately felt the most motivated. One particular evening in the studio, you were stuck on how to execute a certain portion of your painting's foreground. If you were going to impress the professors during your term project critique, you had to go above and beyond with your technique, considering your track record of your mediocre group critiques. You leaned your head back along with a sigh. You tapped the handle of your paintbrush on your temple, wishing for an idea.

"Y/N?" Startled, you turned to the familiar, baritone voice stood by the studio doorway.

"Tsukishima? H-how long have you been there?"

"Relax, I'm just here to pick up some paint that I forgot." You sighed and turned back to your canvas. He walked over to the supply shelves behind you to grab a few tubes of paint, placing them in his bag, before turning to you. After a while, you couldn't help but feel irked by the boy looking over your shoulder from behind.

"So—" You decided to break the silence. "It's still a work in progress, but what do you think of it?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" He snickered, causing you to groan. At this point, you've grown desensitized of his teasing.

"I'm serious. I want to do well for the term project. I'm just stuck on how to paint this part of the foreground." You motioned to the portion of the canvas before the boy stepped closer to take another look at your painting.

"Give me your brush." You reached out your brush to him without batting an eye, expecting him to take it. To your surprise, you instead felt his hand firmly gripping onto yours.

"Ts-Tsukishima?" You froze, bewitched by his sudden touch. His hand guided you and the brush throughout the canvas, using colour combinations and brush strokes foreign to you, but seemingly simple to him. Your eyes couldn't help but focus on his hand that was clung onto yours. You held your breath. At that moment, it felt like time stood still. When he finished, he gently released your hand. The warmth of his touch lingered on your hand—and on your mind—for a bit longer. He briefly explained the techniques he applied, when he noticed your still flustered reaction.

"Huh— oi, don't get the wrong idea. It was the only way I could've done it without you getting in trouble for cheating or something." He rebutted, seemingly unfazed by his actions. "Besides, you probably wouldn't have been able to do it if I just explained it to you."

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes, any flustered feelings you felt faded away. You looked back at the portion of your canvas just painted. As usual, Tsukishima's methods were impressive and helpful. "Thanks." You uttered under your breath, before continuing to work. He nodded before looking out the window.

"It's getting late. Shouldn't you head home?" He asked as he picked up his bag, about to leave.

"It’s fine," You shook your head, keeping your eyes on your canvas. "I've gone home later than this in the past. I have to work on this." The boy sighed and paused before reaching for your portfolio case.

"I didn't know you were this stubborn too." He dangled your portfolio case and made his way out the studio. "It's time to call it a day if you want this back." You turned to him as he slung your portfolio case over his shoulder with a sly smirk before stepping out the studio. You groaned.

"Oi! Come back here!" You shoved your supplies into your bag, slipped off your apron and grabbed your canvas before rushing out the studio to catch up to him as he kept his leisurely pace. Panting, you caught up to him and snatched your portfolio case back. "What the hell, Tsukishima?" He snickered.

"I'm heading over to Yamaguchi's place anyway, so I wasn't actually going to run away with it."

"You better not have. Wait— why are you headed to Yamaguchi's so late?"

"I'm staying over. My brother's bringing his girlfriend over to our house tonight, so you already know what's bound to happen." He shuddered. "Frankly, I don't want to hear any of that shit." You chuckled.

—&

A serene silence fell upon the two. Before you knew it, you found yourself walking back to the apartment complex together. As you walked, you leaned your head back and took a breath of the evening breeze. You turned your head to Tsukishima, who's engrossed himself in his music, a bit of which you could almost hear from his headphones. You felt your cheeks warm up. Walking beside him right now made you reminisce of the countless romantic scenes you've read where the boy walks the girl home. You shook your head. No, this wasn't one of those tales.

"Why are you looking at me this time?" Tsukishima raised a brow at you, slinging his headphones around his neck. "You've been doing that a lot lately."

"Oh—" You scratched your head. "I swear it's just a coincidence. Maybe you're just looking at me all the time." He rolled his eyes before another silence fell upon the two. A thought suddenly crossed your mind. "I was just wondering, remember when you stormed off after the professor talked to you?"

"Hm."

"What happened? Did she say something bad?" The boy suddenly grimaced. Your curiosity grew, but regretted asking him. He let out a sigh.

"She's concerned about how I'll do in the final term project. That my track record of 'shallow responses' during my crits indicate the kind of work I'll bring to the final critique. And that I didn't feel 'inspired' enough." He shrugged. "As long as I paint something impressive to my audience, I should do fine."

It dawned on you that he has the exact opposite dilemma as you. While you lacked the technique, yet strived in the depth of your pieces, he had insanely advanced skills, but struggled to find drive.

"Don't you want to do more than 'fine', though?" You began. "I mean—isn't that the point of art? To express that of which your muse—let's say—has inspired you?"

"My muse?" Tsukishima raised a brow.

"Yeah, your muse! Something—or someone—that is a source of inspiration for you." He paused, gazing at you before he tsked.

"Odd."

"What do you mean 'odd'?" You furrowed you brows, mocking his tone. "You must have a muse. Something you like that makes you go 'I want to paint something based on that'?" He shook his head. "I don't buy it. Tell me, Kei. You like music, right? Doesn't it make you feel things and envision things when you listen to it?"

"I guess, but it doesn't make me want to paint it."

"Scratch that, then. How about, I'll give you an example of a muse of mine:" You pointed upward. "that."

"Huh—" He looked up as well. "The sky?" You nodded.

"I love the sky. It gives you something different everyday. From the glint of the stars out tonight, the funny shapes you make out from clouds, to the gorgeous colours that sunsets reveal—which is a personal favourite." You sighed in glee.

"Anyone can paint a sunset, though." He rebutted. "I just don't see how the sky would impress the professors. Wouldn't it make you a more worthwhile artist to show off the most challenging techniques you can pull off to succeed?" You gritted your teeth.

"It's not about what you paint—it's why you're painting it!" Your plead echoed around both of you. This took Tsukishima aback. You lowered your head, your heart sinking. It was as if every small, condescending remark he's said has piled up and overwhelmed you. "Not everyone is as gifted as you, Tsukishima." You whimpered softly. "I've always admired your talent." Silence fell once more.

"Y/N, I—"

"You know I have been practicing the things you've taught me. I know I'm not the best at them, but at least I'm improving. At least I'm trying." There was a shakiness growing in your voice. "I don't know if I'm upset at you or at myself, but—" As you two approached the apartment complex, you turned to the boy one last time with a pained look in your eyes. "but can't you be even the tiniest bit considerate of me?" You turned your back to him and marched back into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you.

Tsukishima lowered his head, gritted his teeth, and cursed under his breath as Yamaguchi let him inside as well.

—&

For the next couple of weeks, you and Tsukishima ceased talking to each other, not even looking at each other's way. It perplexed you why you've been as affected by him as you were that night. Maybe it was your confusion from how he constantly teetered between belittling you and helping you. Maybe it was your disappointment that you've invested yourself to him but he never reciprocated in the end, but never again. You've convinced yourself that he was nothing more but a mere classmate from studio class—always has been and always will be.

The end of the term was nearly approaching and the stress continued to pile up. You've been dedicating much more time into perfecting your art pieces for the final project. One particular weekend, cooped up in your apartment while trying to finish up your painting, you hit upon some good ol' artist block. You scratched your head as you tried to find inspiration. You peeked out your window. Nothing but gray clouds today. You turned back to your canvas, frustrated at how you feel you're so close to finishing, yet so far. Eyeing the details, you noticed the particular spot that Tsukishima added that evening in the studio. Your flustered feelings began to creep back into your mind.

Nope.

You ruffled your hair furiously before wailing out a long, exasperated scream for what felt like forever. Once you calmed down, you leaned back onto your seat. Oddly enough, screaming helped you clear your thoughts and frustrations. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

The silence was broken by a sudden, frantic knocking on your door. You walked over and opened the door to find a concerned Yamaguchi.

"Y/N! I heard screaming. A-are you okay?" He asked frantically.

"Yamaguchi! I'm fine, sorry about that." You laughed nervously as you rubbed the nape of your neck. "I was just blowing off steam from the stress of school, I guess." Your neighbour sighed in relief.

"Man, Y/N. You scared me!" He complained. "It's getting that tense, huh?" You nodded. He took notice of your messy hair and your weary demeanor. "You sure look like you need a break. " He chuckled.

"Gee thanks, Yamaguchi."

"Oh!" His eyes suddenly brightened up before placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come over and have a drink or two! It's the weekend, you should let loose!" A drink was probably what you needed right now, anyway.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty nice." You conceded. Yamaguchi beamed in response. You closed your door and followed your neighbour into his unit.

"Make yourself at home." Yamaguchi made his way to the fridge. "I'll grab drinks. Any preferences?"

"The hardest ones you've got." You both laughed.

"Gotcha." You sat down on the couch and leaned back. You glanced around. You spot a familiar set of brushes and paints—the ones from the studio. You looked around once more until you spotted him sat by the balcony.

"Tsukishima?" You caught the blonde boy in the middle of ogling at you, seemingly somewhat buzzed already. His eyes widened the moment your eyes met, and quickly looked away. He placed his headphones back on and took another swig from his bottle.

"Sorry, Y/N." Yamaguchi chimed in as he headed towards you with two red cups. "I figured if I mentioned Tsukki was staying over tonight, you'd refuse to come over." You shook your head, smiling reassuringly.

"Don't worry, Yamaguchi. He didn't hurt me or anything." You sighed. "I overreacted a bit too." He handed you a cup and sat down beside you.

"Tsukki told me what happened. He regretted being so brash with you."

"He did?" Yamaguchi nodded, glancing over at Tsukishima.

"You want to know how he's gotten so good at painting?"

"Sure."

"The thing his professor told him—that he lacks inspiration in his work—it's not unfounded. It's something he's struggled with long before he started art school. He figured that if he explored more techniques—that if he got better—he'll eventually find something to inspire him. He's gotten so talented, but he rarely feels fulfilled from his work. It's made him feel like an inadequate artist, which is why he's resorted to teasing and such."

"Oh." You frowned. "I never thought of it like that."

"Don't worry! I believe he's recently found that source of inspiration. You should see the painting he's done for your term project!" Yamaguchi leaned back on the couch. "Tsukki's never been the best at being positive or open, so you'll have to forgive him. The teasing get annoying, surely, but he means well. He's teased me since we were kids, but I've come to realize that that's how he shows he's invested in someone."

"No way—I don't buy it."

"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true! You'll see." He grinned. "I'm not sure if you'll see Super Drunk Tsukishima tonight, but he can be quite sentimental." He chuckled.

"Now that would be a sight to see." You snickered. "What kind of drunk are you, Yamaguchi?"

"There's only one way to find out, right?" He snickered as you both clinked your cups and guzzled down your drinks.

A few drinks later, it didn't take long to find yourself drunk and beside a passed-out, mumbling Yamaguchi on the couch. Zoned out, you let out a couple of hiccups. You suddenly caught a moving figure from the corner of your eye. You sluggishly turned your head to find Tsukishima stumbling to grab another bottle from the fridge. You sneered loudly.

"Tsssukki—can I call you Tsukki? I'm gonna call you Tsukki—someone should cut you off."

"Cut me off? I paced myself—" The boy rebutted, flimsily pointing at you. He hiccuped. "unlike you. Take a look at yourself, Y/N. And look what you did to Yamagusshi!"

"Pffft. He did that to himself." You cackled. He groaned before opening his bottle and shuffling back, sitting down on the balcony floor. After a second, you decided to follow him out and plop down beside him. "Tsukki, I'm sorryyy—" You turned to him and pouted. "I yelled at'cha that one time. I didn't know y'were sad tooo." Taken aback, the boy furrowed his brows, pointing the neck of his beer bottle towards you.

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who upset you." He pointed the neck of the bottle to himself, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "I'm the asshole here." Your drunk ass couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Asshole! You said 'asshole'!" You continued to cackle, leaning back too much as you began to lose balance. Before you knew it, Tsukishima reached out, catching you with one hand grasped onto your wrist and his other hand wrapped around your waist.

"Oi, be careful." He gently pulled you back upward as you continued to giggle to yourself, still seemingly unaware of his actions. You finally realized what just occurred the moment you felt his hand pull away from your waist. Flustered, you looked away for a moment and grumbled.

"You sure are an asshhole, Kei." You muttered, trying hard not to slur your words. "Y'know—you i-insult me all the ti—"

"I know, and I'm sorr—"

"But y-you also do these things that make m-my heart skip a beat—"

"Y/N—" He stammered.

"A-and I get all confused about you, and I never know what to feel—"

"Y/N."

"I mean—w-why me? Why aren't you like this to other people?"

"Because I don't care about other people." Tsukishima's words finally cut you off. You gazed at him as the moonlight lit up his flustered face. You felt his grip on your wrist slide down as he gently held your hand. He locked his eyes onto yours. You hoped your flushed cheeks from the alcohol were enough to hide your blushing as he slowly leaned his face closer.

THUD!

You both turned your head back into the main room to find Yamaguchi on the foot of the couch.

"Tsukki..." He groaned. "Bathroom...puke...n-now..." Tsukishima sighed. He looked at you once more before he stammered.

"I should go help him..." You nodded, still flustered. He released your hand as he rose to his feet and clumsily headed over to Yamaguchi to help him. You gently hit your cheeks with the palms of your hands. You figured those two would be occupied for a while, so you decided to trudge back to your apartment without bidding them goodbye. You felt as if your emotions were at their limit, anyway. It was going to be one hell of a hangover the next day.

—&

You couldn't remember a lot from that night at Yamaguchi's place, but the feeling of Tsukishima's hand grasped onto yours still lingered on your mind. You weren't sure if you were imagining it or not—or if you just wanted it to happen. None of that mattered right now; there wasn't much time left before the end of the semester. For the remainder of the time, you focused solely on schoolwork, determined on creating the best final product for your studio class' final term project to your ability. You knew you still had ways to go, but you've surely improved your technique. You were grateful to Tsukishima, but you didn't have the time to entertain anymore confusion from your emotions.

"How could I have forgotten the varnish?" You grumbled as you paced your way to the studio one day, picking up some supplies. Right before entering, you took notice of the figures already in the studio: Tsukishima in front of a small panel of art professors. You gasped and hid behind the door. His critique for the term project must've been today. You peeked your head out the door to take a closer look inside.

Your eyes couldn't help but focus on Tsukishima, surprised by how much more devotedly he seems answering the professors' comments; a huge contrast compared to his previous demeanor during previous crits in class. You smiled. It was admirable seeing him like that. You glanced over to the painting he presented. It was a beautiful depiction of the sky at dusk: a gorgeous mix of colours at sunset with an ethereal sky of stars above. Even from a distance, it wasn't hard to appreciate his mastery of technique. Another detail of the painting caught your eye: the female figure in the middle whose presence was subtle, yet significant. As you pieced together her features, you slowly realized that the figure in his painting strongly resembled you.

"Hold on—" The sound of applause and chairs scraping on the floor interrupted your train of thought. You gasped as you hid around the corner, waiting for the studio to clear. You heard the voices fading off as they walked out of the studio and waited a few moments before deciding the coast was clear. You snuck into the studio, only to find one more person across the room.

"I saw you peeking, you know." Tsukishima remarked, packing up his artwork. "You're not stealthy at all."

"I figured." You sighed. "I'm just here to pick up some varnish for my project. How did your crit go?"

"I think it went well." He rubbed the nape of his neck. "I never talked this much during crits, but it was easier since I had some inspiration to drive me."

"Hey, that's awesome! I knew you had it in you!" You grinned. "It was a beautiful painting, by the way. It's funny—for a second, I thought the person in your painting sort of looked like me." You laughed awkwardly. The boy raised a brow.

"I painted Urania, one of the Nine Muses in Greek mythology. The Muse of astronomy. So yeah—don't flatter yourself."

"I guess you took my advice literally, huh." You replied, grimacing. You went over to the supply cabinet to pick up the varnish. The boy took notice of your change in tone and scratched his head.

"Sorry. That was unnecessary."

"it's fine." Silence fell upon the studio. Tsukishima finally cleared his throat.

"I mean—that's at least what I told the professors who she was. There's a hidden layer to the painting that I didn't mention."

"What do you mean?"

"What you said earlier—that you thought Urania resembled you. It's because I painted her to resemble you, and the way you admired the sky. Did you think it was a coincidence she looked like you in a painting where I also painted what you said was your muse?"

"W-why paint me, then?" You stammered. He sighed. You sensed a change in his demeanor.

"It baffled me how each crit in class, you're always so adamant on the message of your paintings. It was something I admire about you— and something I wanted to be able to do. Through you, I learned to find inspiration from even the most mundane things." He slowly made his way across the room to you. You grew flustered.

"Tsukishima..." You took a step back, getting backed up by the wall. He stopped right in front of you, towering over you. You felt your cheeks warm up. He took the jar of varnish from your hand and tucked it in his back pocket.

"I meant what I said back at Yamaguchi's place—that I didn't care about anyone else but you. So hearing what you said that night..." A deep, golden shade of sunlight shone through the window pane and onto you as the sun began to set. You reached for Tsukishima’s shirt and gently tugged on it. He reached for your other hand and held it. He cupped his other hand on your cheek and tilted your head upward towards him. "You said you didn't believe I didn't have a muse, but I swore on it. Now—now it's different, because I've found you, Y/N." He leaned his face closer, your eyes fixed onto each other's. "You're my muse." He closed his eyes and gently pressed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes and kissed back. As your kisses grew deeper, you tugged on his shirt a bit stronger to pull his body closer to yours. He intertwined your fingers together, holding each other's hand tighter. This all felt right. Eventually, you lightly pulled away from each other, panting softly. You fixed your gaze on his golden-brown eyes once more. There was now a strong glint to them, unlike before. It made you happy.

"I'm honoured to be your muse, Kei." You softly replied, grinning widely. Hearing your reply, Tsukishima let out a soft laugh—it was the happiest you've seen him look. You liked seeing him this happy. He sighed.

"Here." He let go of your hand to reach for his back pocket and return the jar of varnish. "I’ll walk you home. I'm staying over at Yamaguchi's tonight." You took the jar and tucked it away in your bag. He followed you out of the studio and you began walking back to the apartment complex together.

"Your brother brought his girlfriend over again?" He nodded. "That's been happening more frequently. Doesn't it get annoying?"

"A bit. It's fine, though—" He leaned closer and whispered in your ear. "Soon enough, I might have to kick him out this time." He smirked. Growing flustered again, you gasped.

"Tsukishima, you pervert!" He sneered before speeding up his pace and leaving you behind. You scoffed, chasing after him. "Oi, get back here!"

—&

You gently slapped your cheeks with the palms of your hands—psyching yourself up. Your critique for your final term project is mere minutes away. You muttered to yourself as you paced back and forth in front of the studio.

"I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."

"You can do this." Tsukishima repeated, having your painting in hand. "You have nothing to worry about."

"What if it's not good enough?" You fretted.

"You've worked so hard this whole term. I mean, look at this." He took another look at the canvas. "It's both meticulous and insightful. They'll love it."

"Are you su—" He promptly handed you back the canvas, interrupting you.

"They'll love it." He repeated once more. He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. "There. Only because you can't reach me from down there." He snickered, while you rolled your eyes. You heard a voice from the studio call your name. "Go knock 'em dead." You smiled at him once more before stepping into the studio. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you braced yourself for the professors' relentless nitpicking of your latest painting. Group critiques were the one thing you dreaded the most about art school. However, now with better faith in your skills and in your muse, you figured you'll be alright.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq tsukishima #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x y/n #art school au

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dolcetters · 3 years

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vanilla sunday .

no one asked, i just heckin’ felt like it m’dude. under readmore for length. i’ll try to keep my answers relatively to-the-point, too, since this’ll be a longer post but feel free to inquire on things or ... whatever u-u/ aye. i go sleep now.

is your muse a romantic? do they dream of love and marriage?

short answer: no.

as a teenager, dol didn’t have much interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with any of his peers around yuflam--or at all, really. by the time he got to academy things were either too busy or starting to get too tense for him to consider the idea. and shortly after that he went over a decade thinking he’d never even see sunlight again.

at this point, he just... --it’s just another thing he might want but doesn’t recognize it as something he wants. because he’s earnestly so bad at listening to his own desires and is more than willing to cast them aside if it means aiding someone he cares about achieve their own.

is your muse a deviant? are they overly flirtatious or forward?

no. there’s no real expansion on this, just no. <xD he tends to be much more bashful and sheepish, partially because of aforementioned inability to recognize he might want a relationship with someone. and even if he DOES realize this, he’s... extremely self aware. we’ll leave it at that.

is your muse good at kissing? are they experienced?

NOPE. and no. he’s never kissed anyone.

does your muse initiate a lot of physical contact?

nooooo no no no. he has an anxiety disorder (haphephobia) revolving around physical contact and even something as “small” as shaking hands or a shoulder bump can make him very nervous, uncomfortable and alert. the reaction is almost doubled if it comes with the sensation or energy of being grabbed.

it’s going to take a lot of time, patience, and trust for him to be comfortable initiating physical contact with you.

is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection?

no, for both the above reason as well as the paranoia that comes with being a fugitive/legally dead. the less attention that’s drawn to him, the better. at most, he’d hold your hand... but refer to the previous question for that.

does your muse steal clothing from their partner?

less “steal” and more borrow. due to having limited resources after escaping the labs and very few belongings he can truly call his own, dol wouldn’t/doesn’t just take or use things that belong to friends, family or potential partners (part of this spurs from his OWN resource guarding). he’d be more likely to approach you while you were brushing your teeth and be like “hey, s’it cool if i wear your hoodie today” and then respond based on that answer.

and he’s going to ask you every time. he doesn’t assume.

is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

varies! but most likely, when they’re facing each other, he little-spoons because pressing his face into the curve of the neck just above the collar is not only secure and comforting somehow, but he can hear your heartbeat.

when one of them is facing away, he tends to big spoon. --and obviously this is all assuming he’s at that level of comfort when it comes to physical touch + the partner.

is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? are they insecure?

complicated?

he’s very comfortable and proud of his body when it comes to his physical build, strength, fitness, etc. his strength and speed is something he values and keeping himself healthy and capable is very important to him. he knows he’s done a good job (those arms don’t lie) and he takes pride in that.

~however~, being a chimera... --he’s optimistic, yes. he’s just happy to be alive, of course. it’s not so bad. ...but he is fully, deeply, and painfully aware of how someone might react to witnessing some of his “quirks” when it comes to his splice or the idea of being with someone who isn’t entirely human. and the fact that he often became a target of light jabbing and jokes with the nesties, because dog behavior is much more well-known and commonly familiar than croc or snake or bull behavior, has only added to this awareness.

then, of course, there’s the added detail that he’s not even a perfected chimera. he’s just a successful one. a C- on some government biology test; barely passing.

so yeah. there’s some surface level pride, but... a lot of shame underneath.

is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

physical? no.

he has a soft spot and respect for people who refuse to give into their pain, though. where he experienced trauma and fear and let it make him hardened in a lot of ways, there are other people who have only become brighter, warmer, and do whatever they can to keep someone else from experiencing what they have.

to say he admires that trait in a person is an understatement.

have their crushes been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?

he’s only really had two, and they’ve both been gals, so i guess that makes it mostly female. i’ve mentioned before that he might have been uselessly in love with martel in the time before the raid (whether she felt the same is unknown) and he in default verse is lowkey sweet on rose.

have their partners been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?

he hasn’t had a partner.

is your muse easily flustered? do they blush, swear, etc.?

yes, yes, yes. him being flustered is usually a combo-result of: (1) not being used to that kind of attention from someone he actually likes, (2) having no idea how to respond, (3) internalized shame over what he is, and (4) he’s a fucking idiot.

where is your muse most sensitive?

his head, mostly, especially on his hair line and around the ears.

and i can 10000% promise to you that if he ever lets you comb your fingers in his hair or rub around his temples and you make some kind of dog-related-comment, you’re actually going to cause a shit-ton of psychic damage i’m gonna need you to roll like 10d6 for me.

please, please please please don’t ever refer to him as--or make jokes connecting him to--a dog in moments that are supposed to be vulnerable and/or intimate, i can’t... express this enough, it will hurt him.

is your muse more submissive or dominant in a relationship?

idk, i guess submissive but again: idk

would your muse ever tempt their partner, e.g. flirting, wearing tight/sexy clothing?

nah. not really his thing.

if he does “tempt” them it’s going to be sincerely accidental. like... yeah you walked in on me doing pull-ups i guess. would you hand me my water bottle? i’m parched.

does your muse initiate heated/sexual contact, or do they wait for their partner?

i feel like this question deserves it’s own post because i have a LOT of thoughts regarding rosecetto, specifically, on this topic.

outside of that ship, however, the answer is likely no. he’s not the initiator primarily for touch-anxiety reasons and also chimera-related-shame reasons, even if the partner has assured him there’s nothing wrong with him in the past.

does your muse leave hickies? do they ask for them?

eeehhhhh???? ... i guess accidentally sometimes?? and no.

does your muse like to be pinned down, or to pin their partner?

that’s a big NO. if you pin him down, even if he’s reached a point of security with you that he allows you to touch him, you’re going to flare up any of that anxiety that had previously subsided. he’s been physically restrained and held down far too long and all for bad/painful reasons, and he can’t associate it with anything other than “they’re going to hurt me and i need to get away, no matter what i have to do”.

as for pinning his partner, it’s likely also a no because he’d just... be too aware of his own trauma to even try doing it and he’d probably be uncomfortable being asked to do it.

has your muse reached first/second/third base? home run?

honey, he’s done nothing, he hasn’t even swung--

would your muse be interested in engaging with multiple partners?

no. he doesn’t see anything wrong with it when it comes to other people but this is definitely not for him or something he could be comfortable with.

would your muse ever send a sexual text message? would they send pictures?

n/a, but even in modern verses the answer would be no

does your muse read smut, own magazines, or watch p-rn?

nah

is your muse the type to discuss their sex life or sexual prowess with others?

abso. fucking lutely. not. no no no.

at absolute. MOST? he might open up to sakura (yinseal) about it. maybe greed (avadite). and it’d only be if he felt like he was doing something wrong or felt overwhelmed and self-conscious. but otherwise this is his and his partner’s business.

is your muse a top, a bottom, or a switch? do they have a lean?

defaults to bottom but will top if asked or in some circumstances.

crystal has confirmed that rose (forsakenflora) tops, so jfdlfjklsjkldhsd

how interested is your muse in sex and sexual activity?

he’s not.

it’s not a priority of his, and he definitely doesn’t want to hear about yours.

do they have sex frequently, occasionally, or rarely?

not at all right now jf kljdklhshf lhfklsdg

#♠: prompted headcanons .#////nsfw /// / /#////suggestive // // ///#[ and with that i bid you goodnight ]

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Kingdom Hearts] Policies

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 2 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,969

If you liked this story, please reblog!

- - -

“Hey Skuld...”

“I'm not helping you cheat on your homework.”

Ventus let out a small pout. “I wasn't asking for you to help cheat. I was wondering if you knew the contextual difference between irony and coincidences.”

Skuld paused from counting the balloons in stock before heading over to Ven. She looked over his shoulder to scan his schoolwork. She turned to him with a rather teasing grin.

“That's cheating.” she informed him. Ven pouted again, earning a less than helpful laugh as Skuld returned to inventory checking. So much for that little hint. The teen returned to his work with a grumble.

Some time later, the bell above the front door twinkled as someone entered the store. Ven took a small glance up to see the top of a pink head of hair. Knowing that it was Ephemer's wife, Ven looked back down at his homework. Skuld could help her. She always did when Anora came in, assuming Anora wasn't there to drop something off for Ephemer.

“He's getting so big.” Skuld cooed in a voice that brought Ven's attention again. In Anora's arms was her one year old son, Luca. He looked to be fast asleep in his mother's arms.

“Heavy too.” Anora said, her earthy voice not much above a whisper. From what Ven understood, she was always that naturally quiet.

“You can set him on the counter.” his boss offered, gesturing to the front counter. “You don't have to keep carrying him.”

Anora gave a grateful smile as she gently sat her child on the counter edge. She made sure that he was still laying against her, though. Not once did he stir- Ven was honestly a bit impressed.

“Urg, from the back he looks just like Ephemer.” Skuld then noted with an exaggerated groan. “Here's to hoping he doesn't act like him later on. I feel sorry for both of you already.”

“His hair is going to get lighter as he gets older.” Anora fondly noted as she stroked her son's hair. “Like mine.”

“Speaking of, have you done anything to it? Your hair seems a bit more reddish today.”

Anora gave Skuld a funny look for a moment before giving a shake of her head.

“Huh,” Skuld marveled, “Maybe it's just the lighting in here. I've been trying to convince the others to install fluorescents in the main shop, but the amber light keeps the flowers from looking too sick. You know? It also tends to make things feel sleepier too, isn't that right Ven?”

“Can't hear you, doing homework.”

“Smart kid.” Skuld nodded before breaking into a small laugh. Anora also afforded a small smile before Skuld went to business. “Now, what can I do for you today?”

Anora looked up at Skuld and started to blush for some reason.

“It's my cousin's fourth anniversary.”

“Already? Time really does fly by. It was the first wedding you and Ephemer went to as a couple.”

To this, Anora gave a small jolt of surprise. “He's talked about it?”

“Honey,” Skuld told her, leaning across the counter a bit, “He'd talk about the first time you two shared a bed if it wasn't on the TMI policy.”

A policy that wouldn't exist if Ephemer would just stop talking about Anora, Ven casually thought to himself. But he didn't dare voice it out loud- even though he was sure the ladies would agree with him.

“Let's see...” Skuld mused as she got out an order form. “Fourth anniversary, huh? Traditionally, it's a flowers and fruit, which should make this a pretty easy job. Hm… I think the colors are blue and green- also very easy. Would you like bluebells or blue roses?”

“Bluebells.”

“Thought so. Any gifts you'd like to add?”

Anora nodded, and was about to give specifications, before the bell twinkled again. Skuld and Ventus looked up at the same time to see Lea making his way in. The man was happily singing a tune as he took his attention to the first display arrangement by the door. Not a moment after, the two coworkers were giving each other the exact same look.

“Ven, can you help out Lea?” Skuld said before the teen could even breathe. “Keep him quiet so he doesn't wake Luca up.”

Anora gave Skuld an alarmed look that read along the lines of 'you don't have to do that,' but Ven's manager had made up her mind. It wasn't even a suggestion either. It was an order. Everything Skuld said was an order in some way- at least during work hours. And so, knowing he was going to get a stink eye either way, Ven put his school books away and made his way over to Lea.

The tall, lanky man was humming away to himself as he bent down to look at flower pots. He looked over a few before shaking his head, getting up to look at the next pre-arranged options. In his hands was a black and red frisbee, boasting a design featuring a maliciously grinning ball of flame. Seeing it immediately made Ven stand a bit straighter. He had seen first hand the damage (accidental or not) that one toy had caused in the past. Seeing it now did not inspire the best of confidences.

“You're not supposed to have that in here.”

Lea stopped mid hum. He stood up before turning to Ven.

“Oh come on, we all know it's my fidget spinner. You couldn't separate us if you tried.” Lea grinned. “Besides, as long as it doesn't fly in Miss Skuld-uggery's direction or breaks somethin', she doesn't care one lick. She likes me you know.”

“Uh huh.” Ven snorted. But in remembering that Lea was a customer at the moment, he quickly shook his head to get back to business. Putting on a more professional tone of voice, he then said, “What can I help you with today? Anything in particular that you are looking at?”

Lea looked at him, smirked, and kept on spinning his frisbee.

“It's a long shot,” the man said, “But I was hoping I could get something for Isa to less grump-ify him. He's a busy little bee with no concept of how to have fun. Want something that he could put on his desk to cheer him up for a hot second.” Lea paused for a moment before putting on a wide grin. “What's the largest size teddy bear you got around here?”

“He's not going to like a huge teddy bear.” Ven noted. “You need something more subtle. Like a small bunch of flowers, placed in a coffee cup that he can use later.”

“You see,” the older guy mused, “This is why you work at a flower shop. You know your stuff.”

Confused for a moment, then bashful, Ven placed a hand behind his neck and let out a light chuckle. “Only because I know you guys.”

Lea let out a less than faltering snort. “True enough.” he nodded. A smile started to appear on Lea's face as he then went on to ask, “Speaking of knowing people, how's Lady Sabi?”

For a moment, Ven forgot how to breathe.

“What do you mean?” the teen then asked, trying to shrug it off. He tried even harder to keep them on track by guiding Lea around to some arrangements that he could just take and go.

“Heard she got laid off.” came the rather callous reply, the frisbee spinning rather precisely on his finger. “She come around more often? Any interesting relationship milestones yet?”

Something in Ventus flickered with a sense of annoyance. It wasn't any of Lea's business.

“You jealous that you and Isa are having a rough patch?” he found himself saying before he had the capacity to watch what he was saying. “That's why you're here, isn't it? You two had another argument, so now you're trying to buy his love back before he moves out.”

Suffice to say, Lea's frisbee flew off his finger as the man looked back at the teen in pure shock. Any comments after were put on hold when a voice let out a small squeak of surprise. Not long after that, the two paled at seeing Skuld come their way. In her hands was Lea's frisbee, but it was her face they stared at. Her eyes gleaming with hatred and her brow furrowed so deep that it was obvious she was more than just a little mad.

It wasn't until that she was in arm's distance that Lea tried to stutter out an apology. She never gave him the time. Holding the frisbee with both hands, Skuld whacked Lea across the face. Ven flinched. Lea staggered back, but had a remarkable recovery time.

“Well that wasn't very professional.” he mumbled as he rubbed his cheek.

“You know you're not allowed to have this in here!” Skuld hissed, shoving the frisbee at him. For a moment, Ventus wondered why she wasn't screaming. But then he remembered -and they could still see- Anora at the front counter.

Lea must have seen Anora too because his face immediately paled. Ven took a preemptive step back to let Skuld handle the dirty work- almost surprised in himself for feeling quite smug about Lea's predicament. It's not like he wasn't warned about this beforehand.

“At least no one was...” Lea weakly tried to refute, but he knew his words were useless. Someone had gotten hurt- Skuld wouldn't have been so furious otherwise.

“You're lucky that it didn't hit Luca.” Skuld spat at him.

“Luca?” Lea repeated. If his face wasn't already pale, it would have been sheet white now. He didn't know that much about Ephemer and his family, but he knew enough that they had a kid. A small flicker of fear shot through him in wondering if he hit the kid instead. That would absolutely explain Skuld's fury.

“You have a minute to buy something or get out, Lea.” she then spat as she pointed a finger at his chest. “Starting now.”

“Y-yes ma'am.” Lea quickly agreed. He even gave a salute to show absolute submission. It amused Skuld enough that she decided he had suffered enough, and went back to finish up Anora's order. Once more, Ven was impressed with how Skuld handled things. But that meant he was back to servicing Lea.

“There's a nice ceramic mug over here that Isa will like.” the teen offered. “Pre-arranged and everything.”

“Following you.” Lea agreed, even moving a few inches closer to Ven. “Just… uh, keep it snappy, would you? I don't know whose fury is worse- Skuld's or Isa's.”

Ven couldn't hold back his smug smile as he helped Lea. It took less than 45 seconds to head back over to the front counter. Lea refused to look at either of the ladies as Ven rung his order up.

“I… didn't hit the kid, did I?” Lea carefully asked, turning his head toward Anora a bit but still refusing to look her in the eye. Anora gave him a curious tilt of her head before giving it a small shake. Just as Lea was about to let out a sigh of relief, Skuld cut in.

“You didn't hit the kid, but you did hurt his mother.”

Lea flinched. “Sorry.” he genuinely apologized. After he reclaimed his mug arrangement for Isa, he turned to give Anora a small peck on her temple.

“I'm just lucky that Ephemer wasn't here, huh?” he mused before starting to take his leave. “He wouldn't have held back either.”

“Oh, I'll make sure he knows.” Skuld teased. Lea flinched one last time before quickly leaving the flower shop. In his wake, he left behind two snickering employees of Dandelion's Floristy and Gardening, and one flustered mother with her still sleeping -but thankfully unharmed- child.

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

Text

Wait For You (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: An angsty songfic for these ineffable bastards. I’m bad at summaries but it’s much better than it sounds.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Ask to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or not. All of my fandoms are in my bio.

Warning(s): general angst, swearing (I think)

Inspirations: Wait For You by Tom Walker, the fact that Good Omens is my new obsession and is promptly taking over ever waking moment of my life, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, A Lot Of Love And A Little Bit Dumb by LollipopCop on AO3, Only A Bad Dream by Bookwormgal on AO3, This Fanart by @whiteleyfoster

A/N: Yeah so I write for Good Omens now, what are you going to do about it? I have nothing else to say other than enjoy and please let me know what you thought because every single comment makes my day and that is not an exaggeration in the slightest.

“Angel, I-” Crowley’s voice broke before he could even think of what he was going to say, but there was something in the way the pearly eyes of the angel in question shot up to look at him, something that understood everything that Crowley himself didn’t.

Aziraphale had known that this was going to happen at some point, but that didn’t make him any more prepared for the conversation he knew they were about to have. He nodded deeply, taking great care to not show any hint of annoyance or irritation, knowing that consciously or not, Crowley was looking for any sign that told him his feelings weren’t valid and that he should shut up right there and then. He moved so that he was sitting opposite Crowley instead of straddling him, pulling him into a hug that almost glowed from the love he poured graciously into it. He took it gratefully, throwing his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and burying his face into the crook of his neck. He held onto him for dear life as he sobbed, trying to be as quiet as possible from instinct. The angel cradled the back of his head as he did so, the painful break in his heart deepening with each second that passed; he wasn’t sure if it was from the tiny sobs that escaped his mouth or the fact that they were barely audible. He didn’t even want to think about why he felt the need to stay silent.

Once he’d started, he just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he thought he had his emotions buried down, they would resurface when he was reminded of how soft Aziraphale was, and he meant that both figuratively and literally. He couldn’t silence the voice in his head that screamed at him that he didn’t deserve this he didn’t deserve this he didn’t deserve this, repeating over and over again like some morbid mantra.

Despite everything that he was, there was something inside of him, something fuzzy and warm and alien, something he hadn’t felt any remnant of since before the Fall. It terrified him because deep down he knew what it was. It was the sensation of butterflies in your stomach, and your heart racing at a greyhound’s speed, and the sinking realisation that hit you like a ton of bricks that you only got when it was far too late and you were in too deep. It was quite possibly the only thing that united each and every human on God’s green earth.

Love.

Or the closest thing a demon could experience. And that was exactly what terrified Crowley so much, demons couldn’t love, shouldn’t love. He knew that, Aziraphale knew that, everyone knew that. It was one of the only things both Heaven and Hell agreed on, and they were few and far between. For millennia, it had been cruelly drilled into his head, and everyone else’s heads for that matter. So how the Heaven could Aziraphale be so blind? His angel was oblivious at the best of times, but he wasn’t an idiot. Was he just playing dumb for the sake of a love that couldn’t happen? Or was this all some sick game, carefully fabricated to mess with the demon’s head?

But Crowley held on tighter to his angel and the squeeze he got in return destroyed all of those fears in an instant. How could he ever imagine Aziraphale being that cruel? Sweet Aziraphale who never questioned, just acted as he saw best. No, this wasn’t his fault.

“Crowley,” he murmured, voice soft as the nonchalant clouds above them but still managing to make Crowley flinch slightly. Aziraphale must have felt it for his next words were even gentler, even slower, “Darling, you need to talk to me so I can help you.”

Crowley swallowed thickly as he felt the tears begin to subside slightly, “What if you can’t help me, angel?”

Aziraphale pulled away so he could look him in the eyes, any remainders of his heart shattering when he was met with a despair so intense, he struggled to maintain eye contact. However, he persisted; he wasn’t going to give up on him that easily, “Don’t be silly,” he carefully stroked the side of his face, brushing his hair out of the way, “Of course I can help you. I might not be able to fix everything, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“It’s not your problem to deal with, that wouldn’t be fair on you,” he cast his eyes down as he smiled sadly.

“It became my problem when I realised how much this was hurting you,” he said as firmly as he could without startling Crowley, “I can’t guarantee that I’ll understand, but we can figure this out together. You don’t have to be on your own.”

Even though he didn’t need it, he took a deep breath and, after a moment or two, he said, “This terrifies me, whatever this even is. We’re an angel and a demon, how is this ever going to work? I don’t want to put you in danger because I’m too selfish to stop this before it starts. Because if it does, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Who says this needs to be stopped?” he suggested.

“Heaven! Hell! I don’t know what they’ll do to you if they find out. For your sake, I can’t risk it.”

The angel shook his head at his defeated tone, “I don’t understand how you can call yourself selfish when you’re putting yourself through all this just to protect me,” he sighed, “You do realise that it scares me too, right?”

Crowley looked up at him in confusion, “You’re scared?”

“Of course I’m scared, darling,” he said sympathetically, “But that doesn’t mean I want to give this up,” he paused for a moment, “If you think about it, everything happens for a reason. The Almighty wouldn’t have let us bump into each other over and over again for millennia, and She wouldn’t have let us get to where we are now, if She didn’t want this to happen.”

“So, are you saying we were meant to be?” he raised an eyebrow sceptically, looking as though saying those words caused him a great deal of discomfort.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged, infinitely relieved that Crowley was starting to revert back to his usual self, “But there’s something else, isn’t there? I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. Something else is worrying you, what is it?”

Crowley found himself almost cursing Aziraphale’s intuition, but deep down he knew that he’d much rather do it this way than having to bring it up himself. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right, you almost always are.”

He let a small smile appear but quickly wiped it away, “What is it, darling? And take your time, I’m not going anywhere,” he added when he saw the hesitancy on Crowley’s face.

“I don’t deserve you,” he admitted quietly, “Whatever you’re trying to do for me, I’m not worth it.”

“Whoever told you that? Who’s made you feel like you’re not worthy of being loved…” he trailed off as the realisation sunk in. Maybe no one had ever outright told him he didn’t deserve good things, but the prejudice that Aziraphale himself had carried all these years, every little comment or snide remark; that amounted to a great deal. “Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry-”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he rushed to assure him, pushing his own pain aside, “Angel, don’t apologise, it’s okay, you were right.”

“But I wasn’t right, Crowley,” he cried, “I’ve never been more wrong! Especially after everything you’ve been through, you deserve all the love in the world,” he paused for a moment before whispering, “I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you were unworthy of being loved.”

“Angel…” he murmured as he felt the stinging tears well up in his golden eyes again, desperately trying to brush them away.

Aziraphale clasped his hand around Crowley’s wrist gently, bringing his hand away from his face and kissing it lightly, “That prejudice I carried, I promise that it was never really aimed at you. You’ve always been different, deep down I’ve known that since Eden. Something’s always been different about you. I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on it for a long time, but I know what it is now. What separates you from everyone I’ve ever met.”

“What is it?” he asked softly, listening intently to everything his angel had to say.

“Love, my dear. The love I sense from you isn’t quite like anything I’ve ever felt before, but it’s familiar somehow. Homely might be a better word for it,” he mused, more to himself than to anybody else.

His brows furrowed in confusion, “But I’m a demon,” he countered, stressing on the last word as if that explained everything perfectly, “Demons can’t love, I thought that was the whole point of – well, you know…” he said, leaving Aziraphale to fill in the blanks; the last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of The Fall.

“Yes, well, your aura says otherwise. I’ve no idea if it’s just you or not, but I think the important part is that it is you. You’ve had love in your soul for six thousand years, you’ve shown it every time you’ve stopped me from getting discorporated or just stopped by for lunch. I think that makes you deserving of being loved in return, don’t you?”

Crowley looked at him blankly for a second before coming to his senses, “You’re just saying that to try and make me feel better.”

“Am I? Well how about this,” he contemplated what he was about to impart for a second, “What if I was to tell you that I too have had that love for six thousand years? What would you say then?”

“You deserve the world, angel,” he said immediately.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I would feel the same way about you?”

Crowley didn’t say anything to that, his mind had completely given up on trying to conjure up a response or at least rationalising everything that he’d just heard. His head was at a loss but his heart? His heart was swelling with each passing second with love for the angel sat opposite him, so he did the only thing that made any sense at the time: he kissed him. It lacked the passion and the drive from earlier that evening, but adoration and a strange kind of relief stood in its place, towering above any other feeling he’d ever felt. It sealed the deal between the two of them, surrounding them with a love that shone brighter than Aziraphale’s own halo, that burned harder than the fire behind Crowley’s eyes, that beat louder than their hearts would if they had them, synchronised and perfectly in time with one another. It was the bond that had kept their souls intertwined since that first conversation in the Garden of Eden. It was an all-encompassing love that almost made anything in its near vicinity bask in its glow, warm and welcoming and oh-so-familiar.

It was the overwhelming realisation of yes, this is where I’m meant to be, this is what I’ve been searching for.

It was home.

#good omens #good omens angst #good omens imagine #good omens headcanon #good omens one-shot #aziraphale #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale headcanon #aziraphale one-shot #crowley #crowley headcanon #crowley imagine #crowley one-shot #ineffable husbands

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spacerangersam · 3 years

Text

The Medium

a short comedy piece about family drama, ducks and ugly nightwear.

“Darling, look how big Maxwell has gotten! He’s practically fully grown now! I wonder if he still gets your mother to iron his socks...”

“He’s almost thirty, Ruth. Besides, it’s only been a year.”

“Oh sorry, but you know I can’t help it. So much has happened since we last saw him.”

“Indeed it- it has.”

“I wonder if he-”

“Sweetheart, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but could you please be quiet for a-a moment?”

Theodore was stretched out over the round table, squeezed in between an elderly woman with a ridiculous feather boa, and some scrawny pale fellow. He was on the very tips of his worn Oxfords, his long thin fingers just barely touching the Ouija planchette.

The people surrounding him in the table gasped as it slid forward.

“Terribly sorry, Theo,” Ruth apologised, leaning over to pat his shoulder. “I rather forgot you were in the middle of something.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s this blasted woman’s. If she’s so in touch with the spirit world, why can’t she sense my overwhelming need for her to fucking move?”

Both feet were now off the floor as he pushed the planchette towards the O. Almost there, almost.

“Really, there’s no need for insults.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he said in a strained voice, “but this is- Christ- a very time-sensitive task, I’m sure you understand.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, more for the drama of it rather than actual disgust.

“I do. I just don’t think death gives us an excuse to forget our manners.”

He gave up. Theo it was. The D wasn’t even that far away, it was more energy than it was worth.

Besides, it seemed to do the trick as the five huddled around the table gasped, the youngest pale and shaking. Even the elderly woman, pale with frizzy hair seemed surprised. She hid her wide eyes behind a cough and quickly put on a mask of professionalism though.

“Theo? Does anyone on this table know a Theo?”

“I should bloody hope so,” he huffed.

“Oh look, Max has a ring! I think he’s married!” Ruth gasped.

The youngest, Maxwell, gulped and nodded. The woman next to him patted his hand, looking rather frazzled herself.

“I think I know to whom,” Theo muttered.

Ruth raised an eyebrow and adjusted her glasses, gasping when she picked up on her husband’s hint.

“Max had a brother called Theo who passed not too long ago,” the woman explained.

“Elizabeth? But I thought she was dating-”

“She was.”

“A year ago. Car accident,” Maxwell spluttered out.

“Well, I never. We’ve missed out on so much! Darling, could you ask about it?” Ruth asked.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the medium said in a grave tone.

“I’m really sorry,” Theodore began, “but that would probably take a while to ask, and I don’t think Maxwell has the attention span for that.”

“Fair point.”

“Am I talking to Theodore Jones?” The medium asked.

Oh thank god, he thought, I don’t have to spell that one out. It didn’t hurt that the YES was close either.

“Can’t you just phase through the table?” Ruth questioned. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Yes, but knowing my luck I’d just phase through the planchette too and we’d have to start all over again.”

Maxwell and Elizabeth gripped even tighter onto each other as the planchette jerked towards the YES. A tense silence fell over the table, interrupted a moment later by the medium.

“Right, well, is there anything you want to ask him or tell him, Maxwell?”

“God, don’t open the stage to him,” Theodore groaned, “he’ll only ask something stupid like if there are any pubs in heaven.”

Maxwell nodded swallowing loudly.

“I just wanted to tell him that I love him, I really do and…did he and Ruth end up in the same place? Are they-”

“Just ignore him and go to the will,” Ruth suggested.

“Good thinking.”

“I have my moments.”

W-I-L-M

“Wilm?” Maxwell queried, brows drawn close.

“Wilm?” Ruth parroted. “I know you struggle with spelling but-”

“My hand slipped!”

He tried again.

W-I-L-L

“Oh, we have a brother called Will, does he want me to pass a message on?” Maxwell asked.

“Perhaps he does. Theo, do you have a message for William?”

“Oh, for fucks sake!”

Ruth didn’t comment on that one, too busy pursing her lips and giving Maxwell a stern eye.

“He never was the brightest, was he?”

W-I-L-L

L-E-G-A-L

“Oh! like his last will and testaments!” Elizabeth gasped.

“Yes!” Theodore cheered, a grin appearing on his face for the first time during this whole ordeal.

“At least one out of the pair has some brains,” Ruth mused.

She perched on the top of a spare chair, watching the amusing expressions of the living five.

“He never wrote one, did he?” Maxwell mused.

I-D-I-D

“It seems he begs to differ,” the medium commented. “Where is it??”

S-O-C-K

His hand slipped again. Dammit.

“Sock?” Maxwell read. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you had a lot of socks, Theo, could you be more specific?”

“Here, how about-”

Ruth hopped onto the table in her party shoes. She crouching down, gently brushing her husband’s fingers away from the planchette and replacing them with her own.

S-O-C-K-D-R-A-W

“Oh, thank you,” Theodore said.

“Anytime.”

He gratefully, and awkwardly, wriggled off the table, standing behind the medium instead. She shivered for a moment but otherwise didn’t react.

“Do you mean it’s in your sock drawer?” Elizabeth asked.

Y-E-S

“We should go find it right away! It could be-”

B-E-L-L-E

“Sweetheart, I thought we were just going to focus on the will?” Theodore asked.

“Well, they know about it now, let me be nosy for a minute.”

“Oh, alright. Just don’t drag it out for too long please.”

“It’s hidden in a bell?” Elizabeth wondered.

Maxwell cleared his throat, tugging at his collar with his free hand.

“No, Belle- that was the name of my ex, we parted a few months ago. Though I swear he never knew…”

Really? He didn’t think I noticed the woman he dated for over six months? Theodore thought. Well, that’s just insulting.

The table fell silent again.

“Ex? That’s all he got for me? I was the fucking light of his life!” A voice yelled.

Ruth and Theodore winced, turning to face their third ghostly companion, a young woman in a ghastly nightdress.

“Oh, Belle, I’m sorry, but we did tell you he’d likely moved on,” Ruth said gently.

Belle began to cry hysterically, with all the noise and none of the tears.

“Oh dear, don’t cry- Theodore?”

“On it.”

He made his way to the corner she had hidden in, next to the myriad of ‘unicorn’ skulls and toad bladders. He held her tightly, rocking her slightly.

“There there, he’s a cad anyway, you can do better,” he assured her.

“How? We’re in hell!”

“Not technically.”

“Wait, is this Penelope?” Maxwell asked.

Y-E-S

H-E-L-L-O

Maxwell breathed out a relieved sigh, a strained smile on his lips.

“Oh, you are together, good.”

A-N-D-B-E-L

He paled again.

“B-Belle? She’s with you? Wait, she’s dead?!”

The living members of the table turned to frown at him. He slouched down in his seat.

“She-she hadn’t been responding to any of my letters so I-I said I felt like she had been avoiding me and perhaps we should both move on.”

“Of course I couldn’t respond, I was fucking deceased!”

“Belle, he never deserved you anyway, sweetheart, let it go.”

“And did you say that in person?” The medium asked.

“Ah, no, letter.”

“…Belle, if you are here, can you tell us when you died?”

“J-June fourth,” Belle gasped out.

Theodore rubbed her back encouragingly. It was a shame she’d died in that dreadful thing, he mused. At least he and Ruth had been given the decency of going out in style.

J-U-N-E-4

Maxwell put a shaking hand to his mouth, and at his side, Elizabeth scowled.

“That was before your breakup, wasn’t it?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Maxwell Jones,” Elizabeth hissed, “I can’t believe you did that!”

“Oh god, we’re completely off track, what if he forgets about the will?” Theodore complained.

Belle began to wail louder. He winced and rubbed her back even harder, desperately trying to calm her down. It seemed to work.

“I was busy with work, I didn’t have time to check on her!”

“Oh sorry, I know this is a lot for you to handle. Do you want to go outside, perhaps? I’m sure Ruth can handle it from here,” Theo assured her.

“N-No. I want to see this through,” she sniffed.

“If I die tragically and can’t respond to your letters, I hope you’ll spare a moment to come check on me,” Elizabeth huffed.

“If you’re sure. But please do remind them of the will again, sweetheart,” Theodore called out to Ruth. “If they don’t find it, I just know they're going to hand over my collection of genuine Roman coins to father and I won't let that bastard get his greasy hands on them!”

“Oh god, not the Roman coins!” Belle sobbed. “They're one of a kind!”

“Yes, and I’d bet he'd either just pawn them for cheap or lose them down a drain like the uncultured tosser he is!”

“This day is getting worse and worse.”

“Wait, how do you know about my coin collection?”

“I showed her them once when I caught her sneaking out of Maxwell’s room at night,” Ruth explained.

“He snores,” Belle sniffed. “Loudly.”

“And you’re upset this relationship ended, because…”

She sniffed again and shrugged.

“I have bad taste?”

Theodore pursed his lips and thought about it.

“We can work on that, chin up.”

S-A-Y-S-O-R-R-Y-B-E-L-S-A-D

“Oh, of course, god, Belle, I’m so sorry. I should have suspected something was wrong and come visited you,” Maxwell said.

“You should have!” Belle loudly agreed.

“You should have,” Elizabeth seconded, pinching Maxwell’s hand sharply.

“Ow!”

Belle sniffed and grinned a little.

“I like her.”

“She is quite something that Liz,” Theodore said. “Shame she has terrible taste too.”

“Do you think we’re done for now? This isn’t exactly a comfortable position,” Ruth commented.

Theodore and Belle shared a look, and after a moment shook their heads.

“I just want to go,” Belle sighed.

“And I believe that’s enough drama for one afterlife,” Theodore announced. “Let’s end this.”

Ruth nodded sharply and returned to the board.

W-I-L-L-G-O-F-I-N-D

GOOD BYE

A golden glow went unseen by the living, and the séance drew to a close.

***

William unlocked the door to the house and cautiously entered.

It had been left untouched, perfectly preserving the lives of its owners in their last-minute rush to get to the party on time. That is to say, it looked like a bombsight. He smiled, strained, and brushed his fingers over an abandoned coat, flung over a cupboard.

No doubt Theodore was losing his mind over the mess wherever he was, tearing out his hair as he tried desperately to find his way back to the mortal plane just to do the dusting.

A hand found its way to his back, and William turned his head to the side to face his companion.

“Remind me why we’re back here? It’s bloody miserable, like the world’s worst museum.”

“Pryce, I told you yesterday, didn’t you listen?”

The other man shrugged, hands falling to his pockets.

“Not really. You say a lot of things I don’t listen to.”

“I’m well aware.”

William sighed and gestured for Pryce to follow, making his way up the dusty stairs.

“We’re looking for Theodore’s will. Max and Liz went to a medium, claimed Theo talked to them.”

“A medium? They got more quack to them than a duck pond.”

“I agree, but you know how hard Max took the death. It is his birthday party they kicked it on after all. And the two insisted that we check, so.”

“I can believe Max buying into it, but Lizzy too? Thought she was too smart for that.”

“Well, she is with Max, so she can’t be that smart.”

“Got a point.”

They reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom. As with the rest of the house, it showed the remains of a panic, random dresses and ugly ties strewn about everywhere, drawers upturned and perfume spilt. They’d even turned the mattress upside down, though to what end, William would never know.

“You check Ruth’s drawers, I’ll check Theodore’s, yeah?”

Pryce’s ears went red and he shuffled on the spot, looking closer to five than fifty.

“Is that proper like?”

“Pryce, the woman’s dead, no one’s going to care if you go through her knicker drawer. Besides, you’re looking only through her socks, second drawer down.”

“Just- just making sure.”

William rolled his eyes going to Theodore’s set of drawers.

It was ridiculous, he felt, completely ridiculous. Even if the medium were legitimate, surely Theodore wasn’t stupid enough to just leave his will in his-

He saw it as soon as he opened the drawer.

“Good lord,” he gasped.

“What, you actually found it?”

“I believe so.”

He picked it up and leafed through it. It was Theodore’s hand all right, balancing the line between elegant and impossible to read. He flipped through a few more pages.

He winced.

“Aye, do us a favour and call the lawyer, will you? Father too. And tell him to bring along the coin collection on fear of death.”

#tumblr won't let me format it the way i wanna so it's easier to read so sorry #short story #my writing

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