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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 16 - ao3 -

Of course, Wen Ruohan wasn’t the sort of person to leave things to chance: the next time he sent an invitation for Lan Qiren to visit the Nightless City, he sent it straight to Lan Qiren’s father, instead.

“Naturally Qiren will go,” Lan Qiren’s brother said.

Lan Qiren mentally cursed Wen Ruohan’s name, even as he raised his hands and saluted to signify his agreement.

“Very well,” their father agreed, disinterested and toneless. His gaze was more and more distant these days; Lan Qiren suspected that the day his brother became sect leader was growing ever closer.

“I’ll select an appropriate escort, and a gift –”

“No,” Lan Qiren blurted out involuntarily, horrified at the idea of what another gift might trigger in Wen Ruohan’s purportedly competitive soul. “I – that is – I’m not going on behalf of the Lan sect, am I? I’m going in my personal status as his sworn brother. Taking too many people with me or bringing gifts might give the impression that I’m holding myself distant.”

Or something like that.

His brother looked at him for a long moment. “Very well,” he finally said. “Some servants as attendants, rather than a delegation of disciples, and no gift. You’re right; we don’t want to appear sycophantic.”

That hadn’t been what Lan Qiren had said or meant, but he’d take it.

His travel to the Nightless City was uneventful after that, as was his arrival: he made it to the main gate with relatively little fanfare and asked one of the guardsmen which way he should go, having never arrived on his own before. Instructions obtained, he made his way towards one of the side entrances to the Sun Palace. The main entrance was crammed full with petitioners, as always – Wen Ruohan rarely entertained them himself, but he had built up a decent bureaucracy to manage the work of it, which Lan Qiren supposed was necessary given the much higher number of people that were sworn to the Wen sect in comparison with the other sects.

It didn’t occur to him to question the instructions he’d been given until he was shown into one of the sitting rooms – not the one he’d been in before, and the hallways leading up to it were all unfamiliar – and he saw a woman sitting there, waiting for him, instead of Wen Ruohan.

The woman’s face was unfamiliar to him, but her luxurious robes, bone white and heartsblood red, patterned in the particular stylization of the red sun reserved for the highest rank within the Wen sect, as well as a glittering golden tiara dripping with rubies, announced her identity.

As did the pronounced curve of her pregnant belly.

Lan Qiren raised his hands and bowed. “Greetings to Madame Wen.”

He felt strangely uncomfortable, although he could not identify why. He had plenty of experience with pregnant women, so he didn’t think it was that, but there was something distinctly off-putting and surprising about this pregnancy, which Wen Ruohan must have known of but not mentioned during his visit to the Cloud Recesses.

Madame Wen watched indifferently as Lan Qiren saluted her, not stopping him even as he held the bow, and she was a few beats late in waving for him to stand up – her status as the mistress of a Great Sect was well above his as a second son, but it was still a little rude.

“So you’re Lan-er-gongzi,” she said, her eyes scanning him from top to bottom. “My husband’s sworn brother, of which he is so fond.”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to deny it, but all the usual excuses he’s concocted for himself choked in his throat and dried up on his tongue: every time he’d told himself that Wen Ruohan only meant to irritate Lao Nie or his brother, that it was a political move or a quickly-regretted moment of impulse, that their supposed ‘brotherhood’ was little more than a word –

It was difficult to weigh that against an afternoon wandering through a market, and a room done up in all the ways Lan Qiren liked best.

Be generous. Be grateful. Be loyal.

However it had started, Wen Ruohan had lived up to the brotherhood to which they had sworn.

Do not make assumptions about others.

Lan Qiren had not.

“Sect Leader Wen is forgiving of my faults,” Lan Qiren said, deciding that he would need to do better in the future. No matter the rumors about him, Wen Ruohan had never wronged him personally, and he ought to behave accordingly. “Allow me to express my best wishes for your child.”

It was an ugly and un-poetically blunt sort of well-wishing, and he regretted it the instant he said it; if he hadn’t been so distracted by unwelcome self-revelations, he would have thought of something better.

“A son, they say,” Madame Wen said, watching him as if to see his reaction. Whatever it was she was looking for, she didn’t seem to be getting it; her eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction. “Well, you've got a pretty face, I’ll give you that much.”

Lan Qiren was unperturbed by the comment – his ancestors had always had a taste for beauty – and he didn’t quite understand why she made it sound like an insult. Still, he’d learned from prior mistakes that when someone was complimenting you in a mean tone of voice, it was impolite to respond by saying “you, too”, so instead he just waited patiently for her to get around to making whatever point she had brought him here to make.

“They say that you’re a mediocre swordsman,” she said, and Lan Qiren frowned – he wasn’t talented, no, but mediocre seemed a little harsh. Average would be a better way to describe it. “A good musician, but also stern and aloof. I wonder, what aspects you have to recommend yourself to someone like my husband?”

“Your husband was the one who proposed brotherhood,” Lan Qiren said. He was pretty sure that was the case, though of course he couldn’t be entirely sure; still, he was going to stand on that ground until he heard otherwise. Feeling uncomfortable, he added, “I didn’t think I needed to recommend myself. Has he said something to you about me?”

Madame Wen’s lip curled up in a faint sneer. “He’s barely mentioned you at all.”

That was about as Lan Qiren would have expected, and he nodded in satisfaction.

“At least the rumors regarding your disposition were correct,” she remarked, her expression of dissatisfaction unchanging. “You don’t speak much, do you?”

Do not use frivolous words beat at the inside of Lan Qiren’s mouth, but he’d learned about not sharing the rules every time he thought of them, too, even if it had taken many years to do so. He inclined his head in confirmation instead.

“So cold and distant, like the frost on a distant evening – with a temperament like that, you seem untouchable. One could scarcely bear to lay hands upon you...I do wonder how well someone like you can really play.”

Was he supposed to start boasting about his skills in music? It was well known that personality could affect musical talent, and he was better at the more intellectual and reserved songs, although to his own disquiet he found that he could quite adequately pull of some of the more disturbed songs, the passionate and unrestrained pieces, as well; nevertheless, the type of music did not correlate with quality.

Confused by the line of questioning, Lan Qiren found himself blurting out the first thing that came to mind, which in this case was, “I’m best at guqin and xiao.”

He was pretty sure that wasn’t what she meant, though. He thought he detected dissatisfaction about her, possibly at his inferior answers, and he had the vague sense of what he might call hostility or resentment if she had been some evil creature, but he was, as his fellow disciples liked to remind him, notoriously terrible at understanding emotions.

“Your talents must be prodigious.” Madame Wen smiled at him, face tight; he must have said something wrong. “You must forgive me my ignorance on the subject. I have no doubt that when you are in the field, it is terribly difficult to compete against you.”

“…I took first place at the music competition at the last discussion conference,” he said. Even if he suspected that she might not be talking about music, he was truly at sea in terms of what she was talking about. “But naturally that was only against my peers.”

Madame Wen’s eyes narrowed in a glare.

Lan Qiren had only meant that there were teachers far more skilled than he, but he had the distinct feeling that he might have accidentally insulted her.

He really wanted to stop having this conversation. Why couldn’t some of the rumors she heard about him have been about how bad he was at picking up subtext? Or, if he was indulging in futile wishes, something about how his cold and monotone voice was simply a characteristic, not a measure of how he felt about someone?

“Prodigious indeed,” she said through gritted teeth. “It seems I should ask for a demonstration of your talents.”

Wait, was that was she was hinting at? It was a little rude to make such a request on their first acquaintance – it made him feel a bit like a hired musician, rather than her husband’s sworn brother – but thinking on it further he didn’t mind. He did intend to be a musician one day, a traveling musical cultivator, and he had never minded playing for people. It was easier than talking to them.

“Is there anything in particular Madame Wen would like to hear?” he asked.

She named a song, fairly common and romantic in nature – at least one variation of the lyrics was crude enough that it saw regular use in brothels, but the tune itself was perfectly ordinary, and he supposed the sort of thing a young woman might enjoy. And after all, Madame Wen couldn’t be more than a half-dozen years older than he was, even if her poise and stature suggested an older woman.

Lan Qiren obediently settled in the spot that Madame Wen directed him to, taking out his guqin and checking it over meticulously to make sure it had made it through the travel without issue.

He had just started to play when there was a sound outside, the door opening; Lan Qiren looked up and saw Wen Ruohan enter the room in with a swirl of white-and-red robes.

He did not look pleased.

Lan Qiren began to stand, intending on saluting, but Wen Ruohan waved a hand at him before he could even start to rise up.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked his wife instead.

She smiled back at him, her expression seemingly full of meaning: “What do you mean, husband? I heard by chance that your sworn brother had arrived, and I thought to greet him, as any good wife ought to do.”

“Greet,” he said, his lips turned down. “Is that what you call it, when you have your guest play brothel songs for you?”

Technically, the song had been originated in a play –

“He agreed,” Madame Wen said. “But naturally my husband’s happiness is what I care for most. If my husband dislikes it, or think that I have insulted his sworn brother by permitting him to behave like a pretty flower selling favors in the red-light district –”

“Accompanist,” Lan Qiren corrected, and they both turned to stare at him. Their expressions were both quite intense, as if he’d said something wrong. He hesitated, but continued, “My understanding may be flawed, but I thought most brothel singers hired professional musicians to accompany them, so as to better reflect their beauty and increase – ”

“What are you implying?” Madame Wen snapped, and Lan Qiren recoiled a little.

“I didn’t mean – I only – it’s just that I heard –” he stuttered, and Wen Ruohan laughed.

“Perhaps I was too quick to dismiss the comparison,” she said coldly. “The flower appears beautiful from afar, but its thorns still cut deep.”

“My sworn brother is no flower,” Wen Ruohan said, and his eyes were curved; he seemed much calmer now, making the room less fraught. “But rather a pearl unlike any other.”

“Oh yes,” Madame Wen said, and she was sneering outright now. “Naturally you would think so. Who does not know of your – great friendship?”

Lan Qiren wouldn’t go that far. Not even half as far, really. He was just opening his mouth to point out that they barely knew each other, really, but he never got the chance; Madame Wen tossed her head, her tiara of gold and rubies making bell-like sounds, and placed her hand on her belly.

“I will retire,” she announced. “I would not dream of intruding in the time that you two wish to share. Perhaps he can play for us at dinner, if it is not too much of an imposition on his time.”

Wen Ruohan merely stepped aside and allowed her to go, saying nothing.

Truly, Lan Qiren thought to himself, the rumors must have misjudged Wen Ruohan – surely if he were as cruel and ruthless as all that, he wouldn’t have taken such insolence without raising a response.

“Forgive me,” he said, and Wen Ruohan looked at him.

“For what?” he asked, his habitual equanimity returned to him. “You did nothing.”

“She doesn’t seem to like me,” Lan Qiren said, bowing his head. “I’m not sure what it was that I did to cause it, but it was not my intent to cause trouble.”

Especially the sort of trouble he’d been specifically instructed to avoid, he thought, a little miserably; he remembered now all the admonitions of how, brothers or no brothers, oath or no oath, no man would want to anger the woman who bore him sons.

“Think nothing of it,” Wen Ruohan said, and when Lan Qiren stole a glance he did not in fact seem upset. “It is the early growing pains of marriage, little more, and worsened by her current condition. I was clear enough when we started out, promising her respect, power, sons, and even freedom, yet she can’t stop herself from scheming for more...truly well-suited to be my wife, provided she learns not to go too far.”

Lan Qiren did not understand.

Wen Ruohan noticed, and chuckled. “Do not concern yourself with it. You are not the object of her grudge, merely a convenient target.”

“She seemed to be fairly deliberately aimed to me,” Lan Qiren said doubtfully.

“Mm. Which of us has experience being married, again..?”

Lan Qiren ducked his head back down, conceding the point, and then, with an effort, shook his head to clear it of cobwebs and smiled at his sworn brother. “Well, you wanted me to come to visit you, da-ge, and here I am,” he said. “I look forward to the opportunity to spend more time with you.”

Wen Ruohan seemed oddly taken aback, almost more surprised by Lan Qiren’s sincerity than by his wife’s tricks and sarcasm, and it took several moments of staring before he finally responded with a simple nod. “I look forward as well.”

“I find we have not had time to get to know each other without a third party acting as a medium,” Lan Qiren continued. “Would you like to play a game or two of weiqi? I’m not…especially good at social interaction, getting to know people, but I’m sure I can manage to lose a game with some grace.”

Wen Ruohan had started smiling. “You assume you’ll lose?”

“I assume you have slightly more experience than me, yes. I’m decently skilled, but I prefer to spend my time on music…I really am happy to play for you and Madame Wen after dinner, if you’d like. A good life requires a happy home, and I can’t even imagine how difficult bearing children must be; I’m happy to accede to her request. Anyway, I enjoy playing.”

“I would be happy to hear that piece you played at the discussion conference once more,” Wen Ruohan said. “Though if you’re acceding to her request, I note – after dinner?”

“Well, naturally,” Lan Qiren said, puzzled. “I assumed she had misspoken. I mean, I’m your guest, aren’t I? Only hired musicians play at dinner instead of eating. If she really wanted music with her dinner, she would need to pay me.”

Wait, that sounded wrong.

“Not that I’d accept,” he added quickly. “I wouldn’t disrespect your hospitality in such a way.”

Wen Ruohan was grinning. “Indeed,” he drawled. “Undoubtedly she misspoke…it’s been rather a long while since I’ve played weiqi, but I think I’ll still be able to manage to trounce you. Let’s go find out.”

Lan Qiren gathered up his guqin and followed Wen Ruohan to the door.

“Oh, and little Lan?” Wen Ruohan said as they walked out into the hallway, his voice casual and indolent. “There’s no need for you to spend much time with my wife while you’re here. I wouldn’t want her to suffer too much stress, given the child.”

Lan Qiren didn’t entirely understand the request, but he nodded gamely. “I’ll avoid her when she’s not with you,” he offered, and felt pleased when Wen Ruohan nodded in satisfied acknowledgement. “I don’t want to cause her any more concern.”

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said, opening the door to another room – his bedroom, Lan Qiren thought as he spotted the familiar set of six treasure swords on the wall. There was a table there that would work well for a game of weiqi, and Lan Qiren supposed it made sense for Wen Ruohan to want to be comfortable while at home. They were brothers, after all… “I’ll have the servants set out the game. Shall we walk in the garden in the meantime?”

“That sounds good,” Lan Qiren agreed, then looked down at his guqin. “I should put away my things, if the room I’m in is not too far? I really didn’t have an opportunity…”

“Your room is just down the hall,” Wen Ruohan said. “You’re family now, aren’t you?”

Lan Qiren smiled.

Maybe this will work out after all, he thought.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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littlesniggy · 3 years

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The Chosen One

Anon: Hey! I saw you did a request for Blackbeard and I know you don’t really like writing for him but would you do a scenario where he and his crew are on an island and in a bar or whatever and there is this dancer and he just needs to have her? Could you make it nsfw and maybe dark? If not it’s okay too! I love your writing ! 💖

I don't know if I should be worried about you for requesting nsfw Blackbeard or worried about me for actually writing OVER 2000 words! On the one hand I'm happy that someone requested something different but on the other hand...it's Blackbeard 😂 Anyways, I will still keep writing for him cause he is just the perfect character for non-con scenarios though I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea. Hope you still enjoy it.

Warning: 18+, nsfw, non-con, blowjob

Paring: Blackbeard x female reader

Word count: 2.6k (please kill me)

On the way to Hachinosu Blackbeard and his crew made a stop at another island known to be a paradise to pirates and outlaws, being completely abandoned by the navy and world government. Drunk men and women were gathering in the streets, liquor spilling out of their mouths while they tried to stay on their feet. Two women immediately staggered over to him and his crew, knowing full well who he was. They pressed their half-naked bodies against his, trying to get him to spend money on them in the form of booze or maybe even jewelry. But he pushed them away quite forcefully, making his way through the crowd and into a bar that advertised with sexy and luxurious ladies. None of them were either – at least in his memory.

Blackbeard let himself fall down on a chair, yelling to the bartender to better hurry up and get him his booze. Part of his crew joined him; the rest was scattered around the island. “I hope Glitter is here today! Can’t wait for her to dance for me! Wiihahahahaha!” Burgess laughed, grabbing the mug filled with beer and emptying it in one go. “That ugly, old hag? You have a terrible taste in women. Zehahahaha!” his captain retorted, letting his eyes wander through the bar and the dancing ladies.

“Better than that annoying brat you tormented last time, captain! At least Glitter knew what she was doing. Yours was just screaming and begging you to stop! I thought you would break her! Wiihahahahaha!” the rest of his crew joined in in Burgess laughter at the memory of their last stay at this island. Blackbeard chuckled darkly, taking a deep slug of his booze.

“She just couldn’t handle an emperor of the sea.” His crew’s laughter grew louder, other costumers eyeing them from the side but too afraid to actually say something.

“Oi! Bartender! Where are all your pretty ladies?!” Blackbeard yelled, making the bartender flinch where he stood. “This is the first shift. The second one will come in about an hour.” He informed them but Blackbeard was having none of it. “Make them come out now!” he demanded. “And tell Glitter to come out!” Burgess added, already drinking his second mug.

“As I said, the next shift wi-“, but he was interrupted by Blackbeard. Dark shadows started surrounding him, a malicious grin formed on his lips, exposing his missing teeth. “Do you really want to argue with us?” he asked. The whole atmosphere had changed in an instant and the air was thick as ice. The bartender shook his head and hurried to the back, not wanting to cause any more trouble. “At least he knows what’s best for him.” Shiryu chimed in, ordering another mug as well. “Let’s see what they have to offer today.”

It didn’t take long for the women to come out and most of them were the same as last time. Blackbeard was unsatisfied even though he had already suspected as much. And that chick from last time wasn’t here either. How rude!

Sulking, he grabbed Shiryu’s mug he had just ordered and downed in one go, spilling half of it on his beard and chest. “Another one!” he yelled, throwing the empty mug against the wall next to the bartender’s head. The women who had just come out schrieked in surprise and wanted to run to the back again, but Blackbeard stopped them. “Shut up and start dancing, you ugly hags!” he yelled, his mood dropping by the minute.

“Don’t be too harsh with them, captain. It’s not their fault they’re not your type.” Burgess laughed, his eyes already glued to Glitter, one of the blonde dancers. Blackbeard huffed, his eyes skimming the other women once again in the hopes that he might’ve missed one of them.

And apparently, he had! In the furthest back, barely visible, was this one, beautiful young women, starting to sway her hips to the music playing and all of a sudden his anger was blown away. A huge, grin re-appeared in his lips and he leaned back in content, watching her move to the beat. His crew wasn’t stupid; they had noticed their captain’s change in behavior and one look at the dancer in the back gave the answer as to why.

“Seems like captain’s gonna get some fun tonight after all, isn’t that right?” Burgess chuckled in amusement but didn’t say anything beyond that, too occupied with staring at the blonde dancer in the front.

Blackbeard was entranced by her performance; her graceful moves, her soft-looking hair, her glistering lips – oh, how much he wanted to feel them around his dick while he grabbed those perfectly soft locks to guide her to his thrusts. He swallowed hard, his primal instincts taking over the longer he watched her.

It was no surprise he couldn’t wait until the performance was over. He got up from his chair and ambled over, interrupting the other women. “H-hey! What are you doing?” one asked disgusted but she almost immediately shut her mouth when he glared at her over his shoulder. “Did you say anything, tramp?” he asked but the woman backed off already, holding her hands up in defense. “I-it was nothing. I’m sorry.” He apologized and watched him corner the object of his desire against a wall.

“C-can I help you?” she asked, obviously scared shitless. Blackbeard chuckled and held out his hand, showing off the variety of rings on his hand while he did. But she didn’t see it, too occupied with trying to find a way out of this situation. Usually, the bartender and her boss were enough to scare anyone who tried to do anything to them away but he was Blackbeard, Marshall D. Teach, emperor of the seas – he wouldn’t be scared away by two middle-aged men with guns.

“I want you to come with me.” The pirate said and she pressed her body against the cold wall behind her, wishing she could just disappear. But this was impossible. “I-I’m working at the moment. C-could you wait until….until we’re done?” she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to reject him out loud cause an angry Blackbeard was a scary Blackbeard. She didn’t want to agree to go with him either which should be obvious why. So, the best option was to buy some time – if he let her.

Blackbeard’s grin grew wider and he lowered his hand. “Of course. And when you’re done you’re gonna come to me and become my woman, okay?” he asked. Well, it wasn’t a question rather than an order and she knew she couldn’t refuse, couldn’t turn him down. She was trapped. Maye she could try and sneak away somehow but she feared that it would be almost impossible. Meanwhile, the captain of the Blackbeard pirates was walking back to his seat, his crew members laughing at him getting ‘turned down’ again. After a few insults the music started playing again. All the dancers were scared but had to try and look as if nothing happened, giving costumers suggestive glances to get more tips.

Blackbeard’s eyes never left her body and she knew there was no way out. The other women even agreed on dancing more than usual, just for her to maybe find a way out. But when the very last song had ended and tips could be collected from the floor she knew she was screwed (or was about to get screwed).

“Just try and get out the back, Y/n.” one whispered but she had already noticed how one of his crewmembers, the one with the cigar, had left and was probably waiting for her in the back, just in case she chose to make a run for it. So, she did the only thing she could think of – surrender to her fate and slowly walk over to where the feared pirate was sitting.

His crew’s eyes widened when they saw her walking over, everyone expecting her to try and sneak away. “There you are. Haven’t I told you, you bastards? She came!” he yelled excitedly, almost like a little child who got the toy he had wished for for his birthday. She tried to look confident but her trembling body was betraying her.

“Seems like she didn’t come cause she liked you so much, captain! Wiihahahaha!” Burgess laughed. Blackbeard huffed and ignored him, grabbing her wrist instead and pulling her closer until she was pressed against his naked torso. “Do you wanna be my woman?” he asked, his breath reeking of alcohol and she had to crinkle her nose in disgust. “Zehahahaha….I know you want to. Don’t be shy.”

She felt his other hand move over her back and down to her ass, squeezing it in his big palm. She yelped in response, trying to get away from his hand by instinct but pressing her body further against his in the process. “That’s a good girl! Already showing her captain how much she wants him!” Blackbeard raised his hand to the bartender to catch his attention. “Oi! I’m gonna take her with me!” he just announced before he got up, pulling her with him out of the bar much to her dismay. She could faintly hear the bartender try and call him back but she was sure Blackbeard’s crew would stop him from coming after them.

She was brought to his ship of all places; some of his crewmembers who haven’t left the ship were still there and were leering at her with hungry eyes but not daring to make any comments since she was the captain’s. Blackbeard dragged her to his room which was smelling badly. It smelled like alcohol and sweat, mixed with his personal odor.

“Here we are, Y/n.” He announced, closing the door behind him. On the way he was the one mostly talking, asking for her name which she gave him in fear. She looked around the room, intuitively inching closer to the wall next to her. Blackbeard’s eyes were scanning her body, slowly coming closer and cornering her once again against the wall. He looked at her like a hungry dog looking at a piece of fresh meat and she could swear he was almost drooling. She didn’t want to be here. At all. But she couldn’t run away either. He fate had been sealed the moment he had laid his eyes on her.

“Ne, Y/n. Since you’re my woman now why don’t you show me how much you want me?” he suggested. He lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek, feeling the wet tears that were running down her face. “No need to cry. If you’re good to me I’m gonna be good to you.” A threat no less and she couldn’t help but fall to the floor, burying her face in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably. This was too much for her. Why did he have to choose her? Why did she have to come with him? Why did she have to be his woman?

“Zehahahaha. Don’t cry. You’re gonna have it good with me. I’ll take care of you, Y/n.” she heard him walk away and a soft sound, indicating him sitting down on his huge bed. She didn’t raise her head but when she heard him speak up again she had to. “Come over here, Y/n.” he ordered, his voice sweet as honey but unforgiving like iron.

When she didn’t move, she heard him grumble in annoyance. “Oi, woman! I said come over here!” he repeated himself impatiently. Slowly, she got up and moved closer until she was standing right in front of him. Contently, he grinned again, taking her chin between his fingers, making her look up at him. “Good girl.” His thumb stroked over her jaw, over her lips before pushing between them and into her mouth. She pressed her eyes shut, tasting his salty skin on her tongue.

He moved his finger in and out, watching it in amazement while listening to the queit but wet sounds it was making. His other hand moved down to his pants, opening them and freeing his already erect member. She didn’t dare look down when he started to stroke himself in the same rhythm he was moving his finger, soon adding another one. He pushed them further down her mouth, pressing down on her tongue until her gag reflex kicked in and she made gagging sound, trying to suppress the feeling of throwing up.

“Zehahahaha. This is gonna be fun.” He mused before pushing her to the ground between his legs. She knew what he wanted but she couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth for him. She smelled his dick; at least it wasn’t as bad as she had expected but it was far from the clean smell she had hoped for. He slapped his dick against her cheek and smeared some pre-cum on it before he caressed her lips with his thick mushroom head. “Open up, woman.” He said in a low voice, his eyes glistering in excitement.

Taking her time, she opened her mouth, accepting that he wouldn’t let her get out of this situation either way. At least he wouldn’t have a reason to be mad at her if she obliged – at least she hoped. His dick pushed forward, gliding over her tongue and all the way to the back of her throat, ready to choke her on his dick. She pressed her nails into his thighs, trying to push herself away from his member but his hand was already buried in her lock, pressing her down onto his crotch. “Hngh!” she protested but he didn’t care.

A deep groan left his throat and he threw his head back, eyes closed in pleasure. He didn’t wait for her to adjust to his size and simply started moving her head on his own, pressing her down in him with each thrust, his hot dick filling her mouth out completely. More tears were running down her face and she tried to take a deep breath in every time she got the chance to.

His deep and shameless moans echoed through his room and could probably be heard by his crew outside. But he obviously didn’t care. To her relief, if she wanted to call it that, he didn’t demand of her to show some effort from her side; he was simply mouth fucking her the minute they had started. It wasn’t pleasant whatsoever but at least he did all the work and she just had to let him use her mouth.

“Fuck…what a good girl you are…your throat his so tight…! Fuck!” he praised, his hand grabbing tighter at her hair, pulling it almost violently as he moved her head on his dick. Her nails kept digging into his thighs as some sort of ‘punishment’ for him though she doubted he even noticed. She felt his dick pulse inside her mouth and she was thankful he wouldn’t last much longer.

With a few more thrusts he came deep inside her mouth, his sperm running down her throat, giving her a hard time not to take in a deep breath that was much needed. She didn’t taste a lot of his cum but what she tasted wasn’t nice at all. He was definitely drinking too much and his diet was unhealthy as well.

With an audible ‘plop’ he pulled his dick out of her mouth, saliva dripping down onto her thighs. He was panting in exhaustion, his hand still buried in her hair, making her look up at him again. “That was good, don’t you think, Y/n?” he asked, expecting her to agree. She nodded hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t want anything else from her. “Later, we’re gonna go for round two so I can see how good your pussy can take me.”

#one piece #op #op imagine #blackbeard #op blackbeard #marshall d teach #Blackbeard x reader #ns.fw #please don't kill me #I'm really sorry #he's such a bad character #can't help but not like him #op x reader #x reader #female reader

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grozen · 3 years

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Y'all, it's grozencomplaining time. Since I'm autistic, I have trouble finding the correct words or knowing what action to do to express my affection for a certain person. So whenever I like someone, I just make art for them, because that's the onky way I truly know how to return some of the good emotions these people give me.

Somehow, people who I like the most / who I do art for the most are usually the ones to hurt me the worst. Which is so sad, because I can't even find the words to explain how abandoned and unwanted these people make me feel, to have said (or attempted to) so many nice things to them and about them, to have gifted so many drawings, and they just don't appreciate me at all. This happened time and time again.

As you can probably tell, someone I thought was my friend was very cruel to me recently. He told my character looks ugly, said I have shit taste in music and then insulted me further. I never cry, but this made me leave the voice call and cry for a little bit. Considering it's really hard to make me feel so bad I'm in tears, this hurt a lot. It's sad. I'm going to avoid that person. He doesn't deserve my attention or time.

#grozenrant #autism #made me spiral into a negative thought pattern of everyone wants to abandon and hurt me #but this isnt the first time and ive built up a lot of resilience for shitty people #putting alexithymia to 100 you cant hurt me if i dont know im sad lol

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themurphyzone · 3 years

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Pinky the Snowmouse Ch 1

Summary: On a lonely Christmas Eve, a lab mouse finds himself unable to concentrate on world domination. When an ACME scientist claims to own a magic silk hat, Brain initially dismisses it as superstitious nonsense, but finds that this boast could hold more truth than he could ever imagine.

AN: So I posted this idea back in May (I know, nowhere near Christmas season) but it made for such a viable fic that I had to do it. Besides, I wanted to write a great Christmas fic since I focused more on Halloween last year.

This fanfiction is also a tribute to all the Christmas specials we love so much every year, from the Christmas Carols to the holiday specials in our favorite cartoons to the Grinches and Rankin-Bass features.

Ch 1: That Old Silk Hat

AO3 Link

It was Christmas Eve, the day bolded and highlighted on the calendar, topped with a picture of Snoopy and his doghouse decked out in festive accessories.

Impossible to miss the overly cheerful music, the jingling bells, and the calls to be charitable to the poorer, less fortunate beings of the world.

Except humans never practiced what they preached.

No matter how much they claimed to care, Brain knew they never would. All of those charitable feelings would vanish as soon as Christmas was over, and they’d go right back to wallowing in their ignorance.

If they truly wanted to be charitable, they’d recognize Brain as the indisputable ruler over the world. But since humans always looked down on non-humans, it was an uphill battle with no end in sight.

But that was just fine with Brain. He wanted to be recognized for his merits and intelligence. He wanted to accomplish something other than achieving the lowest times on maze runs.

In time, his efforts would be rewarded. The bitter defeats would gradually transform into sweet victories.

But for now, he was unable to make headway into world domination since all the ACME employees had gathered by the main entrance, waiting for 3 pm to roll around like a class of bored schoolchildren who desperately wanted to go home.

If the higher ups were expecting all these mediocre scientists to show up for work and be productive on a snowy Christmas Eve, they were sorely mistaken. They were only here to collect their paychecks and didn’t care about scientific progress at all.

One lab tech popped a CD full of classic Christmas songs into an old stereo, and a chorus of Feliz Navidad began. Several scientists spun in their chairs, absentmindedly sucking on candy canes.

Brain was just as impatient as they were, but at least he’d be productive with his time once they all left.

“So ya got any plans, Bill?” a scientist asked.

“Go home,” Bill replied with a shake of his balding head. “Sleep because there’s no way I’m getting any shuteye with the twins bouncing off the walls for their presents tonight.”

“Kids are gonna be like that,” a lab tech spoke up. “I had to stop mine from taste-testing the cookies she wanted to leave out for Santa.”

Laughter rang out from the group, everyone taking turns to relate Christmas mishaps with their families. Soon almost every human joined in on the camereradie, except the most eccentric and inept scientist of them all.

Dr. Henry Hinkle was a man who claimed to bridge the fields of science and magic. However, he was woefully mediocre in both departments, and Brain had long ascertained the man had faked his credentials. Even Hinkle’s fashion sense was peculiar, as his gray lab coat was cut into the style of a magician’s fanciful tailcoat. With his brown handlebar mustache, he seemed more like a harried time traveler from the 19th century than a modern citizen.

His most prized possession was a tall silk hat with a pink flower attached to the band. Hinkle often claimed it was a magic hat, one that performed wondrous and mystifying deeds far beyond human comprehension. Hinkle was attached to that hat, and nobody had ever seen him in public without it.

Hinkle stood apart from everyone else, an outsider from the science clique. He frantically paced back and forth, desperately trying to get the so-called magic hat to perform properly.

"Say, Hinkle? Didn't you have a gig at the elementary school last week? How'd that go?" Bill called, and all eyes turned to Hinkle, whose eyes nervously flicked back and forth at the sudden attention.

"Swell, very swell," Hinkle mumbled as he nervously fiddled with his hat. "Those little ankle-bi...I mean those delightful, darling angels were floored by my magic."

A woman scoffed and rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Yeah, right. My son was part of that class, and he thought it was the worst Christmas party he'd ever had. How embarrassing that you can't shuffle a deck of cards."

“Madam, I will have you know I can shuffle a deck with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back!” Hinkle retorted. He flicked his left sleeve, and an entire card deck slipped out and spilled onto the ground. As Hinkle bent down in a hasty attempt to get the cards back in order, a small wand, several rubber balls, and colorful scarves tumbled out his other sleeve.

Nobody bothered to help Hinkle out with his misfortune. His coworkers elbowed each other, pointed fingers, and snickered among themselves instead.

The situation was far too pathetic to be humorous.

Brain wasn’t surprised by humans anymore. Peace and goodwill toward their fellow men didn’t exist, though the holiday season claimed otherwise.

It was now 2:40 pm. Only twenty minutes left in this humiliating performance, and Brain could formulate his next plan for world domination without further interruption.

Hinkle quickly stuffed the mess into his coat pockets. Then he straightened up, pulling on both ends of his bowtie in a vain effort to appear calm and collected once he was finished.

“If your hat really is magic, show us a few tricks!” Bill jeered, and the other employees joined in with challenges of their own.

“Oh, I will. And all of you will feel silly for doubting me after I’m through! Silly, silly, silly indeed!” Hinkle shouted. He tried to remove the hat from his head with a graceful flourish, but clumsily dropped it instead.

He chuckled nervously, a bead of sweat running down his forehead despite the chill.

“As with any exercise, a good magician always warms up with the basics,” Hinkle declared as he showed his audience a small red ball. “For my first trick, I will put this red rubber ball into my magic hat like so, and presto change-o, I have five red rubber balls to-”

He tipped the magic hat upside down. A single red ball bounced out, rolling along the floor before it hit an unimpressed lab tech’s shoe.

“-go,” Hinkle finished dejectedly. He peered into the hat, futilely shaking it as if the other four balls would pop out. Once he realized that wouldn’t be the case, his shoes scuffed the ground in shame as he picked up the single red ball and dropped it back into his hat.

“Look on the bright side, man! You produced invisible balls without trying!” someone called, garnering laughter from the rest of the audience.

Hinkle’s face turned red.

And while the scorn wasn’t directed at Brain, he thought the heckling was an unnecessary endeavor. There was little point in prolonging the man’s misery, no matter how incompetent or delusional he was at magic tricks.

“N-now, as I said before, that was just a warm up,” Hinkle said, nervously tugging at his collar. Then he pulled a small pink scarf out from his pocket, spilling several cards and dice onto the floor again. “But my second trick is sure to amaze you! Watch as I place this scarf into my hat and let the magic focus, now hocus pocus I say, and out come green, gold, and...gray?”

To nobody’s surprise, there was only a lone pink scarf in Hinkle’s hand. “There were supposed to be endless scarves attached to this…” he muttered. It fluttered out of his hand and back into the hat.

But nobody was paying attention to Hinkle anymore. The clock struck three, and the dull atmosphere changed to a holiday-induced fervor as everyone pushed and shoved their way to the front so they could card out and leave.

Brain crept to the front of his cage, one hand resting on his crooked tail as he prepared to unlock the cage and make headway into his plans as soon as they left. He was brimming with viable ideas, and they needed to be written down before he forgot them.

“EVERYBODY, WAIT!” Hinkle bellowed over the noise, and his colleagues turned to him with annoyance written all over their faces.

Brain gritted his teeth. Just let them go already! Was that really so difficult?

“I have one more trick, yes, just one more teensy trick up my sleeve! A real one, I assure you! You won’t be disappointed!” Hinkle said, rubbing his hands together frantically. He emptied his pockets, tossing props everywhere in a vain attempt to find something useful.

Then Hinkle donned a pair of white magician’s gloves, his eyes falling right on Brain. And Brain realized he was about to be conscripted as an unwilling volunteer.

Since his usual tactic of biting fingers until he was left alone wouldn’t work on gloved hands, Brain beat a hasty retreat to the back of his cage, intending to use the exercise wheel as further cover.

But he only made it halfway to the wheel when the door opened and gloved fingers pinched his tail, dragging him out of the cage and dangling him over the magic hat for everyone to see.

“Watch as I transform this ugly lab mouse into a beautiful dove!” Hinkle yelled, and just as Brain processed the insult, he was unceremoniously dropped into the hat. He fell right on top of the rubber ball, knocking the wind out of him. “Abracadabra alakazam!”

Brain pressed himself against the inside folds of the hat as he tried to catch his breath, but he was only given a moment of reprieve before he was snatched up and thrown into the air, as if Hinkle expected him to grow wings because of a nonsensical phrase.

He slammed against the window and fell to the table below, shaking his head to clear away the stars circling in his vision. Every part of his body ached, agony starting from the tip of his tail and snaking up his spine. Slowly, he sat up and checked himself over in the window.

There was a distinct lack of avian features in his reflection, as he expected. He had a new break in his tail from the rough treatment, but there weren’t any other new markings.

Everyone stared at Brain in silence, and the only sounds were barely suppressed squeaks of disbelief from Hinkle and a chorus of Deck the Halls.

Then there was a booming laugh.

“Prettiest dove I’ve ever seen!” Bill said, to the mirth of his coworkers.

Brain’s ears flattened, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear forever.

His fists clenched at the sound of their mockery. He never chose to be involved in this ridiculous demonstration. Or deal with their scorn and stupidity every day. Or live at ACME Labs at all, where he had to suffer through experiment after experiment on top of attempting world domination and failing every single night.

“Come back! I have trick cards! Magic 8-balls! I’ll saw something in half and put it back together, I swear!” Hinkle shouted at the scientists’ retreating figures as they all carded out and stepped into the bitter chill of winter. They shuffled through the snow-covered property and into their vehicles, not wishing to be delayed any longer.

The prized silk hat crumpled in Hinkle’s hand.

“Bah! The only thing this junk hat’s good for is the trash can!” Hinkle snarled as he hurled the hat at the wastebasket by the door, but it only hit the nearby wall instead.

Then he stomped out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Brain peered out the window, his breath forming a small patch of fog against the cold glass as he watched Hinkle trudge towards the city. He waited a minute to ensure Hinkle wasn't coming back, then rushed over to a drawer where he'd hidden a roll of blueprints and writing utensils.

He was finally, blissfully alone.

Strands of colorful Christmas lights twinkled along the walls, casting a festive hue onto the unfurled blueprints.

Solve for x. Cube the most wonderful time of the year. Multiply by pi.

Peppermints, candy canes, and chocolates were mixed together in a snowflake-patterned bowl. Brain snacked on one of the chocolates as he scribbled a preliminary design for a machine. The candy was bittersweet on his tongue.

Sodium and chloride to form an ionic bond. Three irons needed to balance the equation. Symbol H stood for the hap-happiest season of all.

Only the scratching of his pencil, the hum of a heater which barely worked, and an old, droning carol. The Christmas bells subdued, the computers shut off.

And hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near. Loved ones are near. Loved ones are near...

There was a wet spot on the blueprint, directly over where he was trying to write. Frowning, he rubbed out the excess moisture, but only succeeded in smudging his numbers. He started over in an empty space, only for the wetness to appear again. Annoyed, he flipped his pencil around and rubbed the grayed area with his eraser.

The blueprint ripped.

Though the hole was tiny and didn’t affect the rest of his work in the slightest, it seemed that his plan had failed before he’d implemented it.

And it occurred to him that he’d never considered how the machine would function or how it would help him accomplish his takeover.

His face felt strange, so he rubbed his cheeks to get rid of the sensation. His hand came away damp.

Oh.

He was crying.

It was that stupid song’s fault. He dropped his pencil and walked over to the stereo, slamming his hand against the stop button just as the song reached its end.

The sound cut off immediately.

Only the dying thrums of a malfunctioning heater now.

The silence was overwhelming.

Christmas media always said the holiday season was a joyous occasion for family and friends, a time for reflection and rebirth as the year wrapped up and began anew.

But it was just propaganda. Nothing more than lies so people would praise themselves as right and virtuous and loving when they were nothing of the sort.

Brain splashed cold water onto his face, ridding himself of the useless tears. Then he looked out the window. A light flurry had begun, the clouds low and dreary gray. The land was already blanketed in snow from the blizzard on the winter equinox, and temperatures hadn’t warmed up since.

And while there were footprints in the snow from passersby, much of the surrounding property was untouched.

Maybe that’s what he needed.

An opportunity to numb himself, to walk around in the cold and discard these useless, empty aches in his chest.

He tore up his blueprint and threw it away. He was better off starting over after his stint outside.

Then he put on his winter gear, nicked from a doll somebody had brought in as a donation to a toy drive, but now lay forgotten in the lab.

The thick white jacket was comfortable and padded with extra fluff. He threw the hood over his head and tucked in his ears, then pulled on his snow boots and gloves.

As he wound a long piece of string around the window latch, he caught sight of the silk hat that laid beside the wastebasket, considered nothing more than trash since it wouldn’t do what Hinkle wanted. The rubber ball and scarf was still inside, crumpled and forgotten.

Magic wasn’t real. It was simply the art of misdirection and illusion. Or a word the uneducated used to describe occurrences they couldn’t explain with science.

Despite his beliefs, Brain built a simple pulley system with thick yarn and an empty spool to haul the silk hat up to the counter.

He could use the hat for extra fabric. Repurpose it. Shrink it so he could have a formal hat for himself.

He opened the window, allowing the cold wind to numb the exposed fur on his face. With all the flurries, he’d probably regret this decision later, but that wasn’t anything new. Then he dropped the loose end of the string outside and tugged the knot around the latch. Once he was satisfied with the knot’s tightness, he dropped the silk hat into the snow-covered bushes below.

It was ironic, how he experimented with chemicals and complicated machinery every night, but didn’t know what he was doing with a simple hat.

Maybe that humiliating demonstration had messed with his mind, overriding all his logic and planning capabilities.

But it seemed like such a flimsy excuse, not providing a satisfactory explanation as to why he’d dragged a so-called magic hat outside on what was supposed to be a simple break.

Brain slid down the string, his boots crunching against the snow as he landed. He stuck out a gloved hand, catching several flurries.

No two snowflakes looked alike, they always said. But their crystalline structures couldn’t be seen without a microscope, so they were nothing more than white powder to the naked eye. He rolled the flurries in his palm until they formed a tiny snowball.

It gave him an idea.

But...it was childish. Stupid.

Yet he found himself rolling snow anyway.

This patch of the property was completely undisturbed, so he had a nice layer of clean, white snow untouched by human footprints to work with.

Nobody was around to see him. And it gave his hands something to do instead of remaining idle.

He quickly found that rolling snow into a spherical shape per the typical snowman wasn’t as easy as television depicted. The snow didn’t want to move in the way he wanted, and it came out as a lumpy, ovular mound that happened to be the same size as him.

He kicked aside a thin, whiplike twig that had broken off from one of the nearby bushes as he gathered more snow to form the head. Then he reconsidered and picked up the twig.

In his hands, it looked very similar to a mouse’s tail. One that wasn’t broken by mishandling.

While he didn’t have the height or the tools required for a full-sized snowman, maybe he could create a snowmouse instead.

He carefully threaded the twig into the backside of the mound, curling it around so it resembled an actual tail.

Then he brushed extra snow away from the front, smoothing out the mound until it had the snowy equivalent of legs.

The head was more difficult to sculpt, but he managed to create something that would be recognizable as a mouse’s head, with two small snowballs forming the ears and a muzzle that jutted out. He would’ve made the muzzle smaller, but the increased size was necessary to counterweight the ears. Lastly, he slid two sticks into each side of the snowmouse to serve as arms.

The snowmouse was twice Brain’s height, and while it had the proportions of a mouse, it was ultimately just a cold white body with three embedded twigs. No personality, no splashes of color.

Anyone could easily miss or step on it.

The snowmouse would be gone by next week, once the temperature rose above freezing. No trace of his handiwork would remain.

Such was life. Short and brutal, with nothing to show for it.

The faceless snowmouse seemed oddly alone, the only other thing besides Brain in this wintery courtyard. There wasn’t anything for either of them here.

“Sorry,” Brain said, unsure of why he was apologizing to something that couldn’t hold a conversation. He’d wasted far too much time here. He had to get back to his plans. “I’m going inside.”

A chilly breeze blew, and Brain held fast to his hood so it didn’t come off. As he turned to the lab, he saw the silk hat become airborne, flying several feet until it landed by Brain and the snowmouse.

He didn’t think the breeze had been that strong.

But the strangest part was how the hat was much smaller than before. It wouldn’t fit a human anymore.

Even the red rubber ball and pink scarf shrunk. And there were several pebbles that hadn’t been there previously, though Brain guessed they could’ve just gotten inside when he’d dropped the hat.

Brain stared at the items, then back at the snowmouse.

“Just this once,” he sighed as he draped the scarf between the main body and head, then placed the rubber ball at the end of the muzzle for a nose.

Two of the pebbles became unseeing eyes, though Brain was at a loss of what he should do with the other two pebbles. He tried using them as a replacement for buttons on the body, but that didn’t seem right. And placing them on the cheeks just looked awkward.

Brain held a pebble in each hand, stepping back to determine the placement. But he didn’t find anything satisfactory.

He was about to discard the pebbles entirely, but then he noticed that the snowmouse seemed to have an odd pair of buckteeth sticking out at the end of its muzzle with the way he held the pebbles.

Perhaps he should’ve left it as a matter of perspective. It was stupid. It was silly.

But Brain stuck the pebbles on the underside of the muzzle anyway.

The snowmouse looked ridiculous with its red rubber nose, pink scarf, and pebbles for eyes and goofy buckteeth.

Another breeze picked up, and one of the snowmouse’s stick arms waved, moving up and down like it was saying hello.

Like it was...friendly. Alive. Happy.

Slowly, Brain approached the snowmouse. He placed one hand on the snowmouse’s body, balanced on his tiptoes, and threw the silk hat on top.

For reasons Brain couldn’t explain, the hat just seemed to go with the rest of the snowmouse.

And then he caught himself.

What a ridiculous concept.

Creating a snowmouse wasn’t his worst transgression, if he’d just left it at the creation process. No, instead he had to go personifying it! Assigning qualities that shouldn’t be designated to inanimate objects!

Snow wasn’t alive. It was water. That’s all it was.

“You’re snow. You’re just a pile of frozen water!” Brain yelled, turning away from the snowmouse. Enough with these idiotic fantasies. He was going inside, back to the cruel reality of trying to take over the world. “You’re not alive, so just leave me alone! Quit toying with my perception!”

He stomped towards the window, but only made it a few steps before an odd sound gave him pause.

“Toys? Narrrrrf! That sounds like jolly good fun! Can I play with toys too?”

Brain looked over his shoulder, and promptly tripped over himself in surprise.

A pair of bright blue eyes was looking back at him. Actual eyes, not pebbles.

And the snowmouse was talking.

End AN: I feel really bad for calling Brain ugly. *sobs*

I actually kinda find writing Hinkle’s dialogue fun. A bit of a strange character to crossover with, but fun. Hocus Pocus the Rabbit won’t be making an appearance.

Also some changes will be made from the original Frosty the Snowman cause some parts of the cartoon don’t make sense. A greenhouse at the North Pole, really?

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #pinky the snowmouse

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monkey-network · 3 years

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Why Shrek IS The Best

Tastes can change, you know? And it’s less about “What’s good about this now compared to before”, more of “Why would you like this now as opposed to before”? Unless allergic, you didn’t get why dark cola or hot chips tasted bad to you as a child, but when you grow up you can come to understand and appreciate it. Shouldn’t pressure yourself, that makes things worse, but things can certainly align in helping this newfound respect you get for something you’d believe you would never want again. That really is where I stand with Dreamworks’ Shrek. As a kid, while Toy Story left me traumatized for a while, Shrek left me side-eyeing with how crass and ugly it looked and I never wanted to think of it. But, as I grew up to respect animation a lot more, 2018 was where I looked back at Shrek and soon come to understand how wrong I was and how much greatness it has that I now consider it an all time great. And with it getting inducted into the Library of Congress, I thought it was finally time to present what I see in this film. Let’s do this right with...

The SOMEBODY

Now this frame has been meme’d to death. If there’s anything iconic about this film, ‘bout the franchise as a whole, it’s the exact moment when our main character charges out of his outhouse as Smash Mouth’s ‘All Star’ gets going. But this honestly just says a lot about Dreamworks’ direction from its previous films where compared to Disney that’ll take their time making the setup before getting into the hype point for its lead, Shrek gets going in one minute if we don’t count the logo intro. Not even The Emperor’s New Groove, which was going for the same tone before Shrek even released, took more of it’s time with the fairy tale aspect of it in its intro. Shrek literally wipes his ass with the fairy tale aspect before giving us the SOMEBODY, all around a minute. This frame really shows that this is sticking to the Disney formula in some way because it’s wasting no time getting into it. It represents the more brisk pace Shrek has with pulling you into what it’s gonna be about. This overall frame works in its thematic and parody aspect and I’ve yet to see anything top this exact moment, not even the greatest films I’ll ever remember.

But enough about the fact that I made a whole paragraph about this one frame of the movie. Let’s dive into what I say is a piece of the heart for this film.

The Earnestness

Speaking of Disney, you probably notice that their films have some cushioning in their presentation, like they generally don’t show things with a straightforward lens; there’s some theatrics in the way their best movies present themselves. That’s not a problem, mind you, but that helped me understand how Shrek does things very differently whether you consider it parody or not. While it throws mockery at the played out conventions associated with fairy tales, especially its most subtle jab at copyright, it doesn’t full on say fairy tales are annoying and bad. Hell, the film IS a fairy tale adapted from a fairy tale about a fookin’ OGRE that can eat lightning and kills with farts. But, it’s an accurate and earnest way to view a fairy tale from a somewhat realistic lens. Let’s take Shrek’s journey for instance.

Typically, the main character would want to experience something more; explore new horizons, prove themselves, find their calling. Shrek off the bat doesn’t need or desire any of that. He’s content with his life, beside the angry mob he casually scares off, and throughout the film he’s not interested in anything else outside getting the squatters out his swamp. He happily makes a deal with the villain of the film to exile those innocent refugees off his land so he could then build a wall to keep everybody out. Bringing up Emperor’s New Groove again, Shrek and Kuzco are the few characters I know that are actively antagonistic even when they’re forced into their situation from outside forces. However unlike Kuzco that gets to be emperor again but learns humility, Shrek is in the same spot as before but learns that there are people out here that can love him for who he is. I can’t say there’s anything grand about that, but it doesn’t need to be unlike the many Disney or any film that tries to shower you with the grandest themes. The relationships Shrek has with Donkey and Fiona are the most grounded I’ve ever seen because they’re not only natural, they’re hardly dolled up with the bells and whistles made to either drum up the biggest laughs or tug the heart strings viciously. When I think about it, I honestly could see myself in Shrek. He isn’t made to be a legend, he isn’t some secret genius or lost prince, he’s just an every-man ogre that wants to live peacefully or meet SOMEBODY that doesn’t treat as someone to be feared or disgusted at. Everything Shrek says is something anybody could or would say if they were his shoes because he, and the film in general, is the most grounded without making it all distractedly meta or genre-savvy. This is generally helped by...

The Dounkaey

Everyone’s talked about how Donkey is the best confidant for Shrek and Fiona. How he’s most true to himself to where he’s the most openly musical character in the film, and how he’s the most balanced here with his comedic vs serious moments. But I gotta say it too: Donkey is one of the greatest sidekicks ever. He’s a motormouth, but is never annoying to where you wish he left the film. The couple times he is purposefully annoying, not for a joke, is when he knows Shrek isn’t being truthful. He truly gets to know Shrek on this journey, and is the character Shrek gets to capacity to actually loosen up to, so it’s fitting that he’d be the one to push Shrek when the ogre’s sounding more vague than usual. Even when he’s harshly insulted, Donkey doesn’t take it as bad as when Shrek kept trying to shut him out again in the 3rd act after the Hallejulah sequence which is the scene in every Shrek movie where’s there a super sad song because Shrek is alone and yadda ya. I’ll get to it in a bit, but he is as much responsible in providing Fiona that seed of doubt that Shrek wouldn’t love her as the ogre she is. Donkey is the greatest friend because he wants to be there for those who are okay with him being around, and while you could give and take sidekick animals in your notable films with them in it, this film really wouldn’t have happened without him. Speaking of Fiona, I won’t retread what’s been said before like with Donkey but I did want to bring up something I haven’t seen many talk about,,,

The Love for An Ogre

I’ve seen many say the scene where Shrek overhears Fiona talk about “Who could love an ugly beast?” and misinterprets that as her talking about him as a cliched or contrived downside to the film, but I feel that a defense can be made. It personally makes sense that Shrek would misinterpret that and take it personally because 1) Who else would Fiona be talking about? 2) How would he know she was talking with Donkey? 3) Why would he just barge in on her? 4) Has no one considered that this moment is parallel to when Fiona overhears Shrek’s conversation with Donkey the night before?

Fiona is very much the antithesis to Shrek’s character where she can very much be open about what she wants but is scared at the idea of anyone figuring out who she really is. She’ll gladly be gross, kick ass, eat the young of a bird she let explode, but won’t let anyone see her true face. That’s why her curse makes sense, and why Shrek would take a fondness to her despite her initial disdain of him rescuing her. Fiona’s a character where the surface level beauty is her weakness as opposed to Shrek where it’s internal. Which is why when she overhears Shrek open up to Donkey about his societal isolation, she’s soon more comfortable around him. And it’s why when she opens up to Donkey about her looks, Shrek would unfortunately take it personal enough. I ask again, why would Shrek barge in on a conversation he wasn’t aware of or who she was talking about to not take it about anything else but him when what he heard such a cut so deep, especially from a character that bears his similar issues? It also helps that Donkey was in on it, as Shrek feels reasonably betrayed by the only other person he’s come to appreciate in his life. Contrived as it seems, it’s thematically important and appropriate to the conflict of Shrek’s character and the film overall. Don’t know how this could be conveyed any other way because it adds up at least.

I just wanna know how Shrek got to Faarquard’s and back by sunrise like did he run cuz that looked like a huge distance to travel on foot but anyways...

I’m sure things could’ve worked out if Shrek knew, either by barging in that night or through Donkey, but I think it’s fitting that the climax takes place at the wedding. After Shrek and Donkey understand their friendship, after Donkey reciprocates the Dragon’s love (more ways than one), and when Shrek grasps the mistake he made to charge over to Fuccquad’s chapel, we get to...

The End

After everything, we get to the moment where Shrek and Fiona get to share their first kiss, Fiona permanently transforms into an ogre, and we get this exchange. One of my favorite exchanges in the whole film:

Shrek: “Are you all right?” Fiona: “Well yes. But I don’t understand... I’m supposed to be beautiful.”

Shrek: “But you ARE beautiful”

We don’t need any other vows to understand their relationship was built up to this. This moment where Shrek can reaffirm Fiona’s feelings of being able to be herself in every way, because she allowed him to be himself in every way before. That’s that mutual love, baby, that just gets me every time and makes this film one of the best romance stories I know as well, even when it isn’t solely about the romance. This is Shrek’s story, and there’s nothing more touching than seeing this outcast not only get another to view him as a friend, not only someone to love, but people, if only a couple, to actually wanted to get to know him. I know Shrek 2 expands on this more, and it’s considered a golden sequel, but I will always cherish the first movie for how much it tells us off the bat while appearing as a “Take That” to Disney films. This is the genesis of Shrek feeling more accepted for himself and society and it just bears so much good commentary while being a good adventure nonetheless. Like you could say this film indeed has... dimensions? “You were trying to meme about la-”

The Conclusion

Mentioning it, I always had this thought with the conversation Shrek and Donkey had of why Shrek didn’t just “be an ogre” and pillage Fuccnut’s fortress. It’s possible Shrek could’ve taken out Faarquid himself, but that would mean being the beast he knows people have shunned him for, grabbed the torches and pitchfolks for, made him feel worse for. Shrek enjoys being an ogre, but he doesn’t like how society makes him feel lesser as an ogre. That really is what the four films have been about for him and what I’ve come to appreciate about these films personally. It can be easy to love yourself even when there are others out here that stand against you, but it’s hard to consider that anyone else could love you for who you are in spite of how you try to present yourself. But if there’s anything Shrek showed me, it’s that it’s possible. There can/will be people out here who appreciate the real you, will be there as much as you want to for them, and can help you realize more about yourself as opposed to suffering to silence eternally. Generally ideal, I know, but this film in the least offered me that thought in the most balanced way possible. It’s incredible how much of a tightrope this film has in its parody and sincerity and that makes its induction in the National Film Registry and being the first ever Best Animated Award winner pretty justified all things considered.

I know this film, the character, has been a meme over the years. As Schaffrillas mentions in his video, the direction Dreamworks made because of Shrek’s success kinda turned it into a heel people clowned on because, in theory, it was nothing but a joke with the onions and the swamp and IT’S NEVER OGRE. Then again, like I said in the beginning, tastes change. I’d say with Schaff’s masterful analyses on the film series and 3GI’s Shrek Retold and Shrekfest, the perception of the film sure enough shifted like the perception of Megamind. It’s one thing for a movie to blow people away or leave them thinking it’s horrible beyond belief, it’s another to take the time to then look back and see how those feelings have changed. For Shrek, it’s a film that was able to trudge out of the meme era to be a film many consider a strong, rewatchable, and unique. Like the beauty of Spongebob, Shrek is a considered a classic because as in the times as it appeared when it released, this film actually stood on its own with the most enjoyable and meaningful timelessness, exploring the desired love for the self, that deserves to be recognized. What else can I say, people?

It’s The Best

#Shrek #dreamworks #dreamworks animation #animation #movies #cartoons #reviews #analysis #long post #Good Stuff

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relenafanel · 4 years

Text

Local, Mediocre Talent: A Meet-Ugly AU

Geralt/Jaskier

Find it on Ao3: Local, Mediocre Talent by relenafanel

For the Modern AU Challenge. Week 1: Meet-Ugly

Tag: witcherauseptember

_______________________________

“They’re setting up for the live band,” Geralt observed, finishing his pint of ale in one long swallow and gesturing to Eskel to hurry up. “Let’s go.”

“They’re supposed to be decent,” Eskel answered, his body language saying he was hunkering down and had no intention of going anywhere. He took a casual drink from his own glass, still half full as a pointed gesture.

Geralt snorted, not believing that for a second. Eskel was fucking with him. “I don’t need the assault on my senses. The—“ he gestured around the pub “—is bad enough. Add some local, mediocre talent covering the best of the 90s and it becomes unbearable.”

“EXCUSE ME!”

Geralt barely had time to react before some brightly dressed and way too loud (visually and auditory) guy got in his face. The guy was lucky that Geralt wasn’t the type of person to greet people getting into his personal space aggressively with his fists. He made a sound in warning anyway.

“Have you even heard us?” the stranger demanded, half-draped across the table so he could stare directly into Geralt’s face, his pointer finger an inch from Geralt’s nose.

Geralt knew he should be taking it as a threat, but it was a laughable one. He considered chomping his teeth just for the amusement of it. “No.”

“Then maybe you should leave so someone else can have your table! I don’t need to be universally liked, but this is just insulting! You’re just. Sitting there. Complaining about a band you’ve never even heard of, right in front of the lead singer by the way, like some kind of hot but rude jackass.”

“I’m trying to leave,” Geralt answered, shooting Eskel a significant look. Eskel, the ass, just looked like he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Try harder,” the guy suggested, straightening and digging into the shoulder bag he was carrying. He drew out a CD in a cardboard sleeve and a gold sharpie, scribbling something on the cardboard and flicking it in front of Geralt. “Gratuit for you, darling. Maybe you’ll learn some taste.”

The man could do scathing sarcasm. Geralt would give him that.

Geralt stood, picking up the CD automatically, maybe out of some long-remembered politeness of taking something handed to him. It was also the reason he kept finding fliers in the front seat of his car. “If this is your idea of taste,” he said to the guy, gesturing to his vibrant sequin shirt, “then I’m better off without any.”

He walked out, enjoying the affronted gasp behind him way more than he should.

***

Of course, the joke was on him two weeks later when halfway through his drive through the Mahakam mountains, his truck radio gave out. Geralt, typically not the biggest fan of music, had been using it to mask the death rattle coming from Roach’s undercarriage.

He didn’t have the money to fix her until he finished this contract, and as someone who took care of his belongings it was an aggravating reminder of his failures.

With a sigh, he half-remembered where he’d thrown the CD from the night with the annoying musician, and one-handedly dug it out from the garbage. He shoved it into the CD player with little fanfare.

***

By his trip back, Geralt had listened to the CD a total of three times and had to admit it was okay.

***

(Which, from Geralt, regarding music, was pretty much the equivalent of praise.)

***

Geralt turned the key to start the ignition, tensed as always that this might be the time Roach didn’t start. Once again, she came through for him and the music came on automatically.

“What’s this?” Eskel asked pointedly, his tone and expression telling Geralt that he knew exactly what it was.

“Don’t.”

“Oh, I will,” Eskel retorted, but then didn’t follow it up with any ribbing, which was frankly more disturbing than if he had. It told Geralt he was planning.

Fuck.

***

Geralt had listened to the CD countless times over the course of the month it took to save up enough to fix Roach. Without the rattling, he no longer needed the music to distract his ears, and he popped the CD out of his dashboard like a man freed.

It was the first time he actually looked at the cardboard sleeve. It was just a stylized silhouette of a musician with the band’s name, website, and social media.

To my #1 fan

Jaskier

Fuck, he could hear the tone it was meant in. That scathing sarcasm that landed like paint thinner. Despite the tone, or maybe because of, he could feel the burst of pleasure in his chest.

He was halfway through scrolling through the band’s Instagram before realizing what he was doing, seeking out pictures of Jaskier. He realized, suddenly, that he’d been listening to the man’s voice for over a month.

Geralt closed his eyes.

Fuck.

He closed the app.

***

(He may have accidentally followed the band’s page.

Then he may have accidentally found Jaskier’s page and followed that too. The man had 3,000 followers, he wouldn’t notice another one.

He may have also accidentally liked a picture, but no more than two.

Fuck, three.

But Geralt was old and social media confused him. Wasn’t his fault.)

***

“This is a lovely jacket,” Jaskier said, somewhere behind Geralt. “I love a man who feels confident wearing leather.”

A pause.

“Oh, you’ve mistaken me, I’m flirting with your jacket. Leather looks a bit like I’m playing dress-up in daddy’s clothes when I wear it. I get leather-envy.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment, trying to work through too many things going through his brain. First and foremost was the realization of how easily he’d known that voice, despite only hearing Jaskier speak that once (and also every time he’d introduced the bonus “work in progress” track on the CD). Second was what Jaskier was saying.

Geralt had a leather jacket. Geralt also wanted to hit his head against the table for thinking that in the context of listening to Jaskier flirt.

Third, he realized that this had been what Eskel had been planning: secretly orchestrating Geralt meeting Jaskier again.

Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t even wearing his nice shirt.

He wasn’t even wearing his nice shirt?! The idea he cared if he was wearing his nice shirt or not was the last, and worst, of all the realizations.

Jaskier walked by their table and then paused, backtracked, and looked at Geralt. “I know you.”

Geralt nodded, not far enough into his crisis to actually talk with Jaskier.

“Oh” Jaskier said, and his shoulders slumped. “Right. The gorgeous man who hates local music. I wasted a CD on you.”

“Not wasted,” Eskel said, while Geralt was trying to formulate a way to say ‘I think I was wrong, and maybe am into you’ in a normal way. Jaskier thought he was gorgeous and Geralt had a crush and a lasting bad impression. “He listened to it. Didn’t you, Geralt?”

“Did you?”

“It was good,” Geralt tried. He didn’t miss that Eskel had managed to drop his name, casually, which made him forgive almost the entire plot of dragging him here in the first place.

Jaskier’s face lit up, which was -- fuck. “Did you?” he preened, leaning close to Geralt just like he had the first time. “Was it?”

“I… liked it.”

“Praise!” Jaskier crowed, slipping into the booth next to Geralt so his knee was pressed firmly against Geralt’s thigh. “My bread and butter. Do it again.”

His hand landed on Geralt’s knee in a way that was less to steady himself and more as a flirtation. It was something Geralt should and would discourage, right after he finished leaning into it.

“I listened to it in my truck. Every day for a month.”

And that. Wasn’t great, was it? If the way Eskel took a drink from his pint to hide his amusement was any indication, it wasn’t great.

Jaskier blinked. Then his expression shifted from teasing to thoughtful. “Do you normally listen to music in your truck?”

“The radio, sometimes.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side. “Then that is praise. Thank you.”

Geralt nodded, dropping his hand so the tip of his finger brushed against Jaskier’s. He’d always been better with physical flirting, anyway. When he tried flirting, his banter tended to have barbs.

Jaskier looked down at his hand. “Huh.”

***

“Hi I’m Jaskier. We’re going to try something new tonight: being a 90s cover band! First up, a cover of the 90s hit Baby’s Got Back, because there’s a man in the audience whose attention I’m trying to get, and I never know what’s too far. And Baby, he’s got Back. Second, we’ll go for the Spice Girls Wannabe My Lover, because I totally Googled 90s music before getting up here and both of them were in the first results and I’m trying to make a point. What? It’s called Wannabe? Fine. Corrected.”

“Sorry,” Eskel said beside Geralt, looking pained at the spectacle Jaskier was making.

That was the thing. Geralt should hate the attention, but.

But.

Eskel looked over at him and his frown grew deeper. “Are you smiling?”

“No,” he lied, because even if his mouth wasn’t stretched into a grin, Eskel knew him well enough and for long enough to recognize that Geralt didn’t hate what was happening. He wasn’t not smiling.

On stage, Jaskier reached over to grab a phone offered to him by the bass player. “Oh! Oh! Essi just reminded me of Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover, like the good bro she is. Yes. That. A better suggestion than Spice Girls. I mean, I don’t really care if you want to get with my friends. Essi isn’t even into men.”

The drummer smashed the cymbals, making Jaskier jump.

“That’s my cue that I’ve taken the gag too far. We’re not actually doing 90s night, but thanks for not immediately booing us off stage! And Geralt, maybe if you could slide into my DMs on Insta?”

“Joke’s on him for thinking you have Instagram,” Eskel observed. He was already done his drink and looked like he was ready to leave after sitting as the third party to some truly awkward flirting.

Geralt didn’t say anything.

“You have Instagram?” Eskel realized. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me you know what sliding into someone’s DMs means.”

Geralt shrugged.

Eskel squinted at him. “You didn’t get a smartphone until 2015. You think Tinder is for pyromaniacs.”

Geralt shrugged again.

“Wooooo,” Jaskier said on stage, holding up both his phone and the chorus of the song he was singing. “We have contact! Geralt says: Hi. Thank you everyone in this room for putting up with my nonsense! You have great energy. Hold on, I’m just going to...” he said, typing into his phone. “Tell me what to say!”

The audience seemed to be used to Jaskier engaging with them, because a few yelled out suggestions, including one outright filthy potential sext that Jaskier gave a ‘are you really?’ glance to. “Oh! I know.”

Jaskier: You really do have a great butt. I noticed when you left.

Geralt: You sure you’re not flirting with my leather jacket?

Geralt watched as Jaskier read the message and then floundered a little in surprise.

Geralt: I’ll wear it if you want.

Geralt: Maybe tomorrow night?

“YES!” Jaskier replied out loud. “Yes! I have a date for tomorrow night. Now, we should maybe re-start this song?”

“Stop looking so smug,” Eskel grumbled, stealing Geralt’s beer and downing it.

#witcherauseptember #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #meet-ugly

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theunmappedstar · 4 years

Note

ur last post rly went off nattie like BE loud about it speak the truth and that hit hard today bc it's not the greatest day for me :') just know ily b

literally everything about a girl is critiqued. think about it. think about your music taste. think about your posture. think about your voice. think about your eyelashes. think about your hobbies. these are all drasticly different things, and all fairly minor details that come together to make up the big painting that is you, and yet they all have something in common — they’re all critiqued.

i say it again: think about your music. if you like pop you’re basic. if you like indie you’re looking for attention. if you like rap you’re asking for it. if you like kpop you’re annoying.

i say it again: think about your voice. if it’s too deep it’s unattractive. if it’s too high it’s unattractive. if your laugh isn’t subtle and dainty, it’s ugly. if you speak too much, you annoy people. if you stay quiet, you’re a rug.

i say it again: think about your eyelashes. they can’t be too small or thin, or else they look bad. they can’t be too long or pronounced because then you look slutty. they can’t be too dark, but they also can’t be light, because that doesn’t look good.

i say it again: think about your posture. if you don’t sit up straight enough, it’s not lady-like. if you go too stiff, you look too tense and unapproachable. if you slouch, you look lazy and awkward.

i say it again: think about your hobbies. if you like sports, you shouldn’t even try because you can’t compete against the men. if you like art, you shouldn’t try because it won’t get you anywhere. if you like reading, you’re too shy and books are boring. if you like staying in and doing things at home, you’re lazy. if you like going out, you’re too bubbly and bitchy.

i could go on and on about this because you can find a critique in almost anything that a woman or someone who is female-presenting does. these people see the never-ending war that is waged against them daily and they subconsciously pick up those tactics and mindsets.

think about it: when you see a pretty picture of a girl, why is trying to find a flaw the first thing you do? why do you instantly try to find something on them that doesn’t fit the beauty standard so you can breathe a sigh of relief and say, “oh, okay, they’re not that perfect.” why is that so relieving?

why is your first instinct when you see a woman who fits the beauty standard to think or comment, “there goes my self-esteem”?

why is your first instinct when you see a woman who doesn’t fit the beauty standard to uplift yourself by thinking something along the lines of, “at least i don’t look like that/that bad” or “at least i don’t have *insert feature here*”?

when you read about a woman who’s described as pretty, but self-conscious, why is your first instinct to call them a mary sue as an insult and drag them for having self-doubt?

when you read about a woman who’s clumsy, why is your first instinct to roll your eyes at them and tell them they’re “trying too hard”?

when you read about a woman who’s described as popular, why does your mind instantly demonize them?

think about it.

#asks #ask me anything #theunmappedstar asks #anonymous

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decaynymph · 3 years

Note

You only look “alt” because it’s trending, stop your NOT ALLOWED TO LISTEN TO OUR MUSIC! Or be in or subculture, nobody wants you. You don’t even know anything about being like us

I was in the alt subculture since I was 13-17, I distance myself for while because of toxic friends who were in that subculture, I still listen to the music and stayed update what was going on like music, bands, the subculture itself.

(Here’s me at 13-17, yes I was a ugly kid, no no defo a poser)

When I went to college I met new people that have different styles and taste. (Honestly I was like indie during college)

During and after college I was in a worst mind set and I didn’t have an identity anymore, until I got help and people just encouraging to be comfortable with who I am and also getting help with my mental health. After I started slowly falling in love again with the music, bands, fashion and subcultures again (like thanks to my mural for posting type o negative that ended up on my dash) .

(And this what I look like now 2019-2021)

I just made my own style, educating myself and listening to more music, researching, the politics, bands and alternative brands.

Honestly I don’t know what you get out it, I heard something people saying “I didn’t get bullied for so many years for this to get popular or be trend” and then harass or bully others, you’re literally no better then the bullies that bullied you. I honestly don’t care being called a poser it’s low insult from the late 90’s and it hardly has a meaning anymore. I understand it’s frustrating to havre people dressing alt for a trend, there’s not much we can do other then educate.

If you want to have discussions, feel free to dm me

#anon #anon ask #ask

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice – two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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literaila · 3 years

Note

that’s a good thing. i’m glad i made you laugh, v. i’m grinning as well, reading this

okay, whatever. maybe i’m not always right, but it’s true! you’re an amazing person. and i don’t compliment people unless i’m being polite, lying, wanting something, or being genuine. for you, it’s the last one

horrible in a good way. not as an insult! y’know. because angst is horrible, sad, very very sad. but yours is well written, verity. also really sad. i have dark humor, so. i’m sure it would be funny as well (although not true. you’re perfect)

you suck. bleh. richard is just so ridiculous, carefree and a horrible father. not horrible but not attentive either. you’re an exception, y’know.

definitely the forever part. i doubt that you’re actually psychic, darling.

“ ‘tell them-‘ and then you die. that would be boring” says verity. but you want your last words to be “tell susan”? how lame. do you even know a susan? it’s an ugly name

yes, because you’re boring. boring people enjoy boring stuff. watching a turtle walk would be better, and more fun.

ahhh, you’re a one direction fan? i don’t really listen to them. i will for you.

i really like hozier! i haven’t listened to much musicals, but give me the names and i will. i also like ben platt. i’ll listen to them all!

hmmm. well i like every genre except country, to be frank. i don’t have a favorite song or artist, but favorites.

olivia rodrigo, melanie martinez, taylor swift, bo burnham, lil peep, mitski, the neighbourhood, arctic monkeys, conan gray, billie eilish. there are lots of songs i can recommend; stalkers tango, unhealthy obsession, meet me at our spot, blouse, dark red, bags, etc. i love music, a lot. i have a whole entire list, all you have to do is ask.

(yes i remembered)

would you have believed me if i said you seemed intimidating? at first

thank you! i actually do feel a lot better, so that’s a plus. i will in fact, not be on my death bed tomorrow. don’t worry, dear. i should be sleeping now, it’s 12:31 for me. curious, what’s your time zone?

goodnight verity, sweet dreams.

— 🐢 anon

what if i steal candy from babies? what then? also— you lie about compliments??? and to get something you want? how does that work? does it work?

the joke was something along the lines of “well that goes to show you how happy my life is” or something that was better at 11 pm. ha! very funny, i know i know.

ridiculous and carefree. BUT he cares. that’s my favorite thing. he’s completely oblivious to everything but he loves his kids with all his heart, and always makes an effort for them. it’s sweet. i’ll accept sucking.

offended actually, i know everything and now i’m not telling you.

boring for you, considering you know everything and have endless amounts of knowledge to share. not for me though, it would be endlessly irritating. haha! i love it. and no, i don’t know a susan. but, it’s a good name. plus, susan needs to know what i want to tell her

okay turtle-emoji-anon.

hozier is awesome. there’s a musical called hades down about greek mythology. maybe you’d like that. it’s very jazz inspired (good for karaoke)

i also like. so many. too many. any musical. hadestown is my favorite though.

i’ve listened to quite literally every single one of those artists. similar tastes— you know besides one direction. and i’ll take that list any time love!

really? man. i’m attempting to be more personable most of the time, approachable and all that. i’m much scarier in real life.

glad to hear it! how’s today going? hopefully you’re not too tired. i’m in mountain time, so an hour behind you.

enjoying school?

-v

#ask #🐢

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toxiccaptain · 4 years

Text

Bully Oc Quotes: Richard Sinclair

((Gonna go off the actual wiki layout))

Conversing

My father has been getting to eat a lot more, but now he wants me to start working out

I can pay my around this place but i feel like that’s just a waste of money

A lot of people think I’m nice but then get hurt with what I say, so I don’t know what they would like for me to be

My birthmark tends to be very distracting in conversations, but I can’t seem to find the right makeup shade for my skin

Those jocks really get aggressive for the littlest things

Father gave me the key to his garage and my mother gave me the keys to her winery

When wondering around

People always stares at my face like I’ve got some sickness-

I wonder if my parents get bothered that my music taste is far different than theirs

I’m not that small- am I?

I don’t know who’s scarier, the jocks or the townies

Everyone is always tryna hurt me but jokes on them I can’t feel it half Of the time.

Gotta renew these bandages

I hope the bruise goes away soon

Everything is sore, why does it have to be sore

I may hurt myself unintentionally because of what I do but doesn’t mean I’m stupid

Why do the scary ones like me..?

Chasing someone

You’re more of a girl than I am

What’s wrong? You afraid of little ol me?

((No attacking because Richard is the only prep who doesn’t fight physically))

Insulting

Oh what the world has turned you into

You look both lonely and pathetic, not that it’s anything new

It’s a shame this school resorted in letting animals like you in

Real mature, do it again and maybe it can actually get you some attention

I’m guessing you escaped the rat trap

Someone notify the circus that one if their freaks was let out

Oh I feel so very bad for where you came out from

You’re not that pretty

You wish that was charming

You should be sorry for who you are

Out of breath

I need to work out

I shouldn’t be this out of breath at such a young age

When crying

...it hurts so much... why does it hurt this much...

When kicked in groin

OW! You Unfair...Lowlife!

When knocked out

Ah the floor.. my own friend I’ve learned..to love

That didn’t hurt..

I think I’m gonna pass out..

How unfortunate..it is..to be me

That’s.. gonna leave a mark...

Hit with a stink bomb

Someone please take a bath

That reeks more than the locker room after a game

Ally help me

Uh, could you give me a hand with this?!

please help me! I’m not a fighter!

Bumped into (friendly)

Oh, please do forgive me

My apologies

That’s my fault, can’t see from 1 eye after all hehe..

Bumped into (hostile)

Do you mind?

Are you stupid or something?

Watch where you’re going would you?

Move it

Don’t be a bother

I’d watch it if I were you

Don’t make me get the others on your ass

When bumped into other cliques

(Townies) I would ask you to watch it but I’m not trying to start trouble

(Greaser) I know you’re trying to take my money but you’re gonna have to try harder than that

(Nerd) get your glasses fixed cause clearly you can’t see where you’re going

(Jock) I don’t need your sweat on me

Saying goodbye

I must be going, mother is making food today and I do enjoy her cooking

I’ll catch up later, I must head off

I’ve got somewhere to be, we can speak more about this later

I do need to pick up some new clothes, see you.

Grossed out

Um,, excuse me, what is that?

Devilish-

Spat on

You Donkey! Haven’t you heart of having manners?!

Watching a fight

Oh it’s fun to watch others fight

Chicken fight!

My money is on the biggest one

Show them no mercy

When fire alarm is pulled

I wonder where the fire is

Flustered

Oh,, uh- hi

Look we don’t gotta get too ahead of ourselves-

I- I’m sorry if I did something

We..we can sort this out-

Receiving a gift

Oh how cute,for me?

You’re sweet, maybe you’re fitting to be a prep after all

You didn’t have to, honestly

You’re charming, really you are

Greeting

Bonjour

Hello

Good evening

Flirt

I’m more than just a pretty face

Grooming

Is it really that bad?(referring to birthmark)

Hm, maybe I should cover it up

I’m not that ugly-

Cute...?

I don’t see the resemblance between me and derby

Requesting an errand

Mind helping me out?

Here’s something you can prove to me

I have something I need you to help me with

Unknown

I’m nothing like him

My father is a more hush hush man

I’m average but even then that doesn’t make them leave me alone

I’ve broken 10 bones and I’m fine

I’m not inbred like the others but people assume just because of the birthmark

People always get a good impression of me just by the look but as soon as I talk I’m either weird or scary

I swear I’m nice

What a handsome fellow

What a beautiful girl

Don’t hurt me

Why do people always shove me against the lockers..?

I swear I’m not crazy

My elder brother scares me.. wait I’m not suppose to mention him-

I’ve been called a fruit before

I know more than what the others may think

Watch yourself or else people will end up at your door step

I have a lot of bruises on my body and my parents thought it was from a girl until I told them I fell out of a tree

#bullworth academy #bully: canis canem edit #bully #bully: scholarship edition #canis canem edit #bully canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #bully oc #oc #richard sinclair #bully oc quotes

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

December Contest Submission #17: Karen's yard

words: ca. 2100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: alcohol use, buzzed driving, Karen

Anna was staring at her reflection in the round, ball-like sphere ornament colored in Halloween orange. She looked like a fish, she thought. Like one of those orange fish with creepy eyes and their brains sticking out. She was wondering when Elsa was going to come out of the damn room. She was growing impatient, and she was not the impatient kind. Not at all.

The sound of a rubber chicken caught her attention. She turned around, found Elsa standing there, cringing at said chicken that lay under her foot like a limpy, screaming creature. And what the hell was Elsa wearing?

“You look like a fucking Christmas present.” The chicken protested.

“That’s the point,” she said.

“But a cringy one. Like the one your distant aunt gives you and you hate it but have to smile anyway and say thank you and then leave it in your closet for the rest of eternity.” She scanned her again. “Your face looks very cute, though.”

“You just insulted my entire outfit, am I supposed to thank you for calling my face cute?”

“Yes.”

She stepped closer. “You look like an oompa loompa.”

“I was aiming for citizen of Whoville.”

“No. Oompa loompa. The original version.”

“I don’t even know the original version so your insult falls flat.”

Elsa shrugged.

There was a party they were supposed to attend. Elsa knew somebody who knew somebody else, and their cousin, and whatever. It spread like gossip. Or was it wildfire? No. The gossip did the spreading and the wildfire was the analogy. Anyway, Anna was very excited to go to this Christmas thing because it’s been a while since she’s attempted to get drunk off eggnog. And so what if she looked like Willy Wonka’s fucking spawn?

It was cold outside. Hella. My-ass-is-frozen-and-my-teeth-will-fall-off-from-so-much-chattering cold. Anna could not think. She could not even respond when Elsa asked her if she wanted to stop by Starbucks and get a hot chocolate. But she shook her head. I don’t want hot chocolate I want alcohol your honor. So the party it was. Elsa drove like a grandma. Ice was her excuse but Anna was not having it. She drove like a grandma on summer too. And on spring. And on the fall when you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to cozy it up in your bed or dig yourself a nice dead-leaf grave.

“We’ll get there tomorrow and nobody will get to appreciate my oompa loompa costume.”

“You’ve disgraced enough eyes as it is.”

“Only yours.”

“Mine are the only ones that matter.”

“Who taught you to be so vain?”

“You.”

Anna nodded. The wig nodded with her. Both were proud nods. “I’ve taught you well.”

They almost veered off the road at some point; almost drove into a snowman, Santa and the horse-looking reindeer that were set up on the obnoxiously decorated yard of some Karen’s house. It’s the ice, Elsa said again. But nah. She was a slow driver and a shitty driver too. Anna would have offered to get behind the wheel but she was even shittier. So she prayed instead, and played Mariah Carey’s Christmas album until she was sure she hated it with her whole being.

The house was warm at least. Its smell, however, was a concoction of spilt American beer—the cheap kind that tasted like piss when lukewarm—and the cinnamon scent of those generic candles everyone hated but went on buying anyway because they were so cheap.

Anna made a beeline for the kitchen. She forgot who it was they were here for. The cousin of the friend of the coworker or something. Anyway, bless them for keeping the place stocked up with alcohol for those souls who come to this abode feeling thirsty as shit. Elsa trailed after her, and bless her too, just because.

“What are you getting?” Anna asked her.

“Whatever you’re getting.”

“That’s insanely unoriginal.”

“I’m not the alcoholic one here.”

Anna laughed. She placed her hands on her warm, lovely, rosy, pinchable cheeks and said, “Elsa. Do you think the people who came here tonight did it because they like to sit on a stranger’s couch? No. They came here because they like the taste of free alcohol.”

“I’ll take a cranberry vodka.”

“That’s my baby.” She made two cranberry vodkas because Elsa wasn’t the unoriginal one here. It was Anna. Plot twist.

The cranberry vodka tasted hideous though, but free plus alcohol equals you drink it anyway. Then Anna remembered the eggnog. But there was no eggnog. And what Christmas party didn’t have at least some crappy eggnog? So she stuck to cranberry vodka and to Elsa’s side for good measure. They spent a good amount of time looking for the friend of the cousin, etc. so that Anna could meet them and they found him in the most obvious of places: the couch. He was bulky, had a goofy grin and whatnot. His name was Kristoff. Another plot twist.

Anna could have sworn he’d seen him before, and when Elsa told her it was from that one time they ran into him at a gay bar everything made sense. Then she smiled to herself because that had been a hell of a good time. Elsa elbowed her in the ribs, gently, with love. ‘Not here,’ her eyes said. Well, you can’t blame her for fantasizing. Or you can. But also blame it on the alcohol. And on Elsa’s stamina.

“So, Anna.” Who’s talking? “Elsa’s told me a lot about you.” It’s Kristoff.

“All good things, yeah?”

“All great things.”

Anna nodded proudly and so did her wig.

“What’s your costume?” he asked.

“I’m an oompa loompa.”

“I didn’t know that movie was Christmas-themed.”

“Everything with snow in it is Christmas-themed, Kristoff.”

“Oh.”

So she’s enlightened Kristoff with her knowledge and now it was time to move on. What a himbo. She wondered if it was him who kept playing Mariah Carey. That would make sense.

They stopped by the kitchen for a refill and eventually moved to the side, right by the corner where you stand if you kinda know the host but not really but you don’t wanna seem awkward and look like you’re not having a good time. Anna kept looking at the green bow that Elsa had glued to her sweater. It was distracting. But Elsa kept thinking she was staring at her breasts and she wasn’t. Well, she was. But that wasn’t the point of this paragraph.

Mariah Carey gave way to Michael Bublé and then Anna was 110% sure it was gay himbo Kristoff who was controlling the music. But she couldn’t be mad. This was his house and if he wanted to blast overplayed Christmas music until everyone’s ears—even the neighbors'—bled, then that was entirely up to him. It’ll stay in his conscience. Or maybe not. He was a white boy. Nothing ever stuck. Anna was still having fun, however, and so was Elsa. She kept giving her the look. The one that said, ‘Let’s get out of here or else I’ll find us a place in this house where I can get my hands on you without having to keep it PG13.’ But they’d just gotten here, Anna thought. So she wasn’t having it just yet. She liked to tease.

But not too much, because by the third cranberry vodka she was all up and ready to go. Or maybe it was the fourth. Who cared? Anna didn’t. Willy Wonka sure didn’t. Elsa was already grabbing her coat, so she didn’t care either. The perks of dating an introvert.

It was shit cold outside, but that wasn’t news.

“I’ll drive,” Anna joked and giggled. She was so funny.

“Are you drunk?” Elsa threw the keys at her anyway. Anna caught them, so she was probs just tipsy. “Why are you entrusting me with the car?”

“It’s the suburbs. We can go at fifteen and be fine.”

PREPARE TO DIE!!!! Anna calmly thought. They went inside the car. What’s that oompa loompa doing in a car? she thought as well, and laughed again.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Elsa asked. Her cheeks were rosy pink and her eyes were kinda glassy. And why was she so goddamn pretty?

“I’m more sober than you are.”

“That’s a first.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Aren’t you glad I keep being your first in everything?”

Elsa pulled at her wig. She took that as a yes.

Anna took the fifteen to heart even though it felt so. damn. slow. She felt worse than somebody’s grandma. Hell, she felt worse than Elsa.

“I’m getting dizzy.”

“But I’m only going at fifteen. I’m practically crawling.”

“Can you stop the car?”

Oompa loompa stopped the car and ugly Christmas gift exited. Anna didn’t realize they had stopped outside of the same house that Elsa almost drove into hours earlier until they were standing in front of it, Elsa taking big gulps of cold air and Anna just standing there, being her Anna self. The wig kept itching so she took it off.

“Are you okay, babe?”

Elsa nodded slowly. “I think you put too much vodka in that last drink.”

“You made that one.”

“Oh.”

Anna reached for her hand and walked her into the white suburban mom’s front yard. The deer really did look like horses and Santa Claus looked like the creepy uncle you try to stay away from. The snowman looked like everybody else’s nightmares. They stood in the yard, both of them staring at the fireplace that burned in the living room—with everything hella open, by the way. Who kept the curtains drawn during these hard times? And where was the All-American family? Was this meant to be a horror story?

“We look like total creeps right now,” Anna muttered.

She saw Elsa nod from her peripheral vision. Then she felt a hand wrap around her arm. “Sit with me for a while.”

“Uh, here? I’m not sure we’re allow—okay, yes. Okay.” She sat down with Elsa on the snow knowing she’d regret it soon. Like, a moment long. However long that was.

Elsa hugged her, nuzzling her neck. It tickled, but in a nice way. “I’ll keep you warm,” she mumbled.

“I doubt that.”

“I can try.”

“You really are drunk,” Anna laughed.

“And you smell like feet.”

“Okay. Ew. That was the wig.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Who’s Jan.”

“My lover.”

“Ah.” Her ass was beginning to go numb. “Do I really smell like feet?”

“No, you smell like Anna.”

She smiled like an idiot. “I bet your lover could never,” she said.

“No,” Elsa mumbled, still close to her neck. “That’s why I love you the most.”

Anna decided it was enough sitting so she kinda just flipped over and pushed Elsa to the ground—cause she didn’t mind the snow and the cold and whatnot—so that she could place herself on top of her. Elsa was laughing but that was probably because she was drunk. Under different circumstances she’d be the one questioning whether it was a good idea to make out on some stranger’s yard.

But they didn’t make out then—PLOT TWIST NUMERO TREE!

Anna got too distracted watching Elsa laugh, in a non-creepy way. Because real talk: Anna was stupidly in love. She was in love in the cheesiest of ways. In an ‘I want to spend the rest of my chaotic life with you’ kinda way. She was in love with Elsa in a way that made her know she looked like an idiot when she stared at her but didn’t care anyway. She was in love with Elsa in a way Jan could never. And she knew Elsa was in love with her, too. Because honestly, who looks at you as though you’re the most precious thing in the world even though you look like one of Willy Wonka’s factory workers on a bad day? No one, your honor, that’s who. So somewhere deep down she knew what was coming before she even got the chance to register her own words.

“Marry me.”

Elsa fixed her eyes on her. The laugh became a giggle. “What?”

“Marry me, Elsa.”

All the metaphors in the fanfic world about Elsa’s blue eyes go here. It’s as though they lit up at those words, or maybe it was the yard’s obnoxious, bright lights. They will never know. The only thing Anna will remember with perfect clarity about that night will be Elsa’s response.

“Yes.”

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #cw: alcohol use #cw: drunk driving #cw: Karen

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