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#it was moldy inside the bottle
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OK, is it just me having horrible issues with telling tastes from one another, or does moldy water taste like lemonade to yall.
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unboundprompts · 1 year
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Different Ways to Describe Green Eyes
-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.
He had eyes like the fields after a sweet summer rain.
Their eyes reminded her of the forests at night.
Her green eyes were like leaves with golden sunlight shining filtering through them.
Green eyes— usually a symbol of grace— had never held such a look of hatred.
She had eyes the same color as the bottle of poison tucked away safely in the inside pocket of her jacket.
He stared deep into her green eyes and saw forever reflected in them.
Their eyes were the same color as the moldy piece of bread he found under the couch a couple days ago.
She bit into the apple— the same color as her sour green eyes— and flashed him a wicked grin.
He stared at the green walls of his childhood bedroom, but it only made him think of [Name’s] eyes that always teased him.
Their eyes reeked of danger, the color of acid and a threat.
Her eyes were the color of the woods at twilight.
His green eyes kept a lifetime of secrets locked away behind them.
Their eyes reminded him of a cat’s: mischievous and quick to chase.
She had eyes like spring and the memory of a childhood summer.
His eyes matched the emerald ring he wore on his finger.
They had heard the saying “the grass is greener on the other side” their entire life, but after seeing her eyes? They finally thought it might have some truth to it.
Her eyes made him think of germs. It wasn’t the most colorful of metaphors, but he thought it went well with the way it made him feel. Sick.
His eyes were as green as the potions that lined the shelves in their glass bottles.
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yanderenightmare · 9 months
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who's the worst bnha yandere? in your opinion
Shigaraki Tomura x darling
TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, f!reader, Shiggy being gross
fem reader
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It’s easily Tomura.
Tomura because he doesn’t care about the most basic of human needs. 
Forgets to feed you. And when he does – it’s always some half-eaten burger, sub or burrito. He doesn’t give two shit if you’re vegan or vegetarian. Shit – he doesn’t even care if you’re allergic. If you don’t want it, you can starve.
Doesn’t give you clothes. He rarely bothers getting himself new clothes, do you think he’s gonna do you any better? No. Wear his dandruff-riddled, old-sweat-seeped hoodie – or wear nothing.
Something else you miss is proper housing – even if it’s just a room with a bed and a toilet. You’ve learned that even that is too much to ask for.
You never stay in the same place for long – needing to switch bases regularly in order to remain low. Never anything he’ll have to pay for, of course – a pick of the litter abandoned office buildings, hotels, and empty homes. 
If you’re lucky enough to find a place with running water, you stay longer. If not, you’ll have to make do for a couple of days – worst case was a little over a week. You still shudder thinking about it. 
He’ll keep you in any room he can lock from the outside – only sometimes blessing you with an actual mattress and not some old moldy sofa or a thin blanket on cold floors.
One time, you stayed in some old mansion one of the league members had found. You suspect they killed whoever lived there before – seeing as the entire house was properly furnished and clean when you all infested the place. 
Not that you got to explore much – Tomura kept you locked in the master bedroom on the third floor – the one where you most definitely would have broken both legs if you tried escaping through the window.
It had been one of the nicer places. One with working hot water and clothes for you to change into – albeit shamefully, sending prayer and thanks to the owner who was no doubt dead and rotting. You were even able to find a stockpile of fresh towels and linens you changed after a week had gone by.
But as the weeks turned to more weeks, they’d all run out – and you began hoping you’d move on to the next place soon. Even with the risk of it being someplace cold and dusty, it would still be a fresher slate.
The nice mansion had gone bad after a month or so – you’d lost track of time. 
Thankfully, you’d been able to air out the dank smell of armpit, ass, and feet – and were allowed to take a shower whenever you weren’t handcuffed to the bed – often able to lure Tomura to join you if only for the sake of washing the stench of decay, dandruff and dickcheese off him. 
But even so, Tomura isn't the most hygienic type. Managing keeping him halfway decent was troubling enough. 
It’s way tougher to keep the room tidy with Tomura’s ill habits of keeping half-eaten food lying around – empty cup noodles and other street junk, beer bottles, and sour energy drinks – along with bloody piles of worn-out clothes, dirty holey underwear, and soggy condoms.
You were driven to the point of disgust that you’d asked him whether he could do you the simple favor of finding and bringing you the house cleaning supplies so you could wash the place yourself.
Oh… how funny he’d found that little comment... 
“Too filthy in ‘ere for yah, is it? Too gross for the pretty princess?”
It hadn’t been the first time he’d made you lick the floor. Face down, ass up – with his bare foot placed heavy and clammy against your teary cheek – two of his fingers stuffing your cunt, and the other two inside your ass – while he sits at the edge of the bed, spitefully stroking his hard dick to the degrading view.
“Tch – such a filthy bitch, and you complain about the scenery?” He sneers – pumping both your holes. “Didn’t know I was fuckin’ such a spoiled cunt.”
You cry at the crass stretch his digits make – but you know better than to fight him when he’s pissed. You only regret forgetting how it’s never been a good idea for you to do much of anything other than nod your head and smile pliantly – open your mouth wide for his tongue, spit, cock, and cum or otherwise keep it shut.
Per request, you keep it open wide, tongue out on the hardwood floor – tasting the grouts of lint and dirt and God knows what – stale and salty on your tastebuds. Or maybe it was the tears gushing from your eyes – soaking your face where you sobbed.
“Tch – shut up.” A hand replaces the foot on your face – dragging you up with a fist in your hair. Pulling his fingers from your holes with a sloppy shlick – before promptly pushing all four digits inside your mouth. “If you wanna clean somethin’ – you can start with this slutty mess.”
You gag at the threat as he shoves all but his thumb down your throat – wiping off your slick, then giving your face a mean slap with the same, now spit-coated, hand – before pulling you up from the floor by your hair and ushering you onto his lap to straddle him.
He wipes the rest of your drool off on his erect cock – standing proudly with a thick flow of creamy pre leaking from his slit.
He doesn’t waste much time before lining up with your puffy pussy-lipped hole and making you sink down on him.
You croak at him going in raw – always feeling extra violated without the thin rubber protecting you from catching his germs as he pushes all his veiny girth inside you until giving your womb a cummy kiss. 
“What’s the problem, slut? Don’t like riding dirty dick?” He huffs, starting to rut against you in no clean tempo. He snickers at your grimace, still holding your hair in a tight pull as he angles your face to his to kiss your tight-lined lips – feeling you cringe even more. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you clean it after I fill this and the other hole up with filth.”
You whimper at the dark promise – and he wipes his tongue across your sorry expression from chin to temple.
“I’ll do you up nice and nasty – so you won’t feel so out of place anymore~”
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wynnyfryd · 2 months
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Trailer park Steve AU pt 67
part 1 | part 66 | ao3
cw: recreational drug use
Waiting around to die or get arrested or whatever fucking sucks. Partly because there’s no running water (Steve’s never wanted to take a stress shower so badly in his life) and partly because Eddie won’t let him stay sober. Has it in his head that altering Steve’s mental state will keep Vecna away, like hanging a mosquito net over the opening of a tent.
It’s not not working, he guesses.
He hasn’t fallen in to any more hallucinated open graves, at least.
He comes down the stairs a little before noon, towel-drying his hair after a bottled water sink bath, and finds Eddie in the kitchen: Reeboks on, hair a cotton candy mess, head-to-toe teddy bear tie-dye under his leather jacket — a matching shirt and sweats that he fished out of Rick’s dresser. He’s stirring Spaghettios in a small pot at the stove, and when he sees Steve come in he turns to offer some, the wooden spoon held out with a sort of desperate perkiness. “Morning! I found food that isn’t expired. You want some?”
Steve shakes his head.
Eddie shovels the whole spoonful into his mouth; wipes sauce off his chin, speaks before he’s finished chewing. “I also found blotters in the freezer and shrooms in the bedroom closet, so uh. Pick your poison.”
Steve picks the shrooms. They wait a few hours to take them because Eddie swears the sunset while you’re tripping is unparalleled, man, although Steve kind of suspects that he’s just giving him time to work up the nerve to eat them. He still gets nervous about chemicals — probably always will, after the shit the Russians did.
In the meantime, Eddie rummages through Rick’s cassette collection, and Steve talks to Robin on the walkie; gets all the new details in staticky half-sentences — something about mind flayers and mental hospitals, what else is new? He tells her to be safe; tells her that he loves her; keeps his eyes trained on the clock.
Shrooms smell and taste like ass. Steve can’t stomach them; spits into the grass while Eddie laughs sympathetically and hands him a little square of paper to put on his tongue instead, and they spread out side by side on a few old beach towels by the water and wait for it to kick in.
Nothing, at first, not that Steve expected different. Twenty minutes; forty-five.
“Still nothing?”
“Nothing.”
And then.
Eddie holds up a glossy aquamarine pebble, squinting at its glow in the late afternoon sun. “I should give this rock to Skye. Bet she’d love it.”
“That’s a shard of glass.”
Eddie blinks at it. “Oh, shit.”
Steve snorts, and when he looks at Eddie sideways there’s a glimmer of that same cerulean shade outlining his whole body, a low-frequency feather of energy rolling off of him in waves. Eddie moves his arm and the color chases it, a long-exposure photo of high beams on rain-slick roads.
“Oh,” Steve says, mouth slack. His voices echo in his head; all six of them. “I think I’m…”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, eyes alight, pupils blown.
“Yeah.”
All at once something slots into place, attunes itself inside of Steve, and it’s like… he can see Eddie’s mind; touch it, cradle it, reach out to it with its own. It feels crazy. Psychedelics are fucking crazy. He reaches out a hand, slicing through ribbons of shimmering light, tasting the colors as they fade, and Eddie’s emotions spread out in high-definition before him — like the image has always been there but now it’s crystal clear; someone’s shifted his focal point, filled a kiddie pool with Epsom salt and left him there to float.
“I see you,” he says nonsensically.
Eddie frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“…That I can see you?”
“I usually am.”
That’s not right. Eddie’s thoughts shouldn’t sour on his account, shouldn’t sag in the middle like a moldy tangerine. “I can close my eyes?”
“Fuck,” Eddie laughs, thin and strained. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m not allowed to kiss you.”
“You’re not?”
He hesitates. “Am I?” Antsy fingers drum the grass, overgrown with vibrant clover and dandelion stalks. “Just feel like we should talk first, if uh, if it’s safe.”
Steve probes his own mind, tests it for outside threats, but there’s nothing. The acid forms a fractal fortress. Penrose steps, paradoxical and strange. “It’s safe.”
He moves to lie on his side, invites Eddie to do the same. “Talk into the kiss,” he suggests when Eddie joins him — face to face, chest to chest, Steve can see the thrum of Eddie’s heartbeat in the hollow of his throat; wants to press his thumb to it, so he does, the sense memory of ripe cherries bursting on his tongue.
Eddie’s lips against his own; hovering. Static electricity like the scent of summer rain. “I think my pride makes me a coward.”
Steve rubs his dry lips across Eddie’s, chapped skin and shared heat.
“It’s like… I kept trying to tell myself that I was being… I don’t know, valiant, or some shit? Like, ‘oh, he’s so much better without me. I’m the town pariah; I’m keeping him safe by running away.’” He thumps his fist against his heart as if beating a shield to shining armor, and Steve can’t see his eyebrows with their foreheads pressed together, but he can feel Eddie scrunching them into a picture-perfect hero frown. Almost has to laugh — so fucking theatrical even when he’s serious.
“But if I’m honest,” Eddie murmurs, “it wasn’t like that at all. Nothing fucking brave about vanishing on you. Like, what?” His voice shifts again, lilting but critical, a comedian doing crowd work. “I get a liiiittle fucked up by townies two too many times, and I sabotage my whole life over it? Ruin the best thing I’ve ever had over it? As if this goddamn horseshit hasn’t been happening to me since— forever! Shit.” He blows his bangs out of his face; calms himself. Goes a little cross-eyed trying to look Steve in the eye. “I got scared, Steve. There it is. That’s the ugly truth of it.”
He swallows harshly in the dense silence that follows.
Robins chirp; cars pass.
The lake laps at the shore and casts prisms like fishing line, spiderwebs of rainbow light flashing behind Steve’s eyelids. He brings his hands up to Eddie’s face.
“Christ.” Eddie shudders; lets himself become dead weight, rubbing his cheek into the touch, warm stubble scratching over the pads of Steve’s fingers. “Am I making any sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense.”
Yes. No. “You’re making sense. I mean. As much as anything is right now.” The sandy brown freckles on the bridge of Eddie’s nose are swirling like snow flurries. Steve traces them with curious hands. His knuckles blur and swivel, too. “You left because… you wanted to protect me from… yourself?” He sums up, not sure if he’s getting the math right.
“I left because I’m a scared little shit who couldn’t handle getting bullied in a parking lot, but uh. Yeah. I guess I, like, didn’t want to…” His eyes go big and startled, cheeks flooding bright pink. “Oh, shit, I was about to say I didn’t want to curse you, Jesus Christ.”
Steve honks with laughter. Loud and deep and punched out without warning, because the irony of that — that there’s a literal big bad running around cursing people, and the person who was actually doing some real good in his life decided that he was the problem — it’s fucking— hilarious! Hysterical! Steve giggles himself sick, lungs burning as it tapers to a silent wheeze, and Eddie joins him, confusion giving way to compulsion; contagion in the manic giddiness spewing out of Steve.
“You thought—” Steve struggles through hiccups, tears beading in his lash line, “you thought you were the bad luck charm in this relationship?”
“Don’t mock me!” Eddie whines, still laughing. “I already said it was dumb.”
“It’s so dumb.” Eddie may be the cutest, dumbest thing he’s ever seen. He rubs his thumbs over his cheekbones, smile fading. “If anyone’s a curse, it’s me.” Four for four here on getting dragged into supernatural shit. Does Eddie really think homophobes are more dangerous than hell dimensions?
Eddie’s already shaking his head. “You’re a fucking blessing.”
Warmth radiates through Steve, drips from the crown of his head like a downpour of holy water. He feels anointed. Ascended. He feels— “Please tell me we’re allowed to kiss now.”
Their mouths crush together, impossible to tell who moves first, whose tongue is in whose mouth, whose desperate breath Steve swallows as Eddie rolls him onto his back. Hands roam and pull and clutch, molding the shape of him into the earth. Maybe someday, Steve thinks, if aliens invade, they’ll study these imprints like crop circles, trampled declarations of how much Steve loves this boy. “God,” he gasps into the kiss. “Missed you so much.”
“So much.”
“Don’t do that to me again. Don’t go.”
“Never,” Eddie swears. His grip tightens on Steve’s waist. “Never again, baby, I fucking promise. I think I—”
On the far side of the house, leaves crunch and branches snap as a car pulls up the drive. Boots on pavement, rowdy voices; unfamiliar; red alert.
“Spread out, boys!” the voice of Jason Carver bellows. “If that Freak’s in here, we’ll find him.”
part 68
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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oddheadd · 7 months
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Yandere Ex Boyfriend x Reader
CW: Drug use, manipulation, suicidal stuff, Angst, a bit shorter :P
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He's doing it again.
I try not to break down immediately as soon as I hear his sick voice, slurring and barely managing to turn words into sentences.
"I... Need you to come here... I took too much..."
I let out a shakey breath. "I'll be right there. Got any Naloxone?"
He groans and I sigh, running into my kitchen and looking for it, left after we broke up. I grab the bottle and reassure him, before hanging up.
He did it again.
Whenever he's left with a slight inconvenience, he starts taking drugs like a starved man. Sometimes to kill himself, sometimes to grab some attention. There have been countless times with me holding his hair while he throws up, giving him Naloxone while trying not to lose my own consciousness 'cause of my boyfriend literally dying.
His condition was hard on our relationship, forcing me into a miserable life of walking on eggshells and trying to keep him alive by giving him all kinds of attention and love, even when I didn't feel like it...
I decided to send him to rehab, and he was doing fine for a few months, hadn't even touched a can of beer.
Now I don't know how to look into his eyes, with his constricted pupils, his skin void of any color and his skinny, hollowed cheeks.
I zone out, not even realizing when I arrive in front of his building. It's old and probably moldy inside. I quickly run up a few set of stairs, and barge into his apartment, the pills ready in my hand.
"Baby? Is that you?" I hear his voice call out for me. I run into the kitchen and end up absolutely flabbergasted.
"Ah, there you are!" He smiles and hugs me tight, burying his face in my neck and... Inhaling deeply.
"Are- Are you alright?" I ask, confused. "...Why is the table set..?"
I pull away from the hug.
He looks... Healthy. His cheeks aren't as hollow, his skin has returned to it's saturated color and his pupils... Are dilated.
It doesn't smell like weed.
"Hey... What's the meaning on this? You seem... Fine."
"I... Got better. Now that you're here especially-!" He chuckles awkwardly. "I knew you'd come... For me. I knew you'd never leave me to die... And I wanted to thank you for all the time you kept me alive."
I stare at him, my brows furrowed. "...Thank me?"
He nods, with an uneasy smile.
I huff. "You're disgusting. You lied that you were dying, just to get me here?"
"...I- Yeah, but-"
I tear up. "Is this a joke to you?!" I yell. "All the nights I've spent taking care of you, just for you to try and kill yourself all over again for shit like me not kissing you goodnight?! Not sucking you off?! Don't call me. Even if you're dying, I won't come to save you again."
I say the last line calmly, setting the pill pottle onto the table with a loud sound, before turning to leave.
"No.. (Y/N) Don't leave..." He frowns. I ignore him.
He grabs my wrist. "If you leave, I'll actually kill myself. My blood will be on your hands."
"Go fuck yourself."
I roughly remove his hand and slam his front door shut.
⁠♡
My ringtone awakens me. I groan as I look at the id, and see his name, along with an old photo of us hugging burns my eyes. I pick up. "If you call me one more time, I'll block your number again."
"Baby... Please, help me..." I hear him sob into the phone. "Couldn't get the 8 ball... I took some pills and I feel nauseous... I need you, please just come here and- and jus hug... Just make me feel loved like you used to... I don't wanna die alone and sad, I want you by my side...."
I hold my breath. "...You're lying again."
Some time passes and he doesn't respond. "...You there?" I ask.
My heart drops at the lack of response and I immediately get up, throw some clothes on and head to his place again. I once again, burst into his apartment and this time see him on his bed with his eyes closed. I tear up as I drop onto my knees next to him. "Can you hear me? Jacob, can you hear me?!" I shake him but it doesn't bring him to consciousness. I take a note of the random medical pill packages on the floor and sit him up, shoving my fingers down his throat to make him throw up.
He gags, his eyes opening as he throws up. I then lay him back down and grab Naloxide from the table.
⁠♡
I lay next to him, the vomit I cleaned few minutes ago still present in my mind, feeling the acid in my nails and the smell. He has his arms wrapped around me tight. His heart is still beating. In fact, it started beating faster, he should be awake.
"...Why do you keep doing this?" I ask, my voice calm.
"...How else do I keep you around?" He asks gently, his voice a little hoarse from sobbing and wailing before on the phone. "I don't wanna live... If you're not with me."
I grit my teeth. "...I hate you." I whimper, before breaking out in sobs.
"...At least you're with me." He says calmly, burying his face in my hair while rubbing my shoulder to calm me down.
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A/N: Blehhh felt angsty and sad today. Hope you enjoy!
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pure-electric · 7 months
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~an introduction to ecobricking~
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hello fellow solarpunks! i've been interested in ecobricking for a while but i recently invested some time into researching them so here's a guide! it's a responsible way to sequester plastic from the environment, but making them is slightly more involved than just stuffing plastic in a bottle, if you want to use them for construction or weight-bearing projects like furniture. I'm mainly using information from GoBrik, which had the most comprehensive guide, but feel free to comment or rb with supplemental information.
FAQ:
Isn't it better to recycle plastic rather than ecobricking?
There are many plastics, such as food wrappers or packaging, that can't be recycled and end up degrading rapidly. Ecobricking sequesters those kinds of plastics from the ecosystem and also reduces the surface area exposed, which limits plastic degredation over time.
How do you use ecobricks?
You can use ecobricks in many applications, from furniture to structures. The long-term environmental impact of using ecobricks is still speculated on, but responsible upkeep mitigates their potential environmental impacts, which are still far less than the impact that plastic would have were it not sequestered.
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How To Ecobrick:
Find a plastic bottle. The bottles that you use for ecobricking should all be the same variety, which will help in any building projects that you may choose to use them for.
Find some plastic! Make sure to wash and dry your plastic, as any food residue or moisture could make your brick moldy or structurally unsound. You can cut up larger pieces of plastic, like food packaging (think bags of shredded cheese or frozen berries, or the plastic bags inside cereal boxes)-- just pack em in. If you want to be fancy, GoBrik recommends making the bottom layer of your ecobrick all one color, for aesthetic purposes later on. But it's really up to you. Please avoid putting biodegradable material, such as cardboard or paper, as well as glass or metal, in your ecobrick-- it'll affect the density and preferred composition. Plus, you can recycle those!
Calculate the density! This is the only part that involves math, I swear. You want to aim for a density of about 0.37 grams per milliliter; it shouldn't be under 0.33 g/ml or it'll be structurally unsound. It's also good to aim for a density less than 0.7 g/ml, or your bricks might be too heavy to move comfortably. The equation is just the weight in grams divided by the milliliters of the container you're using, so, for example, if you used a bottle than was 1250 ml, you would be aiming for about 475-500 g of plastic (including the bottle). (a kitchen scale is great for weighing, and you can thrift them pretty easily) Of course, if you're ecobricking to sequester plastic and not necessarily to build, you don't need to worry too much about the density, but if you wanted to donate your ecobricks to a project in the future I would encourage you to try to keep track of density.
Cap your bottle tightly, leaving 1-2 cm at the top of the bottle (basically, you don't want the cap to bulge, because it will make the cap degrade rapidly and crack). Label them with the density of the bottle (if it's relevant) and the date (so you know how long the brick has been around so you can maintain it if needed)-- nail polish works the best. Keep them out of the elements (especially the sun) and off the ground until you plan to use them.
There are tons of ways to use ecobricks! I'll link a few ideas below.
https://ecobricks.org/en/build.php
https://ecobricks.org/en/modules.php
anways, happy bricking! i'll post a picture of my finished ecobrick when it's done (hopefully not soon!)
Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecobricks
https://ecobricks.org/en/how.php
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archangeldyke-all · 9 months
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hello hello!!! here's the first 2 chapters of my next big fic as a little teaser for what's to come! the entire fic will be posted on the 24th on ao3, but for now-- enjoy this!
men and minors dni
You’re fucking starving. You haven’t eaten in a day and a half. It’s not the longest you’ve gone without food, but that doesn’t make the growling in your stomach any more comfortable. You’ve been collecting glass bottles all day, slowly filling up the potato sack hanging over your shoulder. Each bottle is worth a copper piece at the recycling plant-- but a full sack is worth ten gold. With that kind of money you could rent a room for the night, sleep in a fucking bed for once. 
You sigh as you haul yourself out of the dumpster you were scouring, hitching your half-full potato sack further up on your shoulder. Your stomach growls loudly as you amble your way out of the dingy alleyway and onto the main road. It’s a shockingly pleasant day in the Undercity, a warm breeze tickling your face as you navigate the busy streets. 
People give you a wide berth nowadays-- at least wider than it used to be. You’re not an unusual site in Zaun, though it is strange for a street dweller like yourself to have clear eyes. You haven’t given into the shimmer craze… at least not yet. You aren’t sure if your resolve will hold come winter. Shimmer keeps the body warm. Warm and dazed.
You shake your head to clear the thoughts of the neon substance, determined to ignore its existence until absolutely necessary. You’ve seen too many people get hooked on it. You’ve seen too many people die from it. You won’t let yourself become one of them, things aren’t that bad… yet. 
You turn down an alleyway, trudging toward an overflowing dumpster. Shrouded in shadows, you can barely make out the figure of an old woman slumped against the wall beside the dumpster. She mumbles incoherently at you, her hand littered with purple blisters and scars.
“Evening ma’am,” you say as you launch yourself over the lip of the dumpster. She mumbles back. “I won’t bother you for long. Just looking for glass. You seen any? You know they give you ten gold for a full sack?” You ask as you slice through garbage bags with your pocket knife. The woman slumps to sleep with a grunt. You sigh. “I guess it’s not that interesting is it?” You whisper to yourself as you inspect the contents of the garbage bags. Nothing. Shit. Your stomach growls and you eye a loaf of moldy bread in the corner of the dumpster. 
You really shouldn’t. Last time you ate moldy food you were vomiting and shitting yourself for three days, which is unpleasant to begin with, but even more so when you don’t have access to a bathroom. But you’re fucking starving. 
Your mouth salivates as you pick up the loaf, inspecting it closely. The mold’s grown its own fuzz, little green hairs waving at you as the wind blows. You really shouldn’t. 
You tear the loaf in half. The inside isn’t moldy… yet. Maybe you could pick out the good stuff. You start to rip through the loaf, looking for a salvageable bite. The woman outside the dumpster lets out a snore. Your stomach lets out another growl. You sigh, bringing the bread to your mouth.
“Here goes nothing.” You whisper. 
“Shit!” A high pitched voice rings out. You jump, the bread flying out of your hands as you whip around in the dumpster. Crouching down near the mouth of the alleyway is a little kid with a choppy haircut. She smacks her head repeatedly. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She mutters. You climb out of the dumpster, slowly approaching the kid. 
“Uh.” You say. The girl’s eyes snap up to yours, and she cowers against the wall. “You okay?” You ask. Her eyes are sparkling with tears, snot trailing out of her nose. 
“I fucked up.” She whispers to you. You blink. You don’t think you’ve ever heard a kid this small curse like that. 
“Watch your language?” You say uncertainty. She blinks at you, a tear slowly falling down her cheek. “C’mon it can’t be that bad.” You say. “What’d you do, shoplift?” You ask. You remember being a kid her age and getting chased out of convenience stores with your friends, pockets stuffed with candy, laughing all the way home. The little girl blinks again. “It’s cool, you can just give the shit back. Play up the misguided kid act, give ‘em puppy eyes, they’ll let you off the hook.” You say. She sniffs up at you. 
“I didn’t shoplift. I--”
Across the street, a corner store bursts into flames. You pull the kid in your arms as the shockwave from the explosion knocks you both on your asses. You groan, pulling away from the girl as alarms begin to blare and people begin to panic.
“I did that.” She finishes. You chuckle as you stand up and dust yourself off. 
“Come on, where’re your parents? They’re probably worried about you now.” You offer the kid a hand, and she takes it, shakily standing. 
“You don’t believe me?” She asks, wiping her snotty face with the back of her hand. 
“That you didn’t steal? Nah, I believe you. You just gotta make sure the owner believes you.” You say. “Shit, was that Elijah’s?” You ask, peeking around the wall of the alley to watch as patrons come running out of the front door, smoke billowing out after them. The front window’s been blown out, flames growing inside the tavern. “Always hated that fucker. Serves him right. Wonder who he pissed off this time.” You mumble. 
“Me.” The girl says. You chuckle. 
“Yeah?”
“Well, he wouldn’t give me any fizzy juice and I know he had some. Then he called me a rat and told me to scram. So I snuck in and rigged the joint to blow. Only problem is… I set the timer on the bomb to a minute instead of an hour.” She says with a shrug, scratching her blue hair. You blink. “Plus, the old man I’m living with was talking about Elijah a few weeks ago. Said he was competition or something. So yaknow. Two birds, one bomb.” She rambles. You blink again. Across the street, a man screams as his shirt catches on fire. People swarm him, trying to pat out the flames. You blink for a third time. 
“How old are you?” You choke out, eyes snapping back to the kid in front of you. 
“Nine and three quarters! Almost double digits.” She says with a proud smile. 
“Uhm.” You say, trying to figure out how to handle the situation. God, you haven’t talked to a kid in years. “Aren’t you a little young to be… blowing shit up?” You ask. The girl huffs a put upon sigh. 
“That’s what everyone says.”
“Hey!” An angry voice rings out. Both of your heads snap to the street where Elijah stands, silhouetted by the flames consuming his bar. 
“Shit.” The kid whispers. You gulp. 
“Hey you! Grab that fuckin’ kid!” Elijah says, pointing at you. You freeze. The kid beside you freezes as well. “I’m gonna kill you, you little shit!” He says as he tears across the street toward the two of you. Fuck.
“Fuck!” The girl shrieks, tugging on your hand, trying to get you to run. You blink. Elijah is suddenly towering over you, nostrils flared, brow dirtied with soot. The kid cowers behind you. 
“I recognize you, you filthy bitch. You’re the one always crawling through my dumpsters. Step aside and I won’t kill you too.” He growls. 
“Get fucked.” You say. You try not to laugh at the way his face jumps in surprise. “What, you think a little kid blew up your place?” You ask, pushing the girl behind you. “She can’t even fuckin’ read!” 
“Yes I can.” The girl mumbles under her breath.
“She’s been terrorizing my establishment for months!”
“She’s nine and a half!” You shout, puffing out your chest and standing up straight.
“Nine and three quarters.” She huffs behind you. You elbow her.
“You’re a grown man Elijah, and you wanna beat up a little girl? Go fuck yourself.” You say. Behind your back, you start shooing the kid away with your hand. She tugs on yours but you shake her off, pushing her further down the alley. Elijah’s staring you down, cracking his knuckles and settling into a fighting stance. You gulp. “Matter of fact, what makes you so sure it was her? Half of Zaun hates your guts. It coulda been anyone!” You hear the little footsteps of the kid as she scurries away, and luckily Elijah’s too focused on you to notice. “Coulda been me.” Elijah raises an eyebrow. 
“You?” He scoffs. 
“Yeah, jackass. You really pissed me off when you threw water on me last week. I’m not a fuckin’ animal, you know.” He laughs at this. “Matter of fact, it was me!” You say. You must be hysterical from the starvation, because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. “That’s right asshole, bet you didn’t think I knew anything about explosives, did ya?” You taunt. 
“That’s enough outta you. Move.” He says, shoving you. You don’t budge.
“No.” You say. He growls. 
“One more warning, whore.”
“Get. Fucked.”  
The next thing you know, you’re flat on your back in the alleyway, murky water slowly seeping in your clothes as Elijah pummels into you. You take half a dozen punches to your face, your nose crunching, one of your teeth cracking. Then he moves onto stomping your ribs, hard enough for you to lose your breath, your ribs cracking under his boot. You fade in and out of consciousness a few times, but before he can well and truly kill you, he stops. 
“Where the fuck did she go?!” He spits at you. You blink up at him, dazed. “Fuck.” He lands one more solid kick into your ribs before he tears down the alleyway in pursuit of the kid. 
You turn on your side, trying to catch your breath, watching your blood slowly trickle into the puddle below you. You hope the girl got away. Your eyes catch on the woman sleeping beside the dumpster. She’s either dead, or she slept through the explosion and fight. You hope she’s just sleeping. Somewhere in the distance, the fire brigade arrives. The pain in your body flares dramatically and you groan, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. You curl in on yourself as the pain wracks through your body, and you cry yourself to sleep.
“Over here!” 
You blink awake. For a fleeting moment, the only thing you feel is the heaviness of your eyelids and the cool wet concrete beneath you. Your eyes focus on the woman by the dumpster, in the same position she was before you passed out, her skin pale and ghostly. You suck a breath in. She’s dead. You sigh an exhale, and suddenly, the pain in your body comes rushing in. You feel like you’ve been run over by a stampede. 
“Fuck!” You moan, curling in on yourself. You hitch your breath and cry out in pain at the stabbing sensation that flares up in your sides. There’s a pounding in your head, your vision goes blurry and you close your eyes, crying. 
Footsteps approach you. You blink your eyes open, but your vision fuzzes before you can make out more than a pair of boots in front of you. Fuck. You’re gonna throw up. 
“Move.” You warn. It’s the only thing you manage to spit out before you’re spewing bile. The person connected to the boots groans. 
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” A woman’s voice growls out above you.
“Told you to move.” You groan. More footsteps. You try opening your eyes again. Several pairs of feet surround you now. Shit. “I don’t have any money.” You croak. 
“You’re certain this is her?” A man’s voice asks. 
“I’m nobody.” You insist, trying to sit up. The world spins beneath you and you collapse back on the pavement. You whimper. A hand grabs your shoulder. You flinch. “I said I don’t have any money!” You cry out. 
“Shit, calm down.” The woman’s voice speaks again.
“Lemme see her face.” A squeaky voice sounds up. Your eyes snap open in shock. You know that voice. A boot covered in your vomit nudges you, and you flop on your back. Five people peer down at you. “It’s her!” The girl who blew up Elijah’s exclaims. 
“What the fuck?” You say. Above you, a pale person with dramatic slanted bangs chuckles. 
“That’s what I’m saying.” They mutter. The cloaked woman and tattooed wall of a muscular man beside them laugh. 
“That’s enough.” The slender man looming over you snaps. They quiet immediately. He studies you intently. Half of his face is scarred, and his prosthetic black and orange eye bores into you. Beside him, the little girl is holding his hand. “Jinx here tells me you took a beating for her. Is that true?” He asks. Your eyes flick to the little girl. She nods at you, grinning. 
“Um. Yes?” You say. It’s silent for a moment as the skinny man eyes you, then he snaps his fingers. 
“Sevika.” He says, his eyes flickering over to the woman. “Get her.” He commands, turning on his heel, dragging the girl along with him. You blink. The giant tattooed man laughs and pats the woman’s shoulder as she scowls down at you. He and the pale person turn to follow behind the little girl and the skinny scarred man. The only person remaining in your visual field is the woman. She rolls her eyes. 
Suddenly, you’re being lifted into her arms. You groan in pain as the woman jostles you. “Quit squirming.” She grunts as she begins walking behind her entourage. You gasp, her stomping footsteps sending flashes of pain throughout your abdomen. 
“Where-- ow fuck!-- where are y-you taking me?” You ask. The woman glances down at you, but doesn’t say anything. She jostles you in her arms. You cry out, burying your face in her shoulder to muffle your cries.
Somewhere ahead of you, the skinny man’s voice rings out, “Be kind to our guest, Sevika.” The woman carrying you huffs. 
“Fucking barfed on my boots.” She grumbles under her breath. You can only hear it because you’re tucked under her chin. You groan. 
“S-sorry.” You stutter out through the tears. She doesn’t respond. 
You don’t try to fight it. What could you do? You just let the little procession march you through the streets. The woman holding you is warm. You fall in and out of sleep against her. 
One moment you’re outside and in the next you’re blinking awake on a doctor’s table. 
The skinny scarred man is studying you. Beside him is another skinny man, the beginnings of shimmer scars decorating his skin. 
“Put her back to sleep.” The one with the black and orange eye commands. You black out. 
You wake up again in a bed, groggy and warm. You blink up at the ceiling. When was the last time you were this comfortable? You don’t remember. You fall back asleep trying to recall.
The next time you wake up, it’s to someone poking your face repeatedly. You flinch awake. The little girl from the alley is standing beside your bed. “You’re awake!” She says, excited. You blink again.
“I wonder why.” You grumble, smacking her hand away from your face. She giggles guiltily. “Where are we?” You ask her, trying to sit up in bed. One of her little hands shoots out to push your shoulder. 
“Don’t get up.” She says. “‘Parently you broke your ribs.” 
“Fuck.” You huff. She giggles again. You relax against the bed. “Am I on drugs?” You ask. You feel… no pain. And floaty in a nice way. 
“Shimmer.” The little girl says. “And some other stuff.”
“Shit.” You say. There goes your goal to stay off the stuff. You huff out a defeated laugh, but it quickly turns into a happy little giggle. Shit, you really are high. “Shit!” You say again, laughing. The girl laughs with you. 
“You say a lot of bad words.” She says, grinning. You raise a finger up to your lips in a ‘shh’ motion. 
“You didn’t hear ‘em from me.” You say, threateningly. She laughs again. You smile. She’s a cute kid. “Did you really blow up that building?” You ask her. She nods proudly. You snort. “How?!” Her eyes get wide, a grin spreading on her lips as she scrambles to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. With flailing hand gestures, the little girl enthusiastically recounts her process, walking you through the various trials and errors she ran into trying to get inside Elijah’s, the type of explosives she used and how she charged them, and how the stupid kitchen timer betrayed her by the loose time switch downshifting from hours to minutes at the last moment. 
“...and so then I had to run for cover, and you found me.” She finishes. You giggle. 
“Where did you get explosives from?” You ask. She shrugs. 
“Silco keeps ‘em locked up downstairs, just had to snag the key and let myself in.” 
“Who’s Silco?” You ask. 
“That guy I was with when we found you in the alley. He’s like my foster dad or something.” She says, shrugging. 
“You live in a house with explosives in the basement?” 
“No, silly, I live here.” 
“Right…” You say. “And where are we… exactly?” You ask for the second time that night. 
“Silco’s.” She says, squinting at you like you’re stupid. 
“...Right.” You say, nodding like you understand. 
“Wanna see a cool knife trick?” The girl asks, jumping off the bed and reaching in her back pocket. You shrug. 
“Sure.” You say. 
The door suddenly opens, the skinny scarred man standing on the other side. Silco, you guess.
“Jinx. What did I tell you about knives.” He says tiredly, walking in the room and snatching the knife out of her hands. She pouts and stomps her foot. “Go draw. I need to talk to our guest in private.” 
“What? No fair! She’s the coolest person in this stinking place and I’m the one who found her! I should get to play with her all I want!” She demands. You blink, unsure if you should be flattered or worried that the strange kid’s taken a liking to you. 
“She’s not a pet Jinx.” The man says, guiding the girl out of the room. “Go finish your mural in the east hall. I want to see what you end up doing with the green.” 
The girl grumbles, stomping away. The man sighs and clicks the door shut, turning to face you. Suddenly, you’re nervous. You lift your hand. “Uh. Hi.” You say. 
“Hello.” He says. He pulls a chair up to your bedside and sits, crossing one of his legs over the other. He studies you intently. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions, all of which I’ll be happy to answer. But first I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.” 
“Don’t think I got a choice, do I?” You ask with a chuckle. He smiles. 
“No, I suppose you don’t.”
“Shoot.” You say, shrugging. He clears his throat, eyeing your neck. You gulp. 
“You wouldn’t happen to be the niece of Ms. Bonnie May, would you?” He asks. You spring up in bed, the pain that suddenly swells in your sides is nothing compared to the chill of fear that shoots down your spine. 
“How the fuck do you know that name?” You ask Silco rises, reaching out to steady you and help you lie back down.
“Relax. I was friends with Bonnie.” He says as he eases you back onto the pillows. You blink. 
“Work friends?” You ask. He nods, sitting back down. You blink again, understanding slowly dawning upon you. You shake your head and laugh. “What’d she do for you?” You ask. Silco sighs, a reminiscent smile tugging on his lips. 
“Smuggling mostly. She really was the best there was, as I’m sure you know. She saved my life several times in that damn basement of hers.” You snort a laugh. “And of course the odd counterfeited document.” 
“You weren’t a fan of her home brew then?” You ask with a smile. Silco chuckles. 
“Did she really have customers for that shit?” He asks. You giggle. 
“Half a dozen regulars.” You say. Silco shivers. 
“She’d drink it like water! I was always impressed by that.” He says. You laugh. 
“She was a tough old broad.”
“She was.” He says, solemnly. For a moment, it’s silent. You try to swallow back the sudden lump in your throat. “She talked about you all the time.” He says. You scoff.
“How I was eating her out of a house and home?” You guess. Silco smiles. 
“That, and the teenage mood swings.” You grin. 
“She was always talking shit.” 
“She loved you dearly.” He says. The sudden seriousness in his voice catches you off guard. The tears in your eyes quickly begin to well up again. 
“How’d you know I was hers?”
“Your scar.” He says, nodding to the side of your neck. You reach up, gently tracing raised skin beneath your ear. Your aunt was a talented woman with a flair for the dramatic-- her products always had a hidden calling card: a cockroach. Whether printed microscopically in the seal of her counterfeit Piltover cash, etched into the bottom of her bottles, or branded into the skin of her patients, your aunt signed all her work with the indestructible bugs. The message was clear. If it was signed with a roach, Bonnie May did it. “I have one of my own, here.” He says pointing to his stomach. “I was disemboweled. She shoved my guts back in and sewed me up.” He says. “It was a miracle I lived.” You laugh. 
“You know she only ever lost five people?” 
“She was incredible.”
You and Silco are silent for a moment, memories of your aunt flashing though your minds. Finally, you speak. “Uh, if you don’t mind me asking… where are we, exactly?” You ask. Silco perks up in his seat. 
“Oh, yes! Well, you see, Jinx has recently come into my care.” He begins. You nod. “And while we’ve made great progress in these past two years together, she still has a tendency to sneak away and get herself in trouble.” He scratches the back of his head. “She’s a troubled girl…”
“She’s smart.” You say. He grins with pride. 
“She’s a genius. But she doesn’t think things through. I have no doubt in my mind Elijah would’ve killed her if you hadn’t stepped in. I had no idea who you were before we found you, I simply wanted to repay the debt to whoever protected Jinx. But then I saw your neck, and your condition, and well. Your aunt wouldn’t want you on the streets. With all she did for me in her life, and with what you did for Jinx, I thought it best I bring you back here.”
“And… where is ‘here’ exactly?”
“The Last Drop. My headquarters.” 
“That bar downtown?” You ask. 
“The one and only.” 
“What are you… headquartering?” You ask. Silco examines you, then leans forward. 
“Your aunt was a strong soldier in the rebellion. I take it you share the same… political sentiments?” He asks. You snort. 
“I’m not a bootlickin’ narc, if that’s what you’re asking. Bonnie raised me with proper values.” Silco smiles. 
“I figured. I’m the head of a particularly lucrative business operation.” You tick an eyebrow up. 
“Drugs or sex?” 
“Shimmer.” He says. 
“You’re the one who’s been putting that shit on the streets?” You ask. He nods. You grunt. “And what does that have to do with the rebellion?” 
“The money I make goes towards the independence of Zaun.” He says. You laugh. 
“Yeah? Who died and put you in charge?” You ask. Silco scowls at you. “Shit, okay.” You say, raising your hands. “Sorry.” 
“You’ve certainly got your aunt’s mouth.” Silco says. You huff a laugh. That’s true. Bonnie was always getting into trouble for running her mouth. 
“So… why did you bring me to the headquarters of the rebellion?” You ask. Silco hums. 
“I’m hoping maybe your mouth isn’t the only thing you inherited from Bonnie. You could be of great help to us here. I owe you a debt-- I owe your aunt several. I figured I could start my pay back with an offer.” 
“An offer?” You ask. 
“You clearly aren’t in the best situation right now.” Silco says bluntly. “I can give you a room. Here. And a paycheck every week.” He says. You snort. 
“That’s kind of you, sir, but Bonnie never let me near her work. I’d  be useless here.” 
“If I asked you to make me a bottle of moonshine the way Bonnie used to, you’d be able to, yes?” 
“Well, yes, but you just said you didn’t like--”
“And if I asked you what to do if you’re ever being questioned by enforcers?” He asks, cutting you off. 
“Say nothing, request your Undercity-relation representative--”
“You know basic first aid?” He asks. “CPR?”
“Well, yes, but--”
“How about Bonnie’s old mineshaft, with that elevator up top-- you remember where that is? Could you get me there?” 
“Yeah, it’s just north of the--” You’re cut off again.
“And Jinx. You’re good with her.”
“I mean… I’ve spoken to her twi--”
“You were on the streets for how long? More than half a year now? And you’ve avoided shimmer this long. You’re resilient.” He says. 
“I haven’t had to get through winter yet.”
“You took a beating for a girl you’ve never met.” 
“She’s a kid, any decent person would’ve--”
“Your aunt taught you self defense? Basic knife skills?” 
“Sure, but everyone down here--”
“You’re hired.” Silco says. You snap your mouth shut. Tears well in your eyes. 
“You can’t be serious.” You say. 
“Why not?” Silco asks. “You don’t want it?” 
“Of course I want it but--”
“Then you’re hired.”
taglist!
@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666
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ranposbabe · 9 months
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Infidel | Johan Liebert x Reader
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Chapter 23
Guilt can wash over someone strongly like a wave crashes over a rock. Yours just happens to be closed off like those ornaments of a ship inside a bottle.
Except of it being intact it’s a shipwreck in a perfectly still bottle. You wonder if it will ever crack.
“She simply walked into the water and never came back out.” Mr Fox spoke with his rather husky voice that sometimes was hard to understand.
“It’s not uncommon for prostitutes to kill themselves it’s just simply reacurring over time.”
“I’m not upset about her killing herself.” You shake your head, continuing to stare out upon the dark water.
What even was her name ? Bella or Stella ? You’ve come all this way from your apartment to a beach who knows how many miles away and for what ?
You’d rather sit within the moldy walls at this stage.
Mr Fox was a man who worked alongside your father for many years. As of late you hadn’t seen the man. As a matter of fact you never even seen him drinking in the pub let alone alongside those drunks.
You knew he was no issue when it came to who to partially blame for your father recently being the man that he is.
But you weren’t sure why your father gave him the nickname Fox. Perhaps he was sly as a Fox but those words were only slurred by your father whenever he drank.
You never took his word sober so why would you then.
“I’m irritated because I didn’t see this coming.” You kick a pebble as if you were a child throwing a tantrum. “This is just evidence.” You hold back the urge to groan. If you weren’t wearing a cast your fist would’ve been clenched.
“I’ve lost my focus.” You roll your eyes, only now truly seeing the somewhat bigger picture.
“Was there any focus to begin with ?” Like your father he’d say these idiotic rhetorical questions to give the appearance of having the upper hand. You weren’t falling for it. “You’re uncomfortable. But then I suppose when are you not ?” A sincere yet tired smile was briefly evident on his face.
“I’ve been confiding in others as of late.” You slightly gave in. “One of these others has stood out to me.” You spoke quietly, no longer daring to keep your head up.
“You know about the fire of the shed, yes ?” You ask, already knowing the answer. His slight nod confirms your assumption. “It’s been on my mind as of late.”
You did feel somewhat bad about the fact that you completely forgot that the man even existed. You didn’t even know the mans real name. You never asked. Not out of awkwardness but rather out of lack of care. You doubted you would even interact much to even say his name thankfully.
“I’m not really interested as to why he’s mentioned in the file but rather the illusion as to how could he be ?”
“Who is it ?” “I’d rather not say.” You spoke for once much hastily. “Why ? Are you protecting him ?” He raised a brow. He wasn’t genuinely curious. He was just seemingly amused by the distant look in your eyes. Mr Fox could tell just by a single glance at your glossed over eyes that who ever you were currently thinking over was a constant thought in your mind. Perhaps maybe even if you yourself were unaware of it. If he guessed right now he’d say you were thinking of a young man that thoughts were also filled of you.
“No.” You want to stop yourself from speaking. You never want to speak again. It’s still far too early. What time is it ?
“I just get the sudden sense that saying his name out loud would be wrong.”
You’ve spoken too much.
“Have you ever said his name aloud to others ?”
It was obvious now. You simply mix up guilt and annoyance. “Drive me home.” You sigh, waking off as you were no longer amused by the splashing and chaotic waves. After all, it was no stream.
“I’m going back to bed.”
If you wish to be added to the taglist please comment below to let me know!!!
TAGLIST: @nimuelis @meigalahadovna @sugaredpersimmon @thesimpupthesky @sarcastic-cookie
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italiantea · 1 year
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hyperspecific poll: inept manchild edition
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ros3ybabe · 10 months
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Day 9 - 90 Day Challenge 🎀
I really hope I'm on the right day because it seems like time has been going by slower since I've started this challenege? Maybe its just the way my silly little brain processes time. Or maybe I missed a few days and forgot. Who knows?
🏋‍♀️ Physical Health
honestly, nothing. I over ate, didn't drink enough water, had way too much caffiene, forgot to take my meds, didnt leave my room much at all, and ate a bit unhealthy because i was so sad.
oh, but I did eat an apple and some red grapes as a snack! maybe that counts?
🧠 Mental Health
again, nothing. it got so bad that I did have to take an anxiety med (I have some prescribed as needed for insomnia/high anxiety moments) and it calmed my brain down right away.
❤️ Emotional Health
had another talk with my boyfriend about how I've been feeling, this time in regards to our relationship.
watched a movie with my boyfriend over video call <3
bought a new set of sports bras online as a form of retail therapy + I need them
📚 Intellectual Health
also, nothing. it was a holiday, I didn't want to stress myself out with school work. that's gonna be for today.
🏘 Adulting
cleaned my bathroom a little bit (finally). scrubbed and wiped down the toilet, disinfected the sink, faucet, and counter, and cleaned the mirror!
took out my bedroom trash and threw away old (moldy) plastic food containers that I forgot about for almost a week (so sad)
organized my never ending pile of tote bags and belts to make more space in my room
did a load of laundry and put away ALL of the clean clothes in my room (there were two very full baskets of clean clothes just waiting to be organized)
organized my desk
🥰 Self Love/Care
did my morning skincare
showered and washed my hair and put on clean, fresh clothes (in an effort to get out of my depressive slump)
tried to let in some natural sunlight (it was a gloomy, cloudy day but I tried)
My only *smallish goals for today is to drink an entire bottle of my electrolyte water (1 liter) + 3 more smaller bottles of water, finish my current psyc notes, a quiz, and maybe a writing assignment that's due on Monday, maybe study for my psyc final and work on the final paper, eat a bit healthier today, and try to get outside for maybe a little bit. and remember to take my meds.
I don't like feeling so down. but I know when I feel restricted or trapped or super introverted, that's when I start self sabotaging. I choose to stay inside because my brain gives me anxiety fueled excuses about why I shouldn't go outside. But that makes the depression worse. I try to compensate by over eating to get those dopamine hits, but that makes me feel bad and fuels the depression.
I just need to work on building sustainable, healthier, easy to execute habits for when I get like this. it'll be the best thing I can do for myself. and it'll make my life a whole lot easier.
that's my little mini rant for the day. if anyone has any tips for building healthy habits to work with their depression, I'd love to hear them.
til next time lovelies 🩷
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abovecalamity · 9 months
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If I may - I tried to match the reaction pics to the stories. hehe.
Fic that made me laugh: Monopolistic position by @sassymillenialscorpio Fernando/Lewis - 1.1k - n/r Crack. Fun. Short.
“I said I don’t have enough money.” He looked up just in time to see the wolfish smile appear on Fernando’s face.
Fic that made me cry: sanctuary by @sunshinesebby Charles/Seb - 233k (so far) - E Despair. Three am read. Reading that pulls you in and will never let you go again, ever.
"People will eat moldy food or contaminated water over starving every time, in the end. It's the hope. Maybe you will survive the poison, but you know you won't survive the starving. It's so human."
Fic that gave me a story hangover: One thousand laps of Jeddah by @ininininininstayoutstayout George centric - 68k - G Literally concern increasing bit by bit. Organised insanity. My love for time loops is thriving. I'm constantly thinking about this.
It’s a special kind of torture, devised just for George. There are only two constants, as far as he can tell; tomorrow is always today, and George will fuck up everything that he tries. Someone somewhere must really, really hate him.
Fic I want to discuss book-club style: Parallel Players by @parallelplayers George/Lance - 414k (so far) - E A whole ass alternative timeline and so much detail. I want to talk about it forever. Glance manifesto.
“Uh, this is - how long is this gonna be?” Seventy five slides, but it was laid out with five introductory slides, forty Lance slides, fifteen slides Fernando, and then ten analysis, questions and conclusion slides. “You asked me for my opinion.”
It's George's world, we're all just living in it basically.
Fic that got me a little flustered: Kamikaze by @pitconfirm George/Lance - 12.4k - E Altered my brain chemistry. Oh my. Always pausing when reading for the overwhelming feelings that flush my brain.
George is fucked.  He’d thought it was bad before; desperately wanting Lance to hate him. However, wanting Lance to like him is indescribably worse.
Fic by one of my fave authors: bedrooms in budapest by @merenwenformulauno Fernando/Lance - 4.3 k - E Start of a great series. Obsessed with the characterisation. Sad for everyone that misses out on this.
Dimly, Lance thinks back to other times he has found himself with Fernando in his hotel room. Had the Spaniard bottled it before? It seems ridiculous to think someone like Fernando Alonso might have been intimidated by Lance.
Fic I reread more than once: tbh I reread almost every good fic all the time. maybe we got lost (in translation) by @alpinelogy Esteban&/Lance - 6.7k - T Language struggles, so relatable. Feeds into my obsession with Lesteban. Again, communication centric ahhh!
The consonants feel weird, clunky, so much different from the free flowing French ones. Even so, the feel of it isn't bad, it's different but not bad. He hums a bit in thought, “I guess I am a beanpole.” He says in French but repeats the word in English again.
Fic I sent to everyone I know: If not, I'm sending it to you now: cassini's descent by basedchamp Lewis/Seb - 3.3k - T SPACE. Atmosphere description over the moon. Lonely together.
On Mars, men do not deny themselves. Sebastian reaches out and tucks a braid behind Lewis’ ear. Lewis leans into his hand, just a touch, and they sit like this, across from each other with Westminster Palace between them.
Fic that made me fall in love with an author: Heaven’s Gates Won’t Open Up for Me by @lil-shiro Fernando/Lance - 6k - E Wings. Love. After reading this, there was no turning back on any fic of yours.
Fernando never once thought that Lance would be the one to ruin him. The undefined variable in his equation, the unknown. I should’ve known better, he thinks to himself while looking up to the other in flying circles above his head. Oh well, he’ll just have to live with it.
I've read many many many more great fics this year as well. What a great year for the reader inside me.
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ap41cu5 · 3 months
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The Rookie Detective: Joseph Oda x Fem! Reader (Chapter 4)
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short synposis: joseph goes and visits sebastian, only to find out both his alcoholism and living conditions were worse than he thought. after helping him tidy up a bit and sustaining a cut on his face, the reader takes care of his wounds and lets him stay the night after he caught a cold <3
a/n: omg this only took me like a week to upload idk why this took me so long to write 😭 and these chapters just keep getting longer so i cut it a bit short at the end </3
word count: 4331
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“Hey! Open up, I know you’re in there.”
Silence.
“Ugh,” Joseph grumbled, pounding on the door another few times.
“I’m not leaving until you open the door! I don’t care how long you decide to ignore me for!”
More silence.
The lush potted plants that used to decorate the patio had turned brown and moldy. A thick layer of dust coated his door handle, indicating that Sebastian hadn’t had visitors in a long while. 
“Don’t make me break down this door, Sebastian!” Joseph exclaimed, knocking another frustrated 3-4 times.
With an exasperated sigh, Joseph leaned onto one of the pillars just outside of Sebastian’s door.
He waited for about 30 seconds before he decided to begin knocking again until he heard the sweet sound of the latch unlocking. Finally emerging from behind the door, Sebastian’s hair was greasy and run amok, his now raggedy white tee-shirt was stained with what appeared to be remnants of alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What do you want, Joseph? Just leave me be,” Sebastian’s voice was low and husky.
“You know I can’t do that,” Joseph said, letting himself in as he lightly pushed Sebastian aside to get through.
Taking off his shoes, Joseph’s nose immediately crinkled up at the sheer stench of the inside of his home. It reeked of alcohol and dust mixed with body odor. The entirety of his living room was riddled with stains, empty beer cans, and leftover bottles of wine. There was dust all over the fireplace and on the coffee table. As he entered the living room, taking in the gross and utterly pitiful sight, his attention was redirected by a noise from beside him.
“Do you like your gift, Lily?”
Joseph turned to the source of the sound. There was a video playing on the TV, it appeared to have been recorded on an old VHS. Myra was sitting next to Lily in front of a Christmas tree as she helped Lily to open her gift. A large, white teddy bear emerged from the red and white wrapping paper, it wore a Christmas hat and held a big red heart.
“I love it! Thanks so much papa!” Lily squeezed the bear in a hug before running behind the camera and into Sebastian’s arms.
The sight pained Joseph. How long has Sebastian been watching that for? Reminiscing over old memories of the family who had been brutally stolen from him?
“When’s the last time you’ve cleaned up around here? Or even taken a shower?” Joseph asked.
Joseph quickly went to find Sebastian’s pantry closet, where he grabbed a black trash bag and began to clean up all the leftover beer cans and bottles of wine. 
How does he live like this? Joseph thought to himself, his trash bag already halfway full despite there being even more bottles, cans, and even used tissues to clean up.
Sebastian didn’t say a word, but decided the least he could do was help him clean up the mess. Grabbing a trash bag and standing beside Joseph, he too began to clean up all of the trash left scattered around the living room.
Neither of them said a word as they both collected all of the leftover remnants. 
As Joseph picked up the last beer can, a cockroach scurried out from underneath, making him wince.
“Eugh, when’s the last time you’ve vacuumed?” Joseph asked as he watched the cockroach crawl behind the couch.
Sebastian didn’t answer, only grabbing the two full trash bags and taking them to the trash bin in his front yard. As Joseph went to return to the pantry for a vacuum cleaner, he noticed an empty bottle of alcohol left on his kitchen table.
“Looks like I missed one,” Joseph muttered to himself as he went to grab the bottle.
Grabbing the bottle by its neck, it slipped out of his grasp before he was able to catch it. The bottle smashed against the floor with a jarring ‘kersploosh!’ 
Shit.
Gathering up all the shards with his hands, he dumped all of the shards into a small trash bag to be thrown out later.
Joseph sighed, rubbing off any dust that got on his face. Returning to the pantry closet in search of a vacuum, he noticed a drop of red drip onto the floor. 
Was that.. blood?
A second drop of blood dripped onto his sock.
“Ouch!” Joseph lightly winced as he felt around his face for an open cut. 
There was what felt to be a slight cut just underneath his eye, and he had just added a second one as he continued to feel around his face. Looking down at his glove, there were small bits of glass shards likely from the broken bottle he dropped. It stung, but it was getting late and Joseph wanted to return home as quickly as he could for work in the morning. So he settled for quickly removing his gloves for the time being and dabbing the bleed site with a paper towel before he quickly returned to tending to Sebastian’s ungodly living situation.
Plugging the vacuum in, he proceeded to vacuum the entire area of carpet within his living room. The sound of the vacuum running over the carpet elicited a series of cracking noises as it removed all the dust and grime. As Sebastian re-emerged from his garage, he assisted Joseph by moving his furniture out of the way for Joseph to vacuum.
Minutes turned into hours as Joseph cleaned up around Sebastian’s home for him. While his home wasn’t exactly spotless, it was certainly in better condition than before.
“You should really consider getting help, Sebastian. Maybe getting a therapist,” Joseph suggested, taking his glasses off and inspecting all of the dust that covered its lenses. 
Sebastian, again, didn’t answer. Only breaking eye contact.
“I appreciate your help, Joseph.” “Hey, I’m serious! This isn’t healthy. How long have you been rewatching that video of Myra and Lily? You can’t drink all your problems away, Sebastian!” Joseph frustratedly huffed.
“What I do outside of work is none of your goddamn business.”
“I know you’re upset right now, so I’ll give you time to think over my offer. But, I do hope that you will begin therapy by your own prerogative,” Joseph replied as he put his glasses back on and began to make his way to the door.
Unsurprisingly, Joseph was only met by silence.
Shutting the front door behind him, Joseph pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood at the front of the patio.
“Please don’t make this harder than this already is, Sebastian,” Joseph muttered to himself under his breath.
Taking one final glance at the patio before he set on his way, he noticed one of the potted plants had been knocked over, likely due to the wind. He never knew Myra enjoyed gardening, but the abundance of plants around the house spoke for themselves. He carefully picked up the pot and set it upright, the leaves crunching as they rattled within the confines of the pot.
Joseph sighed. The scene was nothing short of depressive. 
“Not even the plants can survive without you, Myra,” said Joseph as he carefully scooped back up the loose soil that fell out of the pot.
“Wherever you are,” he paused for a moment, “Sebastian misses you. Both you and Lily.”
He got up, quickly dusting himself off as he finally made his way to his car. The deep blue color of the sky flooded the streets in darkness. With the only hint of illumination cascading down onto the busy streets from the moon, Joseph nearly tripped over his own two feet.
Just about to approach the last step down from Sebastian’s porch, his phone loudly rang from the inside of his pocket. The jarring sound made him jump as he quickly fumbled through his pockets to answer the rather unexpected phone call. Looking down at the caller ID, he held a certain level of uncertainty as to whether or not he remembered your phone number correctly, and if it really was you he was receiving a call from.
“Hello?” Joseph spoke into the phone, hoping to hear your voice on the other line.
“Joseph?” You replied, your voice a bit gravely after just waking up.
“(First Name)! I thought you’d be sleeping!” He replied, his heart rate immediately increasing upon hearing your voice.
“Your note was so considerate, Joseph. I– uh..” you gulped, “I wanted to check up on you.” Joseph immediately felt his face heat up.
“You.. you did?” He stammered, flattered that you were thinking of him.
“In the note you wrote that in case I was sleeping, you said you didn’t want to call in case you’d wake me up since I hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. So.. I wanted to check up on you. To see how everything went with Sebastian.”
You were just so sweet. You should have been sleeping right now, really. You were very clearly exhausted by how you were acting in the office earlier that day. He could even hear the exhaustion in your voice, but here you were, sacrificing precious time just to check up on him. His stomach was doing somersaults and he could feel his face heat up all the way up to his ears.
“It– it went.. alright I suppose. Sebastian’s not doing so great. He’s been watching this video on repeat for– God knows how long– of Lily and Myra opening Christmas presents. His house was a mess. All kinds of empty bottles of alcohol, and so much dust and grime everywhere. He’s falling apart,” Joseph felt his chest tighten, “I wanted to help him clean up as much as I could before I had to go back home, so I helped him clean up a bit and vacuum. And of course, I accidentally knocked over a bottle and cut myself on my face of all places.”
“That’s very kind of you, Joseph. Simply based on what I’ve heard, I would highly advise him to begin seeing a therapist. And, who’s Myra and Lily?” You asked.
Joseph sighed, he accidentally said too much.. again.
“I’m sorry, (First Name). I would tell you, but I still hold a lot of respect for Sebastian. He’s been a very good friend of mine for years, I would never want to ruin that,” he explained, feeling a bit bad for continuing to leave you confused.
“That’s alright, Joseph. I understand completely. And– and you said that you accidentally cut yourself, right? You didn’t happen to cut yourself with glass, did you?” You inquired, unsure of whether to be concerned or not.
“Uh.. yeah,” Joseph replied, a tinge of embarrassment present in his tone.
“Shit, did you tend to it properly!? Come back to my apartment,” you told him.
Joseph elicited a noise which consisted of a mix of grunt of confusion and slight panic. “Glass cuts can leave microshards which could be dangerous if they enter your bloodstream! I’ll clean it up for you, just come over to my apartment! I’ll remove them for you.” You quickly interjected,
“(First Name), are you sure that’s necessary? The cuts are really shallow–” “Just do it!” Your voice was laced with a sort of motherly aggression with how insistent you were on tending to his wounds.
He seemed to contemplate for a moment whether he should truly decline the offer or not. Despite how much he would enjoy the extra time with you, it was getting quite late. But apparently, the word “no” had recently escaped from his vocabulary. 
“Alright, I’m on my way,” Joseph replied, nearly facepalming upon hearing how quickly he said accepted your offer.
You almost fell out of your seat, you weren’t expecting him to say yes so quickly. But you were glad to spend more time with him.
“Sounds great! I–I mean, well, I’m glad I can tend to your wound since glass cuts can be tricky,” you stammered, you likely sounded a bit too excited for him to be coming over again.
A smile pricked at the corners of Joseph’s mouth.
“I’ll see you soon, (First Name).” 
Shortly after hanging up the phone, Joseph inwardly sighed before taking a moment to gaze up at the night sky.
“You really are going to be the death of me, (First Name),” Joseph muttered to himself before quickly entering the front seat of his car.
You were practically bouncing off the walls, but you kept reminding yourself that the only reason he was coming over was so that you could help him tend to his cuts. Quickly rinsing your face with cold water to bring down the persistent blush that never seemed to falter at the idea of him, you quickly rushed to grab your first aid kit from one of your drawers. Quickly setting it down onto your coffee table, you rushed to your bathroom for some cotton balls, tweezers and some hydrogen peroxide. You quickly fixed the pillows on your couch and dusted off your coffee table a bit, even spraying a bit of air freshener just in case. Right after the last spritz, as if on cue, you heard a knock at your door.
You practically threw the air freshener down as you scurried over to the door, not wanting to leave him waiting (and also being way too excited to see him), you quickly opened the door to greet him.
As the door swung open, the open cuts on Joseph’s face, just underneath his left eye, immediately caught your attention. While they didn’t look too deep, one of them stretched from the middle of his cheekbone all the way to just underneath the corner of his eye. The second one, while not as long, was significantly deeper and intersected the first cut, it looked about an inch long.
“Jesus, Joseph! How did you cut your face that badly?” You asked, a bit of blood threatening to spill from the second cut on his face.
Not even giving him a chance to answer, you grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him.
He let out a surprised grunt as his shoes squeaked against your floor as he tried to maintain his balance.
“I– sorry,” he meekly apologized as he quickly kicked off his shoes before walking onto your carpet.
“Here, have a seat,” you directed him to your couch where you quickly sat beside him to begin treating his wounds.
“Please remove your glasses,” you directed as you grabbed a cotton ball.
You poured a bit of hydrogen peroxide onto the cotton ball as you very gently dabbed it onto his face. He winced immediately, flinching a bit upon contact.
Gently resting your hand on the back of his head, you gently blew onto the open cut so it wouldn’t sting as much. 
“Just a few more seconds, Joseph. I just need to sterilize the site of the injury before I can properly treat it,” you explained as you continuously dabbed the cotton ball onto his cheek while blowing onto it.
He nodded in response, and you quickly finished up the disinfection process before you quickly grabbed your tweezers. Upon further inspection, there were tiny glass shards sitting inside of the smaller, deeper cut.
“There’s a couple of glass shards in one of the cuts. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, I promise,” you cooed, gently pushing his head towards you so you could take a better look.
He bit the inside of his cheek at the blush that flooded his cheeks.
“Try to stay as still as you can for me,” you gently requested, unconsciously biting your lip as you tried your best to stay focused.
He gulped, his eyes darting between your hand, your eyes, and your lips. He could’ve sworn he could hear his heart racing with how close you were, that focused look in your eyes, and the way you bit down on your lip. On the bright side, it served as a good distraction. He almost couldn’t feel the tweezers reaching into the cut on his face and removing the wedged pieces of glass.
“There you go. Just like that,” you muttered as you carefully pulled out the last tiny glass shard.
As you finally took your hand off of the base of his neck and turned to put down the tweezers, Joseph let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding in to begin with. He felt his hands slowly unclench the base of his thighs and his shoulders loosen.
Quickly grabbing some neosporin, you squeezed a small amount onto your finger and turned back to Joseph.
“We’re almost done,” you smiled, motioning for him to turn his head slightly towards you again.
“Try to be more careful next time, please. Had this cut been even just a tad bit longer, you would’ve cut yourself in the eye,” your thumb lightly grazing over the end of the slit, just underneath his eye.
“You’re lucky none of these cuts were too deep, either. The last thing you’d want is stitches. But these look shallow enough to be able to heal on their own. Hopefully they don’t leave any scars..” you were so close he could feel your breath against his neck.
He felt himself tense at the close proximity. The scent of your hair conditioner flooded his senses and he could feel every single word in his vocabulary get stolen from him. His words had escaped him, and he was unable to say a single word. His face was beet red, his blush even more apparent given his pale complexion. 
Confused that he hadn’t responded, you took a moment to step back and scan his face, wondering if you had said something wrong. Immediately, the blush on his face caught your attention. Had you overstepped his boundaries? You quickly retracted your hand and immediately felt a pit in your chest open up. Had you made him uncomfortable? “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to overstep if I got a bit too touchy. I guess I just– I don't know– I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable–” you stammered, unconsciously beginning to twirl your hair in discomfort.
“No, no it’s alright! I– I guess must have spaced out, it was nothing you did (First Name). You didn’t overstep at all, and you were very gentle. I promise,” Joseph reassured you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, the blush on his cheeks gradually beginning to subside.
Now it was your turn to become flustered, apparently. Your cheeks lit up at the contact as you finally looked up at him. Your eyes catching a glimpse of his hands without his gloves for the first time. His fingers were long and slender, with a few veins stretching from his knuckles all the way down to his forearms. They were even prettier than you had imagined.
“Thank you for taking care of me, (First Name). We’ve only just met and you’re already lending me your kindness. And for that I thank you,” he added, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.
You were just so beautiful. Inside and out, and that fact had him in a chokehold. Part of him wanted to kiss you, badly. And the other part of him internally scolded himself for having such thoughts about you, an amazing woman that he had only just met.
You couldn’t find the words to speak at first, you were too flustered to even think straight. At first, all you could do was give him a small nod.
“Y-yeah, any– anytime, Joseph. It’s– it’s no problem, really!” You stumbled over your words, beet red at this point.
You could feel his hand slowly move upwards, his hand just barely touching the base of your neck. As you looked up at him, your lips unconsciously parting, his eyes seemed to dart between your eyes and your mouth.  
The tension was killing you. You had only just met him and yet here you were, falling, hard.
You quickly stood up, “How about I make you some tea!” You said as you made your way over to the kitchen.
“Ah– sure,” he replied, stifling a chuckle at your reaction.
“I have all sorts of teas here, I have Green, Earl Gray, chai, English Breakfast, which would you prefer?” You asked, taking extra care to hide your blushing face as you rummaged through your pantry.
“Earl Gray would be perfect!” He replied, leaning back on your couch, the soft pillows cradling his back perfectly. 
The scent of your air freshener was strangely relaxing. His eyes seemed to shut on their own as he let his head rest on the back of your couch. The light whirr from your fan and the sound of you preparing his tea was oddly comforting. He was exhausted from all of the events of today. He took extra care to drive you home after work, he had to help Sebastian clean up his living area, and he was going to have to drive home now after you finished preparing his tea. 
What time is it right now? Should I shower tonight or in the morning? I’ll probably shower in the morning since I’ll be too tired once I get home. It sure smells nice in (First Name)’s apartment. Joseph thought to himself, but all of his scattered thoughts slowly grew quieter. He was so tired he hadn’t even realized he was slowly drifting off to sleep.
After a few minutes of warming up the water and letting the tea bag steep, you stirred some honey into his tea. After you threw out the tea bag, you were finally ready to serve it to Joseph. 
Carefully placing the mug onto your coffee table, “It’s a bit hot, so be careful,” you said, only to be met by Joseph’s sleeping form. His ankles were crossed and his arms were folded over his stomach. His head was slightly tilted to the side. You quietly admired his features as he laid there. He had very nice, sharp features. Prominent cheekbones with a sharp jawline and a noticeably good side profile. He looked so tranquil. How could you ever want to wake someone who looked so soothed and peaceful while they slept?
You were taken aback when he elicited a sudden twitch in his sleep. You quickly looked away in case he woke up, not wanting to be caught staring. Slowly looking back at him, you now had another problem on your hands. A moral dilemma, if you will.
Should you wake him up and get him to go home and rest? Or should you just let him sleep here? What is the right thing to do in this situation? Part of you wanted to just let him sleep there, but what if he got upset once he awoke for not waking him up? You sighed, deciding that the best thing to do would be to wake him up. 
You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “Joseph!” You whisper-yelled, hoping that somehow, that would be enough to wake him.
Unsurprisingly, he was still asleep. 
You lightly shook him, “Joseph?” You called out again, and were slightly disappointed when he began to stir and wake up from his slumber.
His eyes slowly opened, taking in his surroundings like he had forgotten where he was for a moment. He lightly rubbed his eyes as he slowly began to sit back up.
“O-oh, (First Name). I hadn’t realized I fell asleep,” he yawned, searching for his glasses.
You quickly took his glasses from your table and handed them to him,  your hands just barely touching for a moment.
“Thanks,” he quickly muttered as he put his glasses on.
He seemed to take a moment to let his eyes adjust to the brightness of your living room as his blinking had become slightly more rapid and he was still slightly squinting. 
“Achoo!” He sneezed, covering his mouth with his elbow.
He sniffled, rubbing one of his eyes.
“Bless you,” you said, immediately grabbing him a tissue.
He cleared his throat.
“I.. I don’t feel very well. I think I may have caught something after my visit to Sebastian’s place,” Joseph grumbled, his voice sounding nasally with congestion.
“Have some tea! It'll make you feel better!” You quickly advised, handing him the mug.
He gently took the mug from you and had a sip. His eyebrows raised slightly in pleasant surprise.
“You make very good tea,” he commented, taking another sip before breaking out into a violent coughing fit.
“Oh Joseph, you might be coming down with something,” you speculated, pressing the back of your fingertips onto his forehead. 
“You’re burning up, Joseph!” You said in a conciliatory tone, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? You need to rest.”
“No– I couldn’t possibly ask that of you,” Joseph politely declined as he tried to stand, before breaking into another violent coughing fit.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. You took the time to drive me home, walk me all the way here, and even tuck me in. Please, I insist,” you placed a hand on his shoulder as you looked him in the eyes.
You were just so painfully hard to say no to. 
“Ah.. alright. Thank you, (First Name).” You couldn’t fight the big smile that spread across your face.
“Would you like to take a shower? You’re welcome to use mine. And I’ll get you some clothes to change into as well!” You added as you got up to find your dresser.
“That would be great. Thank you again,” he sniffled as he went to grab another tissue.
The moment you left the room and shut the door behind you, you couldn’t help but jump up and down like a little kid. Right as you finally settled down, you gathered some of your most oversized clothes to provide for him.
Who knew taking care of the guy you liked would be so fun?
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goddesspharo · 9 months
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Sugar's pregnancy cravings are batshit; luckily, crazy food provides her Bear fam with a perfect distraction from the equally insane task of living life.
[Send me the first sentence and a pairing and I'll write the next five.]
Sugar's pregnancy cravings are batshit, but since everyone else is either an experimental chef or a fucking Fak, only Richie seems to be concerned that there might be a serious nutritional deficiency causing them. Honestly, if Sugar hadn't shown him the sonogram last week when he found her crying in the bathroom over impending motherhood ("Natalie, if I can parent a kid without completely fucking her up, you're going to make it so that your kid overcomes Pete's genes and joins Mensa!"), Richie would've driven her to the hospital to get checked for pica right now in the middle of Sugar's tirade about how far up the ass Richie will have to take it from the health inspector if he tries to explain that they didn't hire professionals because "the mold wasn't that black or moldy."
Richie's not trying to judge a pregnant woman's right to eat whatever she wants. Tiff consumed so many bananas when she was pregnant with Eva that he's still mad at himself for not buying stock in Chiquita. She'd have them sliced with her morning oatmeal, baked into bread as a post-prenatal yoga snack, smashed into PB&B sandwiches for lunch, frozen and dipped in chocolate the weekend the AC crapped out while Fak was in Philly for a Fucking Fak Family Reunion, and once even flambéed when Richie made forgive me for missing the anatomy scan because Mikey was on a bender and about to hurl himself off the State Street Bridge apology dessert. At one point, Richie had to google if banana toxicity was a thing and then kept worrying even after Google said that it wasn't.
But there's a difference between eating tons of fruit and whatever the hell is happening with Sugar's taste buds right now. Richie decides that Carmy and Sydney are using her cravings to soft launch their chaos menu once Syd puts down a plate of pickled zucchini coated in Marcus' leftover birthday cake batter, deep fried in ghee, and dusted with confectioners' sugar.
"Bet that would taste so good dipped in Smuckers ice cream topping," Fak suggests because he doesn't need to be pregnant to have the palate of a garbage compactor.
"Please don't eat that with that," Richie begs when Natalie trades Fak a bottle of Pepto for the jar of fudge he just took out of the microwave.
"Fuck off, Richie," Sugar snaps with a glare that makes it clear that she's not above murdering him and pinning it on pregnancy hormones. "I'm growing a human being inside me!"
Debatable, he wants to say because he's not entirely sure that they're in Juno instead of Alien, but Richie bites his tongue because he really doesn't want to have to put his last twenty-dollar bill in the asshole jar again.
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misforgotten2 · 11 months
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The Moon isn’t made of green cheese. It’s obviously blue cheese.
I went to family gathering Saturday and I had to spend 5 minutes trying to convince some people that I despise blue cheese. Luckily I didn't have to tell the whole story from my youth about the giant mound of moldy cheese and the broken sewer pipe.
I've been asked to expand on the story.
My family was on vacation when I was about 12, we stopped at this small grocery store in Garibaldi, Oregon so I could buy a Coke. Inside it smelled like the whole town's sewage had filled the basement to the rafters. But I courageously persisted and hoped to hurry and grab a bottle, pay and flee. But I get to counter and have to wait for the cashier and the costumer to have a loooong conversation. On the counter was this bucket sized cylinder of blue cheese near totally inundated with a infestation of mottled blue mold. I has to stand there trying to breathe though my mouth what seemed an eternity until I escape with my treasure. So now when, all these decades later, if I even think of blue cheese it all comes back to me.
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lucius-the-sinful · 7 months
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Best Of
Rules: Link a few pieces of writing that you think best define you, your aesthetic, or your personality.
I was tagged by @omgkalyppso ! Thank you!! <3
I definitely think my dialogue/characterization is my strongest aspect of my style. So here's a few passages that I really love + one from a wip that isn't dialogue but i like the prose.
Bad Blood (Mature): Part 1 of Bend & Break; Word Count: 2,764; Original setting and characters, backstory for my D&D character, Gale.
CW: mentions of child abuse
“What do you plan to do with him? Put him out on the fucking street? Run your little errands while he gets shot at and killed?” Hayden’s voice was filled with venom.  “I didn’t pay you to ask questions, Hayden,” Ace was calm, with only a hint of tension. “I was handed an asset, I plan on using it.”  “Oh, I’m not fucking surprised. Asset, that’s what he is to you?”  Gale saw Ace straighten. “And what do you plan to do about it? Run to the police?” There was a smile in his voice. “I’m sure they will take your report with the sincerity it deserves.”  Hayden leaned forward onto Ace’s desk, completely blocking Gale’s view of his father. “I’m not afraid of you. Lay a hand on that child while I’m here, and I will fucking break it. I might snap your legs, too, just for old time’s sake.” 
Feather Fall (Teen and Up): Part 2 of Witcher, Poet, King; Word Count: 3,311; The Witcher; Zafir (original school of the griffin character) spends the winter at Kaer Morhen following the collapse of Kaer Seren.
CW: mentions of alcohol
Another storm rolled in a week later, trapping the witchers inside Kaer Moren. While most of them gathered around the fireplace and drank through the day and night, Zafir occupied the candle-lit laboratory. He spent the first few hours experimenting with more potent ingredient combinations, writing the results in his journal. As he was bottling some of his new concoctions, another witcher strolled in. He was the youngest of the group, who Zafir had few indecent exchanges with. Lambert held a crate of bottles of alcohost, that he nearly dropped on the table. One of the potions wobbled, and would have toppled over if not for Zafir’s reflexes. The griffin glared at Lambert. “What do you want?” He snapped, patience already wearing thin.  Lambert leaned on the crate, looking at Zafir’s work. “Dunno. Vesemir told me to hall this crate down here. And to make sure you weren’t disrupting his moldy books,” Lambert nodded to a series of bookshelves that were covered in a blanket of dust.  “I have little interest in the basic knowledge every witcher should know,” Zafir muttered, firmly corking his potions before Lambert could cause real harm.  “I don’t even remember half the shit Vesemir taught us,” Lambert raised a brow. “Sitting through his lectures was worse than watching paint dry.”  “That is to be expected of a man with your character,” He bent under the table, digging through one of his saddlebags for a wooden box.  “Asshole,” Lambert walked around the table, picking up one of Zafir’s potions and swirling the pitch black liquid inside. It sparkled like oil against the dim light. Despite nearly spilling it just moments before, he handled the bottle with the same care he would a freshly sharpened blade. “Black blood, but you did something to it?”  Zafir watched Lambert closely. “There is a thistle that grows in Koviss with toxic thorns that have a minor paralytic effect. When properly portioned with the other ingredients of black blood, those effects can be enhanced. I hope it has the potential to paralyze a vampire or similar fiend when they bite.”  “Interesting, although it just sounds like you had a deadly encounter with a vampire. Not that you would have the scars to prove it,” Lambert gently set the bottle down. “A witcher without scars. You’re even more of a freak than the rest of us.”  Zafir opened the box, where he had about three potions of various colors remaining. He opened a secondary compartment, where he stored his newly mixed potions. “Did you just accept Vesemir’s task so you could bother me?”  “Perhaps. If you hadn’t noticed, it's a bit boring and miserable upstairs. And when Geralt gets back from watch I don’t want to be sent out there. The snow is sideways, Zafir.”  “Ah, so you’re hiding,” The corners of Zafir’s lips twitched. “I think I should go thank Vesemir for bringing down the crate of alcohost, and that you were very excited for Geralt to return from watch.”  Lambert’s cocky smile flattened. “Was that your attempt at humor?” Zafir returned his gaze to his box, putting it back together and closing it. “I don’t really want to go out there either, in truth.”  Lambert wandered over to some more crates on the far side of the room, moving them aside. “So you’re hiding too,” There was another crate behind the others, with a thick bear hide over top. “Vesemir is so shit at hiding his good stuff,” He reached down, pulling out an intricate bottle. “Would be a shame if a couple of idiots like us got into it.”  Zafir frowned, then sighed. "I suppose you aren't going to just let me walk out, are you?"  "Drinking alone sucks," Lambert popped the cork.  "I know." 
Call in the Wind (WIP, Mature): The Elder Scrolls; Lazarus (original dunmer character) wading through the grief of losing his mother finds new purpose in unraveling the mystery of his father's identity.
CW: death mention
Lazarus slid into the tub, the steam a blanket of warmth that spread across his face and neck. He sat for a few minutes, submerged at his shoulders with the length of his hair sitting atop the water like an oil spill collar. It had been a long time since he could appreciate true silence in this house. He expected to hear the echoes of his mother’s cough from the other room, or the hissing of a kettle above the fire. Instead, there was nothing. The water was still as he was, still as his mother’s coffin on the long journey to Necrom.  Lazarus couldn’t let his mind linger too long on what he lost. He sank further into the water, disturbing its tranquil surface as he held his breath. He emerged again with ripples bouncing off the edges of his tub. He wiped the water from his eyes and squeezed his hair, the tapping of water breaking the serenity. Lazarus’ thoughts turned to his father, who he now could put a name to. Before her mind succumbed to her illness, his mother spoke about Balthazar for the first and last time. “I know you,” she said. “I know you will go looking. And when you do find him, you’re going to give him a piece of your mind. I like to think he still loved me, but it’s been over fifty years. Not a letter, not a trace of his existence.”
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