#i have morse code bracelets too

[the-dragon-mizu]

i got glow in the dark pony beads on their way. imma make so many bracelets for this ritual yall

[astrxealis]

did you know i love my friends so much.

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Six ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Six Warnings: profanity, making out, biting How to find the other chapters in my pinned post.

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

A/N: y’all are gonna love this one

[Chapter Six]

“So then I said no, again,” you said, finishing your story on how Adam had proposed to you for the fifth year in a row. Lucifer turned his head to look at you, golden strands falling in front of his eyes. 

You were both lying on the floor- the rug, to be exact, of one of the many rooms Lucifer had. You’d dragged him down there with you. He couldn’t say no. The window casted a large square of red light into the room, precisely where you two lay.

It had been five years since you first met.

Five years of sneaking away from the exorcists. Five years of crawling in through conveniently left open windows. Five years of evading the Seraphim and Lute’s questions and five years spent communicating in Morse code through your bracelets, late into the night. 

“Is it just me, or is he getting more creative? As far as an idiot like him can get, anyways.” Lucifer murmured. You raised a hand to shield your eyes from the light so you could see him properly. 

“As far as an idiot like him can get? I don’t know about you, but he really exceeded my expectations.” Lucifer laughed at that. The sound was beautiful, the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. 

“Really. He scared me when he popped out of my ficus plant. Actually, I’m quite sad about that ficus.” 

“I’ll find a way to get you a new ficus,” Lucifer sighed, turning back over. You smacked his shoulder playfully. 

“You can’t get me a new ficus, Your Majesty.”

“I’m the King of Hell. I’ll get you anything you want. No matter what.”

The words made you blush, as you flicked your eyes back to the ceiling. 

“And just call me by my name. Why do you even use ‘Your Majesty?’”

You let out an incoherent string of half-hearted grumbles in response, which made him chuckle. Somehow his hand had found yours, fingers intertwining like they were magnetically attracted to each other. 

“How much time until the Pentagram closes?”

“Enough, but not long.”

“Wish I didn’t have to go.”

Lucifer sat up, a lock of hair tumbling down over his pale forehead as he grinned at you. Devilishly handsome. “Do you prefer to spend time with me than all your friends in Heaven?” 

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. You were worried he could hear it as you gulped. “Maybe.”

Your hands were still connected. 

You sat up too. He stared into your eyes, then flicked his gaze to your lips, then back up. Then his face split into another smirk. “Well, thanks for taking the risk for me.”

You hadn’t realized that you’d both been drawn closer. You could feel his breath on your lips.

A sudden urge to just lean in washed over you. You searched his face desperately, looking for a single sign that he wanted it too. Even the smallest look. He tilted his head, glancing down at your lips again, closer.

You grabbed his collar, pulling him in. “It’s worth it,” you breathed. 

His lips felt soft- so so soft, you could have stayed like that forever. You could feel his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, closer. You shuddered, digging your nails into his shoulders, easing a small moan out of him. 

“Angel,” he whispered, and the nickname burned hot against your lips as you tangled your fingers through his golden locks, just to pull him in again, as close as you could get.

“Lucifer,” you gasped in response, and felt him shiver under your fingertips. 

You both pulled away, breathing heavily. He glanced at you from half-lidded eyes. “Say it again,” he murmured shakily. 

“Say what?”

“My name.” He yanked on your hand and you toppled over, into his chest, palms braced on the floor behind him. “Say it again.”

Your mind whirled. “Lucifer-“

He grabbed your face, pulling you in again, kissing you with more ferocity this time. You felt his sharp teeth graze against your bottom lip tantalizingly, and it took everything for you to not bite back. Fingers dug into your waist, balancing you on his thigh. 

You let off a small, sharp breath of annoyance as he pulled away, only for him to trail his lips down your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses and bruises, ending at your collarbone. He leaned back up to kiss your lips again. You pushed him away gently. 

“Lucifer, we can’t do this,” your voice trembled. His expression dropped and it almost shattered your heart in pieces. “It’s too risky.”

“Angel-“

“No,” you said desperately. “It isn’t supposed to happen. It’s gone too far.” His lips clamped shut. Your eyes flicked up and down his figure, the rumpled clothes, the messed up hair. His face flushed, lips swollen. 

“Why?” He murmured, voice dangerously low. You almost gave in again. “I’ll finish what I started. Won’t you? Don’t you want this?”

“I do. I want it so bad. But if they find out- the trouble we’ll get in- they might even come for you-“

“Let them,” he growled, voice riddled with frustration. You stared at him for a split moment, your own breathing the only thing you could hear, and then your lips crashed into his again, with more fervour and desperation than ever before as you clawed at his shirt. He whimpered, the noise making you throb.

“Fuckkk,” you hissed, the word unfamiliar on your tongue, as he kissed his way down your jaw again, then yelped as he nipped at the soft skin. You pulled away. He grinned at a spot on your neck that throbbed, fingers tracing the sensitive flesh. You could feel the bite mark forming. 

“Something to remember me by,” he muttered against your neck.

You blushed. 

♱♱♱

You pulled your collar up for the fifth time that evening, surrounded by exorcists in the hot, busy bar you were in. The fabric brushed against the bite, making you flinch.

They had wanted to celebrate a recent newly appointed exorcist's first extermination, and it just so happened that you were acquainted with the girl. And also the fact that Adam had begged you to go in his place.

Lute was downing another drink next to you. You’d lost count of how many she’d had, watching in concern as she punched the air, eyes drooping with intoxication. “Carpe noctem, bitches!” 

“Right,” you muttered, checking your watch. It was late. Really late. “Lute, are you sure you should have another drink?”

Lute waved over the bartender. “Fuckin’ hell yeah,” she snapped, head flopping in all sorts of directions as she babbled her order in an incoherent mess of words. You smiled at the bartender apologetically and shook your head. They got the hint and left. Lute didn’t even notice. 

The two other exorcists with you giggled. One of them leaned on the bar. “Let her have another, [name].” She ruffled the hair of the girl next to her. “In cheers to pipsqueak’s coming of age, right?”

You stared at them, then turned back to Lute, who was in hysterics next to you. “One more, and then we’re going home.”

“Booooringgg,” the exorcist groaned, then opened their eyes wide. “But if you say so, [name].” She nudged her shy friend. “Who are we to disagree with the great [name] herself?”

You coughed uncomfortably. “I… uh, well-“

“Sorry,” the ‘pipsqueak’ mumbled to you. You smiled at her gently.

For the next few minutes you watched over Lute, until you had to rush her to the bathroom to throw up. You had pulled back her short cut hair as she hacked into the toilet bowl, until she drunkenly pushed you away. 

“Go away. Leave me the fuck alone- I don’t need you.”

She still leaned on you on the way back to your seats. 

As you both approached, you heard the exorcist’s conversation: 

“Yeah, so she cut that bitches eye out, just like that. That’s Lute for ya. I’ll tell you a thing, pipsqueak- you see a traitor, you show them no mercy. That bitch Vag-“

“Hey, girls,” you said. They both turned to look at you, and a groaning Lute. “I’m gonna take Lute home now. She’s… well…” you jerked your head at her and they nodded sympathetically. 

You gathered yours and Lute’s things before tugging on her arm.

“Come on. Let’s go,” you murmured, fussing with Lute’s hair. Lute groaned dramatically, leaning away from your touch as if she was repelled by it.

“Fine, bitch,” she hissed.

♱♱♱

A/N: what’s gonna happen with Lute? 😨😨😨 stay tuned to find out besties

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel, @brainz00, @lukerycyja-reblogs, @dickmastersworld,@everlastprime259-blog, @rain-doll401-blog, @bakugounuggets, @ren-ren23, @mjhehe09,@angelicwillows, @rayyrayysanchez, @luleck, @dellugh-shposts

[niki-phoria]

got friendzoned by my crush last week ://

idk why but i thought i had a chance, since every class we had eye contacts and he always smiles, also that one time we were checking testpapers, he switched his testpaper he was assigned to, to mine because he really wants to have a conversation w me at school.

i gave him a confessional letter with a bracelet that had a morse code "i like you" then i waited a week for his reply but he didn't, turns out he was waiting for my chat first because he was scared.

then i got friendzoned and turns out he actually was straight:]].

i would really love a sunghoon x m!reader fic with the opposite what happened to me, maybe i will cheer up a little. <3

pairing: sunghoon x male!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 805

notes: pining, blushy hoon, high school au, gaeul is hoon's dog, was gonna have them go ice skating together but i feel like that's too far for them to go yk

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i'm sorry about what happened with your crush :// i tried to keep some elements from your story (working together on projects, a bracelet confession, high school au) i hope this makes you feel a little better &lt;33 also sorry if you're incredible at history or something lmao /gen

requests open !! read my rules first

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

“y/n?” a boy stands nervously in front of you, holding a piece of paper in his hands. he’s taller than you, dark brown eyes looking down at you behind his fringe. you close your locker, leaning back against it. 

“yeah?” 

“i’m sunghoon,” he introduces, lowering his head in a quick bow. “you’re my partner for the history project.” he holds out the paper for you to take, awkwardly playing with the strap of his backpack. you skim the page, cursing underneath your breath. 

“i have to warn you, history is my worst subject,” you chuckle, handing the paper back to him. “i’m busy tonight but i have time to work on it tomorrow, if you’re free.” 

“that sounds great,” sunghoon smiles. “i’ll meet you at lunch?” 

“sure.” 

the cafe is nearly empty when you enter. sunghoon sits in the corner, scrolling through something on his phone. “hey,” you smile, sitting across from him. 

“hi.” he’s nervous when he sets his phone down, sliding a cup to you. “i didn’t know what you’d like so i just got an americano, i hope that’s okay.” 

“it’s perfect!” you pretend not to notice the light flush on his face when you take a sip. “thank you.” 

“of course,” he murmurs. “should we get started?” 

you hum, pulling your computer out of your bag. “oh, before i forget, can i have your number? you know, so we can talk about the assignment.” 

sunghoon’s blush deepens as he nods, typing the number in quickly before handing your phone back. 

time with sunghoon passes quickly. you find yourself growing fond of the other boy. study sessions turn into long talks about anything that comes to mind. 

his house is quiet. gaeul lays curled at your feet as you sit on his bed, barely skimming through your essay. you groan, leaning back against his headboard. sunghoon raises an eyebrow at you watching as you dramatically throw yourself down. “i’m never gonna pass this class,” you whine. 

he chuckles, setting his textbook aside. “not if you never finish the assignment.” you playfully glare up at him through your hair. 

“rude.” 

sunghoon shakes his head, standing up. “come on.” he holds his hand out for you expectantly, waiting for you to take it. you let him pull you to your feet, guiding you into the living room. your socks slide against the hardwood floor as he twirls you around. you laugh, letting him maneuver around you. 

“what are we doing?” 

“dancing.” he’s nonchalant as he continues dancing around with you, sliding around the floor. 

“but there’s no music.” 

“your laugh is music to me.” 

you let out a flustered laugh, hiding your face into his chest. sunghoon pulls you closer, hands barely touching your waist. you pull away a little to look up at him, admiring his sharp features. his moles are visible even in the dim lighting. his fringe barely falls into his eyes. his ears burn as he stares down at you, light blush spreading across his cheeks. the atmosphere feels heavy when you look down, stepping back just slightly. 

“thanks for this,” you whisper.

sunghoon nods. “we should get back to work.” 

“park sunghoon!” you cheer, throwing yourself into his arms. he laughs, quick to wrap his arms around your waist to support you. 

“l/n y/n!” he laughs, twirling you around. 

you keep your arms wrapped around his neck when he sets you down, keeping you close to him. his hand ghosts against your waist. “congratulations on winning!” sunghoon laughs. 

“i couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“hey, i got you something.” 

“you shouldn’t have,” he whines. 

you reach into your bag, pulling out a small white box. sunghoon takes it, face flushed as he gingerly opening the box. he gasps, fingers running against the silver chain of the bracelet. “y/n,” he pulls you into another hug, hiding his face against your shoulder. you laugh, holding him close to you. “thank you.” his breath is warm against your neck. 

his blush has deepened when he pulls away, taking the bracelet from the box. engraved into the metal is a simple phrase. ‘be mine?’ his breath hitches, eyes moving from the bracelet to look into yours. “are you serious?” 

“of course i am.” you bring a hand up to his face, wiping away a stray tear. 

“yes, yes!” sunghoon pulls you back into a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist. he rests his forehead against yours, hand reaching up to trace against your jawline before he cups your cheek. “can i kiss you?” 

you don’t respond, instead pulling him down into a sweet kiss. sunghoon smiles into it, pressing a peck against your lips before he pulls away. “i love you,” he whispers. 

you pull him down into another kiss, giddy with excitement. “i love you too.”

[ramons-elevator]

Heres some headcanons I have about the eggs because I cant stop thinking about them. Feel free to add your own!

-Tilin died with braids in their hair because Juanaflippa did them an hour eariler

-Leo and Dapper are twins and sometimes switch hats to pissed off their dads

- Bobby embroidered Jaidens logo on his overalls (Roier helped)

- Richas has a part of Bobbys overalls on his prosthetic

- Leo wears a skort (a skirt with shorts underneath)

- Chayanne helps Tallulah with her hair in the morning. He usually puts it in pigtails but recently he has been braiding it

- Chayanne and Philza have a matching braid in their hair

- Chayanne is one of those kids whos 5’1 but absolutely jacked. Like hes fucking strong but tiny

- Tallulah gets dizzy if she moves too quickly (aka lag) so thats why Philza always keeps an eye on her

- Dapper absolutely has a cane that has a head of a bird as the top of it. Bonus: that cane can transform into his eagle

- Pomme once drew on Richas prosthetic and Richas put a protective liquid over it so it never goes away

- Ramon and Dapper have lil devices where they can send messages in morse code to each other

- Each one of the eggs has a flower from Tallulah on them. Dapper has on in their hat, Leo behind her ear, Bobby in his overalls, Ramon 100% has a pocket watch and keeps it in there, Richarlyson and Chayanne both have them in their hair, Pomme has it behind her ear.

- BBH 100% put a gps tracker in Dappers hat, but Dapper knows that so some times they will put on a fake hat on and leave the real one at the base

- Pomme and Richarlyson have matching friendship bracelets

- Chayanne cant sleep sometimes bc he gets anxious about his siblings dying. He usually walks around and farms potatoes to calm his nerves. But recently hes been traveling to peoples bases and checking on his siblings while they sleep.

- Richarlyson and Tallulah have a book club but for fanfics and gossip about their otp

[amorseart]

I have been working on something that lets me combine something I really love with a little extra creativity than my usual designs...

Very excited to announce that my next new update will be a series of different pieces of Morse code jewellery inspired by figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu's programmes and performances!

I'm planning on releasing a few new pieces on the 11th of each month, starting this coming Monday 11 December with:

YUZURU HANYU

-.-- ..- --.. ..- .-. ..- .... .- -. -.-- ..-

HANYU YUZURU

.... .- -. -.-- ..- -.-- ..- --.. ..- .-. ..-

EFFORTS WILL LIE BUT WILL NEVER BE IN VAIN

. ..-. ..-. --- .-. - ... .-- .. .-.. .-.. .-.. .. . -... ..- - .-- .. .-.. .-.. -. . ...- . .-. -... . ..- -. ...- .- .. -.

The first two codes will be available as bracelets, and the third code will be available as two bracelets (EFFORTS WILL LIE / BUT WILL NEVER BE IN VAIN) or as a necklace/wraparound bracelet.

After that, my plan is to work through Yuzu's ice shows and senior programmes!

Each of these designs will use different coloured beads to the rest of my collections (those pictured are an iridescent blue-black), and will have the option of including themed charms (e.g., feathers, stars, crystals). Some may be limited editions, depending on how difficult it becomes to source materials.

I really only make jewellery inspired by media I love, but this one is a particular passion project for me. I hope you like it too!

(And, of course, #Happy29thBirthdayYuzu !)

[gay-bbq-dad]

I met one of my neighbors today. She’s in her 70s and she has a necklace that in large cursive says fuck and a Morse code bracelet that says fuck off. I told her that I like her Halloween decorations and the mummy thing scared the living shit out of me when I saw it for the first time like four years ago. She said she loves Halloween and wants to scare trick or treaters but she’s too old to decorate her yard and she said I am welcome to take her old decorations so I can make my yard scary. She offered it but is doing that thing that sweet old ladies do where it’s said as an offer but actually you have no choice. She’s absolutely wild and also my new best friend I think.

[uglypastels]

Ok but thats so cute that you gave him a bracelet 🥺 do you have a pic of it?

Obviously i dont have any footage of him wearing it (he took it off right after i left. i assume to take photo ops, and im too scared to film signature sessions)

So yeah, i made this bracelet for him. I thought brown and gold would fit him and the big beads are actually morse code and spell out "bread" (idk i thought it would be funny)

[kryptyd]

to the pretty girl at the foo fighters concert who was so nice and cussed out a really rude woman who called her bf a cunt and who talked to me about music and dave and grabbed my hand because she saw i had a morse code bracelet and she also had a morse code bracelet too and she was like that's so cool, i just hope ur having a good day i didn't get your name but you were cool i liked talking to you and looking at your boobs💜

[jollyrolls]

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

Thank you for the tag @ash-mcj💗💗💗💗

are you named after anyone | my name just means colour golden in another language. It sounds nice but I used to have problems properly writing or prounouncing it when i was little as 'r's and 's's were difficult for me heh heh

when was the last time you cried | Today morning actually, I was listening to a sad song and it kind of happened

do you have kids | No. I love kids! But to become a parent seems like a responsibility I am not ready for

do you use sarcasm a lot Haha sometimes. I use it while texting but I am too slow to come up with a fun or witty response in real-time conversations

what sports do you play/have played | I used to play basketball and a bit of cricket as a kid. Nowadays.... well, do video games count?

what’s the first thing you notice about people | their accesories, like a piercing or a bracelet

eye color | brown

scary movies or happy endings | happy endings. cannot handle scary

any special talents | I can use morse code (only when it is transmitted slowly tho)

what are your hobbies | painting, reading, journalling

do you have pets | none sadly. although we do have two birds living in the AC vent who are quite friendly

how tall are you | 5’5” or 168 cm

favorite subject in school | has to be biology and english!

dream job | running a small cafe + book shop in a quite town. heh heh

Everyone is welcome to join in! This is fun!

[unknownjpegs]

quitting

The party is just so fucking loud.

Frat house bad; real bad. Two stories with a basement and crammed with people that Xavier didn’t necessarily like, or even get along with that well. But it was almost worse than a frat house, because this tidal pool of people went to university, went to college-college. For smart people. Really smart people, with GPA’s that calculated confusingly, that had triple major’s and two minors and got PhD’s after this. Masters. Belonged to societies, not social clubs.

So Xavier felt more out of place than usual, tagging along after Lark. Felt awkward in his jeans, distressed because he wore them thin, not for fashion. Hole in the knee because he’d skidded across the pavement falling off a skateboard. Out of place in his Carhartt that was stained because he worked a dirty job, not because he bought it that way. Because sometimes he had no rags and just rubbed car oil off on his jacket—that’s what it was there for.

Didn’t help that he was so fucking tall. Red haired. Beacon like. Xavier stood in the kitchen with his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to blend in and doing the exact opposite.

“What do you think?” The pretty blond turns to him then. She has saucer sized blue eyes that keep blinking morse code up at him. Xavier’s cup in his hand needs to be refilled with whatever cheap beer is on keg, but its across the room and these two have him absolutely fucking trapped.

“I uh,” he smiles down at her. “I thought The Shining was just a movie about a dude who goes crazy in a hotel.” Not that he’d stomached the entire thing; he’d made Benny fast forward through the blood elevator scene, which had made him sour the entire evening because it was his favorite part. The girl laughs with her head back. She has all that blond hair gathered up into a high pony tail. Her slim wrist has a gold bracelet on it; the kind that doesn’t unclasp. Permanent.

“Wow, you are so cute,” her companion says, a man only a few inches shorter than him. He has brushed back black hair and the strand that falls forward, onto his forehead seems purposeful. He looks at Xavier with hooded dark eyes that feel invasive. “Like, where did you come from?”

“Boston,” Xavier says, finishing the tepid beer in his red cup.

“Do Boston public schools not have media classes?”

Both of them laugh then, which makes Xavier feel like he’s somehow the shortest one there, despite being tall enough he could reach a hand up and touch the ceiling if he really wanted to. He doesn’t, hunches his shoulders instead, sinks into himself a bit as he scans for Lark’s blond head out in the crowd. When he catches sight, he angles himself sideways and shoves his way between the duo to the sound of their shocks gasps and rude and what’s his problem?

Xavier says, “Get me the fuck out of here.”

At the exact same time Lark says, “I just saw Benji.”

“You saw Benji?” he perks up then, shoulders dropping, tension draining like something was poked and let loose. Xavier has to tilt to look down at Lark, but he doesn’t feel small in front of the runner. Especially not with the way Lark sometimes keeps his chin tilted as if everyone’s meeting his gaze evenly. He’s grinning too, hands in his big track jacket, eyes rolling a little and indicating to the side with his head.

“Didn’t think he’d show—don’t think parties are his thing, but—”

Xavier turns, excited (big toothy grin, ready to find that curly hair, ready to get away from all these pretentious fucks, ready to get into a conversation that won’t make his head hurt, ready—) and his long arms crash into the person behind him. He yelps—and so does she, especially when the cup in her hand upends completely onto her front. Xavier watches in mute horror as beer spills all over a pale pink cardigan and a white dress.

“Oh fuck, I am so fucking sorry,” he pants immediately, blindly reaching into the kitchen for napkins until his eyes raise up from that beer soaked chest to the owner of the white dress and pink cardigan.

“Hi, Xavier,” she says softly and he panics.

“Daisy,” he says, thrusting the napkins onto her chest. “Uh, Daisy,” he repeats and then laughs, continues trying to soak up the spilled beer. When did she start drinking beer? Was a light weight when we dated. Or was she pretending to be a light weight? He swallows and tries to smile at her. She’s so small he has to almost fully arch over to look at her—makes his neck hurt.

“Oh—stop—” she laughs, swatting at his hands. Her cheeks go a dark red color, bloom a blush across her nose, all the way to her ears. She tucks strands of her loose dark hair away. “It—it was an accident, you’re fine.” Her hand smooths down over his and he almost jumps back from it. Afraid she might lace their fingers together like she used to do. He remembers the way she’d wildly swing their interlocked hands, her big, beautiful smile up at him. The little gleam in her eyes, the idolization of him apparent. He swallows hard and his hand lingers on her collarbone.

“Long time no see,” he says awkwardly. She blinks her big hazel eyes and then tilts her head and smiles more.

Xavier wishes he could turn, find that curly head of hair, but, he gets trapped there. Her fingers lace through his and hold him.

—

They catch up for an hour, maybe longer. Daisy talks about the non profit she’s started working at, her new apartment downtown. It’s a loft, with more square footage than Xavier’s childhood home that held four children and two parents. She says he can visit, if he wants, whenever. She hasn’t put together her book shelves because she’s not exactly strong enough; she laughs when she says it, that you know me, laugh. She talks about school, the pressures of it, maintaining her grades, what she’ll do after. And when she finally asks about him, her big eyes up and both her hands holding his one, he doesn’t know what to say.

Haven’t moved from this spot, where we parted. Haven’t really done anything else, Daisy. Would love to tell you that and disappoint you.

“Still smoke,” he says instead, grinning. “Actually, was gonna dip out for one.” Her hand tightens a bit on his, until she seems to collect herself. She makes a small sound of surprise—as if she’s not in charge of her own actions—hands fluttering up to her mouth innocently. Xavier has to look away then, awkwardly to the side door, where he knows freedom is just a step away. Fresh air. Even if it’s nicotine laced.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes averted down. “I’ve like, totally kept you here for so long just blabbering about myself.” It makes his chest squeeze, makes his ribs cage into his heart and he swallows. Contemplates staying there, letting her continue before he slips a hand up to cup the back of his neck. He squeezes there, blinking around the party. She fits in here, because she’s wearing that cute dress he’s ruined. She fits in because she’s pale and pretty and has ambitions and—money.

“You’re fine—hey, we’ll uh, we’ll have lunch soon. Right?”

“Next week,” she says, with a gentle nod, a little soft laugh that’s girlish and sweet. He’d loved that laugh, loved making her laugh, loved telling her dumb jokes to make her laugh. It had made him feel special, sometimes.

They’d promised to stay friends when they broke up. Xavier felt committed to that promise, but had never actually acted on it—was busy. She was busy too, it seemed. But as he backs toward the door, her large eyes capture him again, make him pause. Make him feel like the bad guy as he fumbles for the sliding glass door.

—

It’s when the cold air rushes to meet him that Xavier realizes he might be a little drunk. His cheeks are warm against the biting wind and his hands feel fat and awkward as they shove into his jacket. He stumbles a bit outside, his long legs awkward and his converses sliding across wet grass.

“Stupid,” he seethes to himself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” And he’s angrier still, because he doesn’t have his cigarettes on him. Had left them in Lark’s car like an idiot. Xavier continues sliding across the grass. The house is on a knoll, big mound that lets it sit higher than the road across it where all the cars are parked. Wouldn’t matter even if he did get to Lark’s car, because he doesn’t have the keys. “Stupid.” Xavier hisses once more as he turns and slides a bit more.

There’s a single street light on, and it’s yellow hazy glow illuminates the figure sitting down in the wet grass, just right outside the ring of light. He leans with his legs thrown out in front of him, palms braced behind, chin tucked to his chest. Benji sits there, looking so out of place and alluring that Xavier’s whole stomach drops and he doesn’t recover. He slips again, has to catch himself a bit, hands sliding over the dewy grass as he stares.

Xavier’s eyes sweep over him again. They linger too much on those thrown out legs. One the curve of his body as he sits there. In the wet grass, without giving a fuck about anything. Xavier stares. He lingers.

Lately, it’s been—hard.

“Pff.” He is drunk, because its a difficult thought, but it makes him snort anyway as he starts walking toward the figure. Even if he’s grinning, maybe laughing a little—it has been hard. Lately, it’s been really fucking hard to look at Benji and not feel confused. Because; that’s his friend. That’s his friend. That’s someone he calls a friend, who he refers to as his friend. My friend, Benji.

His friend that he thinks about, in spare moments. Standing in line waiting to order food. Thinks about, when he’s under a car, doing a routine maintenance he could do in his sleep. His friend that he thinks about sometimes before bed, trying to get himself to think about anything else. Trying so hard to think of anything else but his friend.

My friend, Benji.

As Xavier gets closer, he expects him to turn and look at him—he doesn’t, which flares some weird anxiety in him. A did I do something wrong feeling? A little ice cube melting underneath his sternum. Daisy, in the back of his mind, his hand on her collarbone, his hand in hers, her eyes up at him, his guilt. Xavier swallows hard around a rough feeling in his throat, his head dizzy and warm. He slips some more as he finally gets right beside him and smiles down.

“Who’s the most popular guy at the nudist colony?” he asks Benji, standing beside him and looking down. Benji finally lets his head fall back, his brown eyes lifting to look at him. Xavier feels punched by that look, his chest caved in, because God fuck—fuck—just—fucking—fuck does Benji have beautiful eyes. Framed in dark lashes that flutter a bit, thick brows pulled down in his usual scowling grimace. Those big brown eyes are looking at him from behind those thick rimmed dark glasses that make them bigger and they reflect moonlight. My friend, Benji.

“Feels like this one’s gonna be a bad one, Xavier.”

“The guy who can carry a cup of coffee in each hand and a dozen donuts.” Benji blinks those liquid brown eyes slowly, his brows pulling upward. The scowl disappears, replaced with this humored look that fills Xavier’s stomach with butterflies. Really fat ones that ping around everywhere. Xavier lifts a hand and gestures obscenely with a tongue pinched between his teeth. “Get it?”

“So fuckin’ awful, mate.”

He lowers himself to the ground beside Benji then, bending his knees. The sloped hill makes it easier to sit and he watches the street light flicker, as if deciding whether or not it’ll stay on for such a picturesque moment. For a moment, they get to just be quiet—and that’s so fucking nice, it almost makes Xavier want to say it out loud, but that’ll ruin this moment, so instead he tucks his teeth into his lower lip. He looks out to the empty street, the music from the house inside soft behind them.

Xavier likes being quiet with Benji; likes the recuperation of it all. Sometimes, when they’re together, they don’t actually say anything at all. Sometimes, all they do is talk—for hours, about nothing, easy ping pong conversation back and forth, endless. But this is so nice after being inside that stuffy house, inside those waves of people, inside all those conversations and the music. Xavier tucks his knee closer and lays his cheek against it, tilts his face Benji’s way—is shocked to find him already looking at him.

“Do you have a cigarette?” Xavier asks, finds it weird how hoarse his voice is and has to clear it.

Benji fishes around in his pocket. That lightweight button up looks flimsy against the piercing night cold, so as he does, Xavier slowly shrugs off his Carhartt. He drapes it unceremoniously around Benji’s shoulders right as the man turns to offer the pack. They’re close then—probably too close. Xavier should probably scoot back, or at the very least lean away, because his friend, Benji is too close. Instead he stares, with big, blinking, drunk eyes and then grins.

“S’my last one,” Benji says and that grin drops.

“Oh, dude, I won’t take your last fucking cigarette—”

“Naw, we’re gonna share it.”

Before he can argue—because Xavier understands the importance of the last cigarette a man has—it’s being put in his mouth for him. That stuns him so hard the wet grass feels like its sliding up to meet him. Actually is a little because he’s turned on his side to face Benji and his shoulder connects with the ground. He laughs a bit, has to catch the cigarette and right it between his lips as he watches Benji fish out the lighter.

The jacket slips a little, so Xavier reaches up and fixes it more so it wont fall again. It makes Benji pause and glance over. His glasses slide a little down his prominent, strong nose. I love your nose, he doesn’t say, keeps tucked like his teeth in his lips. You have such a handsome nose.

Out comes the lighter then, Benji smiling crookedly. It’s one of those real smiles, no meanness to it. He’s never really mean. Xavier scrubs a hand back through his hair, unable to stop himself from grinning back. He’s not mean, at all. People get that wrong about him. He leans forward as Benji strikes the lighter; and he has to reach a hand up with it. Keep it cupped around that flame so that it won’t flicker out. But his hand wavers—so Xavier reaches up too and loops his fingers around Benji’s wrist to keep everything neat and straight.

He watches the flame at first, touching the tip of the cigarette. But on the inhale, his eyes slide until he’s looking at his pale thumb against Benji’s wrist. He watches, unable to stop himself as that thumb brushes smoothly across his vein, a pulse. Xavier’s eyelids droop, his lungs filling with nicotine as he inhales. Soft. Skates across his mind as his eyes slide back and find those brown ones staring at him through big glasses. Xavier’s hand doesn’t drop.

And when Benji’s hand moves, his fingers somehow trail over Xavier’s cheekbone, sending electric shocks through him. Straight over his spine, down curling lower, underneath his belly button. He has to blink a few times, has to stare forward at those beautiful brown eyes as the hand retreats away. The memory of finger pands on his cheek.

Xavier pulls away only slightly, cigarette smoke pushed from his nose and into the air. It’s then that he finally removes his hand and goes for it, laughing a little on the exhale.

“Fuck, I love smoking” He passes it over then. Their fingers brush. Nothing new. They touch all the time. Last week Benji had fallen asleep on the couch with his legs thrown over Xavier’s. They touch all the time. It’s nothing new. It’s fingers brushing sharing a cigarette. My friend, Benji.

“Tryin’ to quit.” He takes a drag, the cigarette fitted between his index and middle finger. Xavier watches his thumb flick it to send ash off into the grass. “Last one of the day. Half of one anyway.” Benji leans over and holds it out. Xavier takes it, oddly careful before putting it to his mouth. Xavier lays then, lets himself settle into the moist grass, kicking his long legs out. Benji does too, their shoulders brushing—lucky the Carhartt is mostly in the way. Lucky why?

“My neighbor has been mad at his wife for sunbathing naked,” Xavier says, rolling his head to look at Benji. Already looking at him too. He holds out the cigarette and Benji takes it back, tucks it between his lips. They curve, softly, into his smile, his fucking smile—that smile. That smile. The street light flickers again. “I, personally, am on the fence.”

Benji laughs, throwing out a leg to kick Xavier, to tell him, right fuckin’ awful! So fuckin’ bad every time.

And they dissolve into laughter over that, kicking at each other, squirming on the wet grass. That dissolves into talking, into discussing the TV show they’d been binging together; Xavier lamenting how Benji never gets the three-two-one count down correct and he’s always a few minutes ahead when they’re watching in their own apartments. They talk about Benji’s sister coming to visit soon (“Man, I hope she likes me.” “Oh, mate, she’s got opinions.”) and they discuss Xavier’s latest tattoo on his knee, a barbwire fence because he thought it looked cool.

The streetlight flickers off, but they stay there. Talk about something else, for a while.

—

When they get home, Lark is guiding Xavier into their apartment by the hips laughing.

“You always do this.”

“You love taking care of me.” He’s got his long pale arms over Lark’s shoulders, grinning as he stumbles back. One of his hands toy with Lark’s stark blond hair, tugging it a little and making the shorter man growl and glare. “You’re such a mom friend.”

“You’re such a shit head. You’re drunk,” Lark accuses confidently—and yeah. Definitely is. Had a few more beers than he was supposed to have, especially after Lark found him and Benji sitting together, but he feels dizzier than usual. Keyed up in a weird way, wound together tightly and energetic and also exhausted. Syrupy in the head in the same way it feels like that molasses is mixed with fucking pop rocks. He feels over the garden wall.

Lark turns him toward his bedroom then, still guiding him.

“Sleep it off, big guy.” Xavier swirls instead, back to facing him and scoops Lark up into a hug. He has to bend to get to him, has to arch down and hold him close. He feels Lark’s hand patting softly at his side and his soft laughter in his ear. “Man, love you too. Go to bed.”

When he does get into his room, Xavier—despite feeling like he could fall into it and sleep immediately—dedicates his time to getting his shoes unlaced. Puts them by the door, where they always go. He shrugs off his crewneck sweater—realizes then that Benji still has his jacket. The sweater and his jeans go into the hamper, which he stares down at, contemplating that jacket.

It’s his favorite. It’s expensive and worthwhile. He walks backward till the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls down onto it—long arms splayed everywhere and one leg hanging off the edge. His necklace, the little crucifix charm, slides until its all bunched into the hollow of his throat; he brings a finger there and hooks it around the chain and tugs slightly as he closes his eyes. He groans, all that wild energy suddenly leaving him in a rush because, Xavier realizes, he’s—

He’s in love with his friend Benji.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Peter is EXHAUSTED and just a LITTLE BLOODY (okay maybe a little more than a little? What can he say? SMALL KNIVES! They were his weakness! except not ACTUALLY but god damn did they hurt! and they always took a second to heal when they were DEEP.) when he came VERY SLOWLY up the steps. (Dammit Clint did you really need to live so far up!)

But he eventually makes it, and sees the note that is left for him on the door and he can't help but smile as he plucked it off the door to keep it safe. Peter really had done his best to be quiet as he snapped the chain around his neck from under his suit that kept Clint's key on it. (he would fix it in the morning, he just was too tired to take it off the RIGHT way right now.)

Opening the door as QUIETLY as he could he relied on his senses to tell him if Clint was about to think he was some intruder. (Wouldn't be the first and he doubts it will be the last, Peter never minds they both have too many enemies to not be CAUTIOUS)

Once the door was locked behind him he debated the food for a LONG SECOND because he was STARVING.. but ultimately? The need to HOLD Clint? After not seeing him in WAY too long won out. Food could wait till later.

He peels off his bloody suit, making sure to be careful not to make a mess anywhere (Not that he was sure Clint would really mind.) as he places it very CAREFULLY in the kitchen sink to be DEALT with later. (He promises it will be taken care of the moment he is more of a singular piece of person rather than a HOLEY one. )

Finally down to just his briefs, his SCARRED body covered in ANGRY bruises, cuts, and STAB WOUNDS alike mixed with a number of other QUESTIONABLE injuries that were all in various stages of healing. (God his body is weird. Not that he is complaining about it's healing factor! It's just WEIRD.) Peter makes his way to the bedroom, trying to stay as quiet as possible (Peter? Hoping that maybe Clint took his hearing aids out? So he isn't hearing every time Peter STUMBLES and occasionally bumps a wall, or table, or even the couch at one point, more likely than you think.) In Clint's room, he is the quietest he has ever been, even going so far as to trying to make his BREATHING quiet if that was even possible. SLOWLY he makes his way over and only BARELY manages to not fall into the bed as he climbs in, wrapping his arms around Clint so he can pull him close. (WOUNDS BE DAMNED! don't worry Clint he promises he will get all of the blood stains out of any of the sheets or clothes, he is just LAZY & TIRED)

i'm so obsessed with them.

THE PHONE CALL IS BRIEF ⸻ MORE THAN BRIEF.

It rings, gets picked up and he's tired, lonely, sad, depressed. Pushed at the bracelet a bunch of times, in his attempt to hopefully felt like morse code for i miss you, i love you. Clint barely gets a word in when Peter's hanging up and that's how superhero calls go sometimes, most of the time. IT'S NOT LIKE HE WAS GONNA LAST LONG ANYWYAYS.

Long day himself, he and Peter had communicated about as much as that, even less than those past few days. CONSIDERING HE LOST HIS PHONE. There's a reason enough why they haven't. Call hangs up as quickly as it began and than his hearing aids are out. Set aside.

HE TRIES TO GET SOME SLEEP. It's not that hard, physical exhaustion gives out but his mind is wants to stay awake. IT LOSES, THE MIND. Into slumber he slips and he lay limp in his bed.

WHAT GOES ON IN HIS APARTMENT IS LOST TO HIM. For all of Peter's stumbling, banging around, it all goes unnoticed and left alone. He could crash through the coffee table on the side of the couch, and he wouldn't know it until he brought the noise up to the loft bedroom.

It's only than when the bed moves, that Clint stirs. A hand reaching out, for something, anything in the dark. SHEETS, SEARCHING FOR HIS PHONE. Clint does not need it, as his startle subsids as HE REGISTERS IT HAS TO BE PETER. The archer able to relax, not being intruded upon while he slept alone.

❝ BABY? ❞ Mumble of on his lips moving, turning in his arm. GOING, TWISTING, NEEDING TO FACE HIM. His hands searching to feel Peter there. SKIN TO HAND. Clint's tactile, in the silent darkness, no sound or light needed. A recognizable feeling as his fingers slide up from stomach to his chest, his clavicle. NEW CUTS, AND THEY FEEL LIKE THEY WERE BLEEDING.

Possibly, still were but Clint's not any better and he doesn't have a healing factor. HE FEELS OVERWHELMED. Just having him here, and that feeling starts to shove down his throat. THAT DAWNING OF NEED, NEEDS HIM. The archer, wanting, needing him and they'll probably both fall asleep. ❝ how much gotta clean up ❞ HE'S WONDERING ABOUT PETER, THE BLOOD.

❝ should sleep huh. ❞ He can't make out anything that Peter could say, tactile sign and morse only way he'd make sense of this. THEY BOTH WERE EXHAUSTED. Clint by all means should slip into sleep again, and Peter needed to sleep (and eat; he should get up right now and work on feeding him). SO THEY SHOULD NIGHTY NIGHT.

Yet Clint wants, needs, to be awake. CAN'T SLEEP. ⸻ CAUSE IT'S PETER. ❝ you're here. ❞ He doesn't like using his voice, with hearing himself, but he's glad right now he can't hear how he says that. THE DEEP IN LOVE, DESPARATE WAY SOUND. Pathetic. Peter's been missed, wanted, needed.

[aininx]

My quartet hands description:

Laura: Her hands are elegant. They have faded long scars from her work with machinery. She took her safety alot more serious compares to her brother. The tips of her finger tips are always blistered and cutten from working with sharp crystals. Her nails are always short, neat and clean. Her hands are covered in uneven callouses.

Ain: Her hands is much daintier and smaller than her friends. Her finger nails are perfectly manicure, and she sometimes paint them blue or orange. It much longer, not super long, but enough to cause damage if she would ever to scratch someone. The tips of her fingers are calloused from her being a bow user. Has a sister bracelet with the words "I know my sister" in morse code.

Sue: Her hands are practically the same as her sisters. Sue works with animals alot. She has some smaller scars she got from her animals. All of the scars are concentrated around her wrist though. She avoids joing fights, so she doesn't have any scars from battle. Sometimes Ain paints her nails. Has a sister bracelet with the words "Like my own mind" in morse code.

Aaron: His hands are think and muscular. He has a lot of scars and callouses from working with heavy machinery. He have at least broken each finger at least once. He is pretty reckless when it comes to safety. He likes to wear rings sometimes. He also like getting his nails painted too, but they never last and is often chipped off. He bites his nails rather than cutting them with a nail cutter.

[izukult]

what type of jewelry haikyuu boys get a girl

request: Hello, i must ask what type of jewelry they’d get their girl? 🥺 i saw this on tik tok and thought it was cute and wanted to know your thoughts, you can either show pics or describe them, whatever you prefer! -anon

i don’t even have my ears pierced but if *** bought me those i’d force them thru my ears don’t even test me. sorry y’all but necklace supremacy

characters: hinata, kageyama, oikawa, sugawara, yamaguchi, tsukishima, bokuto, akaashi, iwaizumi, matsukawa, atsumu, nishinoya

hinata shoyo

a wire ring! it’s a cute little homemade ring (just because it’s homemade doesn’t mean it came from his home), he picked a gemstone for you ‘based on which one was prettiest’.

kageyama tobio

a friendship bracelet. one of the ones made of yarn, yknow? it doesn’t sound like much, but he made it himself. the ends are frayed and the pattern is a little bit messy, but he spent a Long ass time trying to figure out how to do it. he does not have money, it’s personal, it’s not flashy, and you can wear it any time. he made that for you and he’ll act like it doesn’t but it means a lot to him.

oikawa toru

promise ring. this is so on brand toru. idfc. IDFC. he gets you a buncha little gifts and throws that one in there and tries to act like super suave and cool about it! probably also gets you something with his initials (tastefully).

sugawara koushi

hair clips and a necklace. sugawara is built different, he gets two. he would absolutely buy you a cute, simple necklace on a special occasion, but he adores buying you little hair clips to wear just all the time. and some of them are super fucking nice too. sugawara kiss me challenge.

yamaguchi tadashi

charm necklaces. like the cheapish kind yknow? wide variety of cute little ones! some examples could be like a mushroom necklace, those cute layered necklaces, ones with safety pins, just a lot of  tchotchke cute necklaces. they’re afforadable, pretty, throw outfits together, and he loves seeing you wear them knowing he bought them. 

tsukishima kei

personalized leather bracelet. he got an inside joke engraved, but it’s on the inside of the bracelet. it’s so intimate? on the outside, it’s just a simple, thin leather bracelet. but the inside is him literally verbally showing how much he cares about you. you got this shit in writing, he’s gone gone.

bokuto kotaro

an anklet. i forget that people actually wear these, but i think he’d get super excited about it! it would follow dress codes for work or sports, and he could make it your favorite colors or put charms on it and it was just that ‘kinda always there’ thing and that’s his goal 😏

akaashi keiji

earrings. akaashi is absolutely a hopeless romantic, and he thinks there are just the most practical. he picks them based off your preference, of course (i.e. if you love hoops, he’ll buy you hoops. if you hate hoops clearly he won’t buy you hoops yknow?). loves em, kisses your ear when you have em on.

iwaizumi hajime

stackable rings. simplistic, cute, screams hajime. much like akaashi, he’ll always hold your hand and kiss the finger your ring is on. they’re super minimalistic and he knows you can’t go wrong with that, so it doesn’t make him anxious. plus, you can mix and match!

matsukawa issei

scannable spotify necklace. absolutely. ABSOLUTELY. spends longer picking out the song than he does the necklace, but he makes it really really matter. (however, he absolutely considers putting a gag song on there, instead chooses something that describes how he actually feels (nah, he buys both)).

miya atsumu

one of those bar necklaces with his name. yea, it’s kinda tacky, but so is he. he actually gets a pretty tasteful one, and he wouldn’t get mad at you if you didn’t wear it all the time. he wants to give you the option to, and it’s not like he hasn’t already told everyone who would listen that you two were dating.

nishinoya yu

bond touch bracelets. even though you’re literally not long distance he is so clingy. he bought them without telling you and was super duper excited about the idea (“now i get your touch even when you’re gone!!!!”). comes up with little codes for taps and soon enough you two have literally learned morse code and are communicating via bracelet. if he knows you’re anxious, he’ll send ‘i love you’ even if he’s in the same room.

[dragongirl642]

If you are taking requests may I request some Heisenberg with a mute SO (maybe from an injury? Or trauma?) who, initially when they first met he thought they were too afraid of him to speak to him but eventually realised that no, they just CANT speak. Maybe they communicate through sign language instead?

Hi there 😎 To confirm, asks are open for head canons and mashups.

Thank you for the ask, I am thriving of this Heisenberg fix 😘

Discalimer: I am not mute and have never written a mute character before, I apologise for any inconsistencies or stereotypes that arise.

Here are some sfw headcanons for Heisenberg with a mute S/o (including their first meeting).

How he reacts to a first meeting depends on the situation.

If he meets you while doing his job as a Lord, e.g., kidnapping, after the lycan attack, or catching you somewhere you shouldn't be:

Heisenberg isn't surprised when you don't say anything upon meeting him. He knows the effect an unknown man wielding a giant hammer and levitating metal has on an unsuspecting person and can't help but grin at your shocked gasp and wide eyes.

However, he does want a reaction. You know how he just casually stands there and waits for a reaction from Ethan? That.

So he starts to get annoyed when you don't say anything.

No pleas for freedom? Sarcastic comebacks? Witty banter? This man thrives off of whatever communication he can get from anyone who isn't part of his 'family', so he gets angsty.

He will amp up the dramatics for a reaction - think flinging metal past you or holding shards to your neck with his abilities, "Well, are you not going to say anything?" "Cat got your tongue?"

But when you gesture frantically to your throat and mouth and sign at him, he freezes.

At the moment, using his voice is one of the only ways he can actually rebel against his 'family', so he immediately feels pity for you.

Depending on his mood, and whether any of the other Lords or Miranda has a spy nearby, he may shoo you away/point to an exit. But most likely he will either kidnap you to his factory, telling himself that he'll let you go later, or take you to the others anyway.

If he meets you before the incident, while taking one of his coveted jaunts to pub or walk through woods:

Just like in the other situation, he craves communication and reactions.

He is momentarily shocked when you reveal that you can't verbally communicate with him, but then tries to immediately show-off the little Romanian sign language he knows. (During his initial kidnapping and experimentation by Mother Miranda, he met and learned a few phrases from one of the other children and a maid). However, he quickly realises that it's not enough to have a full conversation; also, you might/probably sign in a different language/non-compatible variant (BSL, Auslan, ASL, SSl, etc...).

If you respond with enthusiasm to his attempts, he will be encouraged to seek out other means of holding a conversation, writing on a napkin, playing yes-or-no, and charades.

Will make a lot of jokes and innuendos about a common language that doesn't require talking. (Wink wink 😉😱 if you know what I mean)

He's surprised by how much fun he has talking to you and playing yes-no/charades. He doesn't want to leave but he will.

Will most likely hint that you should leave the area, believing you'll be safer away form the village. (Anyone would be).

Whilst in a relationship

As mentioned before, Heisenberg is very insecure and requires reassurance from his s/o that they want to stay with him. Establishing communication with his s/o is of paramount importance.

All the paper he owns always ends up oil-stained, ripped, or charred, but he somehow immediately finds a clean notepad and gifts it to you with a gilded quill. He may forget to provide ink at first, but he soon realises.

Alao, if you're used to modern conveniences, you may have to deal with a quill for awhile - Pens, what pens, all of his are chewed to oblivion and empty, same for his pencils, chewed and shattered. He searches for three hours across the whole factory before he realises he doesn't have a single working pen left and will go out to find more (or buy some of the duke).

He learns the sign language you use. Even though he's a fast learner, It's a slow process since the only material he has to learn with is a few scraps of paper from an outdated sign book, in the wrong language, and you.

When signing, his accent is a bit lazy (especially if he's working) and, if you teach him, he uses a lot of slang, for speed. Basically the signed equivalent of a stereotypical movie cowboy drawl.

Although he's adverse to physical affection anyway, especially at the start of the relationship, he gradually gets more needy with hand-holding and kisses.

Everytime you squeeze his hand in response to a question/statement, he raises your hand and kisses the palm. It makes conversations ten times as long but he won't stop no matter what.

Kisses your neck...a lot!

Definitely knows morse code. Builds a receiver set so you can message him anywhere in the factory. If you know it too, he's happy to respond to you tapping messages, and sometimes making cheeky jokes and innuendos from around a corner where you cant see him. If you don't, he'll teach you.

Also, morse code arguments...that almost always end in laughter if one of you taps out "don't yell at me".

Will try and build an arm-mounted typewriter for you...It doesn't go well.

One day when he's tinkering around making more headgear for a hauler he has an idea and excitedly rushes to find you. Just like how the headgear simulates brain activity, he offers to try and build a neural implant that will transmit your thoughts to a speaker.

He will mope around/sulk if you reject him, and start building it in secret. If you give in to his puppy eyes and agree he will throw himself into building it, but once he realises how intrusive/dangerous it will be for you, he stops and congratulates himself on keeping you safe (even though it was his idea in the first place).

If you're mute due to an injury, he will sometimes entertain the thought of building mechanical vocal chords.

If you're a selective mute, due to trauma, the first time he hears you speak (if you do), he starts crying. Definitely recorded you for playback later.

I think he is the Lord most likely to use the fact that you're mute against you in an argument. Either as an insult, or to gain the upper hand by tearing away whatever you're using for communication to silence you, e.g., taking away your paper, pinning your hands to the wall so you cant sign, etc...

He always regrets it though, and will try to apologise by being extra accommodating and making you gifts.

If he is in a tantrum, after coming back from a 'family' meeting, and there is metal flying everywhere, It will be even harder to get his attention than normal.

The first time this happened, he didn't realise you were there until a shard of metal sliced open your arm and you fell into some boxes stacked in the corner. Thr clatter, your tears, and the pained sound you made, brought him back to the moment and sent him straight into panic mode, he fussed over you for five hours with tears in his eyes; patching your arm, worrying over blood loss, holding your hand and refusing to let go.

He made a loud jangly bracelet or belt covered in bells and asked you to wear them. It took a while of steady convincing for him to realise this is going overboard.

However, despite your refusal, he knows the factory is a dangerous place and is terrified that you may one day be in danger and he wouldn't realise. (Even more so that he will be the one to hurt you).

He finds an airhorn, and also makes a panic button that will set off the factory's alarms, for you. Should you ever find yourself in danger, e.g., cornered by a lycan or soldat, there's an intruder, or you need to snap him out of an episode, you can just blow the horn/start the alarms and he'll come running.

He will sulk until you accept the panic button and try and hide it in your clothes, either with his powers or through 'surprise hugs' (which is instantly suspicious, because he's not the one to initiate hugs most of the time).

(I feel like he would make a panic button for a non-mute s/o too. Losing you is this man's biggest fear).

Whew...all done. 😅 Thank you again for the ask, it was eye-opening researching different types of sign language.

[eddieheart]

HOLIDAYS

(Part 5)

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Pairings: NONE

Words: 1975

Description: Gwen goes to the Whitly family Christmas party, things don’t go as planned.

PART 4: the-truth

Gwen hadn't ever been to a Christmas party before. Her first family had small celebrations but their relatives lived too far away to visit for the holidays.

Jessica had said it would be ‘a small affair, just you kids and myself', Gwen wasn't exactly sure what to bring. It was no secret the Whitly's were rich, if she brought cookies would they turn up their noses?

Would they laugh at her for bringing inexpensive gifts? Ainsley wore Versace, Jessica wore Tiffany's, Malcolm wore three thousand dollar suits as if they were nothing. Almost all of Gwen's clothes were hand-me-downs or thrift finds.

Deep down she knew they wouldn't care, but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she wasn't enough.

Gwen was wearing a short red dress with secret shorts underneath, her hair was curled and gold earrings dangled from her ears. A bright red lip finished the look, complimented by a black liner on her upper lid.

With a bit of time left before she had to head over, Gwen sat on her couch and turned on the tv.

Of course the first thing she saw was her mother, what else would be on? A picture of a bracelet flashed across the screen. It had belonged to one of her fathers victims, not one of the 23.

She stood with a loud sigh, turned off the tv and walked to the door. With a stack of neatly wrapped boxed under her arm Gwen quickly hailed a cab and began her journey.

——

The house was quiet as she arrived at the Whitly home, though the street outside was rampant with reporters. Gwen pulled up the hood of her jacket, hiding her face and walked inside.

It was dreary and dark, unusually so. Gwen grew nervous as she wandered inside.

"Hello?!" She yelled out into the house.

The sounds of hushed conversation grew louder as she walked towards the dinning room. Both Ainsley and Jessica sat together at the table.

"Hi, Merry Christmas. I brought cookies, I wasn't sure what you guys normally did but I though I should bring something. Oh, gifts too." Gwen said with a nervous smile.

The two women looked startled by her presence, Malcolm wasn't there, probably stuck at work. Gwen sat across from her sister and next to her mother.

"It's lovely to see you dear, get a quick bite. I'm dying to give you your presents." Jessica smiled at the young girl.

Gwen steadied her breathing and filled her plate. The meal passed quickly and Jessica ushered the girls towards the living room.

Bringing her boxes and cookies with her, Gwen sat across from her two family members, placing the platter in between them.

Nervously Gwen grabbed two of the boxes and passed one two each of the other women.

"Its not much, really. If you don't like it that's fine, I just figured... um anyway." Trailing off at the end of her sentence and curling in on her self timidly.

Jessica opened hers first, gently pealing off the soft white wrapping paper. Inside the box laid a gold braclet

Multicoloured beads with pauses of small gold beads in between. Jessica stared at it quizzically for a moment before smiling up at Gwen.

"I love it dear, thank you." Jessica smiled at her daughter and reached a hand out to hold as a thank you.

"It's Morse code, it says... I love you... mom." Gwen looked into Jessica's eyes, her own tearing slightly.

The older woman's mouth opened in surprise. Jessica stood and pulled the young girl into her arms tightly.

Sitting back down Gwen turned to face Ainsley, they smiled at each other kindly. Ainsley opened the pale pink package, quickly ripping off the paper. She pulled out the content with a smile.

'Ainsley' written cursive, connected to a soft gold chain.

"I love it, thank you Gwenie." The younger girl smiled and Ainsley quickly stood to hug her.

"Now for you my dear!" Jessica sung out while grabbing secretive bags and boxes from behind her.

"You didn't have to do all that, really." Her heart swelled as she watched her new family hand her gifts.

They spent the rest of the evening watching Gwen open gifts, they talked and they genuinely seemed to like Gwen's cookies. The young girl walked home that night, heart filled with joy. She'd never been happier.

——

She still hadn't heard anything from Malcolm, in fact the rest of the family seemed to be radio silent as well. Gwen spent most of the day at home relaxing and enjoying the gifts she'd reserved.

She'd gotten a series of dresses, a few antique and vintage books and a necklace from Ainsley. The jewelry seemed to be her favourite, a simple gold chain with a natural pearl held by a crown in the center of the chain.

Gwen spent at least a few hours trying on dresses worth more than three months rent. The rest of the time was filled with the lovely smell of old books.

It was dark, no one had messaged her back or retuned her calls, if she was being honest Gwen was a little worried. So in her typical fashion she went straight to the source, the Whitly home.

She knocked on the door but after several minutes of waiting with no answer she let herself in. The house was dark and seemingly empty.

Soft whispers of conversation could be heard coming from a back room. Gwen called out as she ventured farther inside.

"Mom? Ainsley? Malcolm?" She cried out into the empty room.

She started walking towards the dinning room, but before she could get there a leathery gloved hand wrapped itself around her mouth, an arm looped around her waist yanking her back. 

Feet thumped as the man dragged her down a flight of stairs and into a basement? It was hard to tell with how dark the room was.

A closed mouth scream tried to escape her as the large body dragged her back. The sound of doors opening startled her and she was thrown back into a closet. As she tried to get up and out of the closet the man started to get more and more annoyed. He slapped her roughly across the face, threw her backwards and locked a handcuff around her ankle.

It locked into place on a large metal loop in the floor. The doors in front of slammed shut as she was forced back into a pile of stashed tools.

Her body lunged forward into the wooden doors, she screamed out painfully.

The edges of her vision started to blur, growing black and dragging her deeper into her memories.

-

Just after the man was killed, Gwen laid weakly on her side. Tears leaked from her eyes like a waterfall, small fingers stuck out from the wooden slats, reaching out to the man.

Her arm jerked back inside as her foster father come back into the room. The doors burst open and a hand reached inside, gripping onto her hair and dragging her out.

"You want out so bad! You can get out! Make yourself useful and clean up this mess!" The man screamed.

He held her above the lifeless body by her hair and threw her down onto it. Prices of scattered flesh covered her arms, the feeling of tiny knives bit into her hands as she was pushed onto the glass shards.

Biting back a scream, Gwen began to pick up small pieces of what used to be a man and placed them tearfully into a large garbage bag. Her hands shook as she grabbed the pieces, her eyes glazed over unfocused.

-

Her eyes focused back into vision, Gwen knew what she had to do. She yanked her foot closer to her body, the hand cuffs not moving.

Something bumped her head as she leaned back into the closet. Reaching out wildly to find anything she could use her hands finally stumbled upon a piece of heavy metal attached to wood.

An old hammer, she took a deep breath to steady herself and slammed in down into her ankle.

It took more than one hit to break the thick bone. She cried and brought the weapon up again, the sound of metal hitting the cement floor would forever haunt her.

Mascara ran down her face, her poor foot was red and limp, squelching as it moved. Gwen screamed out in pain and weakly pulled her foot from its metal prison. Her whole foot was numb with blinding pain. Gwen had to look away as her once hard bone, now like jello, squeezed it was out of the handcuff.

The other end slipped through the metal loop freeing both her legs. She put all of her weight onto her uninjured leg she grabbed the hammer again bringing down onto the hinge of the closet door.

As it fell back she smiled to herself, crawling out of the wooden prison. Making it up the stairs was a challenge on her injured foot so she stayed on her knees.

Rounding the corner she could see the stranger chasing her mother and sister down a hallway, he slammed Ainsley into a door and blood gushed from her head.

They ran off leaving him alone, she could hear Malcolm yelling out, calling the man. She watched the intruder stalk into the living room and stop in front of a wooden trunk.

She came up behind him and swung the hammer with all her might, crashing it into the back of his head. The man, Watkins, screamed out as she swung the hammer again and again and again.

Her face is was speckled with fleck of blood and brains, her hands dripped with red.

"Gwen?" A soft voice asked from behind her. She was startled and swung the hammer out towards the voice.

Luckily she was too far away to have hit the man behind her. Malcolm looked to her in shock, her eyes were unfocused and glazed, she wasn't all there.

"Gwen? Gwen it's over, can you hear me?" Her head looked around the room in confusion before her gaze settled on the older man.

"Malcolm?" She asked weakly. He nodded and stepped forward timidly. She let out a sob from deep within her body, she shook and looked absolutely terrified.

His grip loosened and the crowbar fell to the ground with a sharp clash. He reached out to her with his uninjured hand, she gripped onto it as he led her to any other room.

It slipped from his grasp as Jessica came into view. The older woman quickly dropped the knife from her hands and charged towards her son with open arms.

"Oh, god. Oh. Oh." She hugged him tightly and held his face in her hands.

Malcolm leaned into her soft touch, wincing and pulling his hand away.

"Oh! Oh watch the hand." He jerked back slightly.

"What happened are? Are you okay?" She asked in a frantic tone, griping onto his for arms.

"I'm alive." She sighed in relief and took his face I to her hands again, steering clear of his injured arm.

"Where's Watkins? Is he... did you..." she trailed off staring deeply into his eyes.

"No." Shaking his head he turned to face his younger sister, who until now had gone unnoticed by her mother.

"Gwen? Baby what are you doing here? What?" Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted to the young girls hands, coated with dark red liquid.

The youngest girl fell to her knees, she shifted to the side to keep weight off of her surely broken ankle.

She looked up to face them as pitiful tears fell from her eyes and seeped into her skin. What had she done?

PART 6: TBD

Link to bracelets

https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/holidays/gift-ideas/g34388852/best-sentimental-gifts/