#on how to make plain white rice

[after-witch]

No Strings to Secure You [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: No Strings to Secure You [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You push too far and get sent to a white room with white walls.

Word count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, food deprivation, chastisement, abusive behavior

The push and pull of captivity is not something you could have prepared yourself for, really. Could anyone? 

There’s the pull, that intoxicating desire to behave for him. To do what he says, to act how he wants, to make things easier on yourself and him in not-so-equal measure. 

There’s the push. That feeling you’ve buried deep inside you but can never fully wash away. The need to get away, to never give in, to pound against the walls and scream and tell him to shove his stupid rules up his ass.

No matter how many times you pushed, it never seemed to get you anywhere.

But the pull? When you followed the pull, it was a different story. He becomes softer. Kinder. More prone to agree to your requests, like asking for new books, or a warmer blanket, or a stuffed animal similar to the childhood one you’ll probably never see again.

That’s where you are now, you think; deep inside the pull. Yet there’s no telling when that push will come rearing its ugly, primal head back into your life.

--

“It’s not smut,” you insist, soft voice raising just a little.  You keep your head down out of stubborness or embarrassment,  you’re not entirely sure which. 

“It is.” There’s no question or argument in his tone. “There are plenty of other books that are more appropriate, angel.”

“But…” You know what you should do here. You should agree, thank him, and tell him the name of a different book to procure. It would be sensible. It would be what he wants. And maybe that last part is what edges you away from it. “But you said I could ask for any book I like. And I like that book series.”

“I’ll find you a different book,” he tells you. “One that is more suitable.”

Stubborn, stuffy breath comes out through your nose. “I want that book.”

“No,” he says simply. You should let it go. You should.

“That’s not fair.” You lick your lips. You feel pressure starting to build inside your chest. Familiar pressure, a push. “It’s a book. You’re being--you’re being ridiculous.”

“Apologize.” It’s not a request.

Push or pull? You can make a choice here. Or maybe you can’t, and that’s the worst part of it all. All of your choices are made for you, whether by Overhaul or your own damaged psyche.

“No.”

You cross your arms. 

“Apologize,” he repeats, more firmly. And, oh, you should. 

“No!” Louder, now. You stand up and your fingers shake as you grip the edge of the sterile hospital-style tray he serves breakfast, lunch and dinner on. The food is just as appealing--which is to say, it is often not: mostly overcooked vegetables, bland proteins, plain white rice. 

You asked him, before, if you could have something different. Like the food you used to eat. He said no, even when you compromised, asked not for a whole meal, but just a little treat. He still said no.

And now you’re the one saying no again, and it feels right, it feels fair.

“I’ll ask you one more time.” The patience has left his tone almost entirely. You know this. “Apologize or there will be consequences.”

Your breath comes in heaving. It leaves in a huff, spit flying, as you grab the tray of food and throw it as hard as you can across the room.

It clatters and food splatters and your ears ring from the sound and the hot, heavy pressure in the air.

Overhaul’s chair screeches as he stands up.

Tightness chokes your throat and you swallow. You should do what he says, you should. But it’s not fair. It’s not right. 

You force yourself to look up at him, and oh. He’s furious. Livid. There’s something sharp in his voice as he spits out the words:

“I warned you.”

--

The hallway you’re walking down is completely unfamiliar. You didn’t even know it existed, yet here it is: connected to Overhaul’s bedroom through a plain door hidden inside of a bookcase. 

He stops in front of a door with a glass window towards the top and opens it with a key, and there’s nowhere to run when he silently commands you inside with a gesture.

The room is small--white floors, white walls. Narrow overhead lights. There is a mattress on the floor with no sheets at all. A metal toilet and a metal sink. Your eyes scan the room for something, anything else; but it’s just walls. There isn’t even a light switch.

You turn, eyes wide, heart feeling like it wants to leap out your throat.

Before you can speak, Overhaul takes a step backward and fills the doorway.

“You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. II thought you were past such untoward behavior. It seems not. We’ll see if your behavior improves and revisit your… living arrangements then.”

Part of you wants to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. The other part of you prevails, staying stubbornly silent, refusing to give him what you think he wants: pitiful tears and apologies.

After a moment, he steps back and shuts the door. You can see him through the little glass window, which slides open before he speaks. “When I feel you are ready to apologize and mean it, you can come out.”

The glass window shuts. 

The overhead lights flicker on.

You plop down on the mattress and hug your knees to your chest. It’s… a relief, isn’t it? To be away from him? At least when you’re here, you won’t be subject to his stupid rules. 

This suits you just fine, then.

You say so, even, to the white walls. 

They don’t answer.

--

There’s a hinged slot on the bottom of the door, and your first meal--it must be dinnertime--is silently slid through. There’s a glass of water, a cup of your vitamins and pills that you hate to take but always have before, under Overhaul’s watchful eye. There’s some sort of mush-looking porridge that is a step down from even the overcooked vegetables you usually get.

You drink the water, and taste the mush. It’s impossibly bland, and you decide not to bother with it; you’ll wait for breakfast, which always has vegetables.  The vitamins remain untouched.

Nothing is said when the tray is taken. Not that you expected it.

When the lights go out later, you’re startled at first--you were standing up looking for cracks or tiles or anything to count. Quickly, you feel your way back to the mattress and curl up. For the first time, you miss your bedroom--just a little. You miss the comfortable warm blanket, and your stuffed animals. 

Sleep comes fitfully, with the loss of routine.

In the morning, the lights come back on with a loud buzz and a breakfast tray is pushed through the bottom of the door.

A glass of water. A cup of pills. A bowl of mush. 

You drink the water. You force down half the mush because your stomach is growling, although the texture is so awful that you gag a little. Again, you refuse the vitamins, leaving them there for the tray to be taken away.

Boredom sets in quickly. Normally, you’d be reading a book. Or doodling on some paper. You think about the books, running some of the stories through your head; but it’s different than reading the words on the page.

Lunch comes. 

A glass of water. A cup of pills. And a bowl of--what else, apparently: mush. You leave the pills untouched. Fuck him, and his pills and his rules and his stupid room.

Dinner comes--at least you think it’s been a few hours--but the tray does not.

You pound on the door.

“Don’t I get dinner?”

Nobody answers. Is there anyone who can even hear you? The hallway was empty, before. 

Your stomach growls until you fall asleep.

The morning comes, and you practically skid your knees sliding over to the tray when you hear it being slid through the door.

A glass of water. A cup of pills. And… nothing else. No mush. No veggies. Your stomach complains, but you have nothing to answer it with. So you gulp down the water and leave the damned pills, and go back to your mattress and try not to cry.

Lunch is the same. Water. Pills. No food. You refuse to take the pills.

This time, you can’t avoid the tears.

When your dinner tray comes with nothing but water and a cup of all-too-familiar pills, you pound on the door.

“This is fucked up! You can’t starve me! You can’t--”

The lights go off without warning.

How long do they stay out? You fall asleep eventually, wishing you had something to cling to--a pillow, a stuffed bear--but you’re stuck here in this unfamiliar room in the unfamiliar dark.

The lights aren’t on when you wake up. You start to imagine things in the dark. Not monsters, but patterns. Little swirls of rainbow lights, like the kind you sometimes saw as a kid.

When the lights do mercifully turn on, your breakfast tray is pushed through. A glass of water, a cup of pills. You miss the mush.

Hours pass slowly, stretched with nothing but your thoughts and hunger.

Your stomach growling punctuates the boredom, but not by much. You’re even missing the bland food Overhaul served you before; vegetables and plain rice seem like a dream. Grilled chicken, steamed fish--heaven.

It must be days that you don’t eat. It must be. 

You can’t hold out forever. Who can? The room is starting to drive you a little mad, you think. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. No one to talk to…

Finally, one morning, when the tray comes through, you swallow down the pills. The tray is taken away without comment, and the hours until lunch seem more endlessly than usual.

You’ve taken to picking at a loose thread you plucked out of the mattress during the long hours of the day. It’s something to do, at least. Not that it helps much.

When the tray comes through in the afternoon, there is a bowl of mush there. It takes you a few moments to register it; when you do, you don’t hesitate to dig in, eagerly swallowing the warm, bland oatmeal-like bowl with a gusto that would have been ridiculous a few days ago. 

Your fingers hesitate at the cup of pills, but you never want to be this hungry again, so you take them.

“Overhaul?” You ask, when the door opens for your tray to be removed. “I-I’m sorry I acted out, I’m ready to come out now.”

You did what he wanted, didn’t you? Took your pills. Apologized. Surely he would forgive you now.

But no one answers.

Eventually it becomes its own routine, really, although it’s nothing as luxurious as your old one. You miss that routine--the nice, clean clothes picked out for you every morning; the fresh food every meal; the books, the drawing, the little things in your room.  You even miss the conversations.

You ought to have appreciated the things he gave you. That’s what you realize over the days, sitting on the mattress, picking endlessly at the thread until your fingers bleed a little.

You ought to have appreciated his presence, really. The way he let you ramble on about the books he gave you, the way he complimented your drawings. 

Was it worth it? You think one evening, waiting for the lights to turn off. It was just a book. You could have had others. Maybe it was too dirty, maybe it was a bad book, to cause all this trouble.

Maybe he was right.

--

You don’t know when it happens, but the door does open.

The light that comes in is so harsh that you cover your eyes for  what must be minutes. Then there are gloved hands on your wrists, pulling you up and off the mattress on unsteady legs.

He doesn’t stop pulling until you’re out of the room, and the cool air of the hallway is both welcoming and dizzying in equal measures.

“I--I can come out now?” You ask, still squeezing your eyes shut, blinking rapidly as you try to get them used to the light.

“Yes.”

It’s the most beautiful word you’ve heard in ages. Well. The only word you’ve heard in ages.

He leads you back down the hall, back through his bedroom, and if it weren’t for his grip on your wrist, you would’ve leapt clear across the room and flopped on your bed like a child. 

Instead of letting go, he leads you to your en-suite bathroom. 

Ah. You hadn’t properly washed in um, a while. The occasional attempts to clean yourself with your hands using the sink next to the toilet notwithstanding.

“Go on,” he says. His voice is mild, testing.

You scamper into the bathroom without complaint. It’s familiar and lovely and you missed every bit of it. 

There’s a set of fresh, clean clothes laid out on the counter. Your favorite soap and shampoo set in the shower. You wash yourself three times, until the water is clear and your skin is almost raw from scrubbing clean. 

You dry yourself and dress yourself and stand in the doorway, head down, waiting for him to tell you what to do now. You don’t want him to get mad--you don’t want to go back in that room.

After a few moments, Overhaul speaks.

“Come here.”

Your heart flutters. Will he yell at you? Tell you that this was just so you could get clean, and lead you back?

But you should do as he says. And you do, legs trembling, glance unable to meet his gaze. Instead you look at the walls, covered with your own drawings, plus a few pretty prints he gifted you. You look at your bed, and its comfortable floral blanket, and the stuffed rabbit sitting on your pillow. Just where you left it before--before the room.

His gloved hand grips your chin and turns it towards him.

“Eyes on me,” he says, so you listen. He tilts your chin up, making it even harder to look away. Not that you would--you want to listen.

“What did you learn?” His voice is soft but there’s an underlying firmness to it. A firmness that you want to walk on--it’s like solid ground after so much uncertainty. 

“That…” Your voice is still hoarse and you swallow, coughing. “That you know what’s best?”

He might be smiling behind the mask. You can’t tell.

“That I  know what’s best about what?”

You don’t dare look away from him. But your fingers find the soft fabric of your fresh, clean dress. It’s one of your favorites--did he pick it out on purpose? Guilt begins to roil in your stomach alongside anxiety. 

You think over the words before you answer. “About… what’s best for me.”

He doesn’t stop there. “In what way?”

“In-in… I mean… in everything?” 

You think he likes it--that you stammer over your words. He hums, and it sounds like pleasure.

He lets your chin go and peels off the glove, dropping it in the trashcan before he snaps on a fresh one.

“Very good.”

The breakfast tray is steaming hot with steamed vegetables, white rice, eggs. A cup of pills in the corner, waiting for you to swallow them down. The eggs are overcooked but they might as well be caviar from the way you begin to eat them without complaint, humming, feeling grateful that you’ve got a good meal in you. 

Were you ever really someone who argued with him? Someone who felt pulled to rebel, to complain, to feel that the treatment you received here was anything less than gracious? 

Whoever that someone was, they need to be gone; they must be. That person can stay behind in the white room, for all you care. 

After you finish your food,  you swallow down your pills, one by one, as Overhaul watches. 

Maybe in a few days, when you’re sure that he’s not mad, you’ll ask him for a new book. This time, you’ll let him pick the title. 

He knows best, after all.

[ummmlife]

Domestic Kento Nanami headcanons ;

warnings! : also relationship headcanons , nsfw (masturbation , cockwarm)

• He snores, loudly, like a bear... i won't elaborate

• Gets jealous easy but it's the type of pout and cross his arms offended when this happens

• Also, this only happens in private with his partner, never in public, oh no how embarrassing

• Pouty king

• After sex doesn't take his peewee out from his partner but instead sleep while keeping it deep inside to cockwarm

• Drinking at 10 a. m? if Ken-chan is stressed or anxious, sure thing

• Likes to sleep with 5 pillows: two under his head, one to hug, one on his back and one between his legs

• On a good week, Kento will cook the most tasteful and healthy gourmet meals

• On a bad week, plain bread and 7-Eleven sandwichs will make it, maybe some white rice

• He collects tote bags, a lot, he has, at least, 6 per every day of the week

• Kento once got a trojan virus on his laptop, now his laptop mines cryptocurrencies at night

• He cuts his toenails on thursdays every 3 weeks

• Kento usually doesn't get drunk but when he does it happens at home, he gets super cheesy and also clingy

• Will also accept to try new things in bed, but please just put him on sleep

• Collects a lot of books (canon), but he does it just for the need of consumism

• Cleaning maniac, but to the point of washing your own a-hole when showering to keep it clean for him he'll slide his fingers inside and–

• Loves to comb his partner's hair, he's the type of making you fall asleep just by combing your hair

• When going to the beach don't even try to play sexy by asking him to apply you sunscreen on your back, Ken-chan will bathe you in sunscreen like an overprotective parent

• Kento has an PS4, does he plays with it? Absolutely, in fact, his partner is not allowed to touch his PS4 unless he's with them

• He's the type of savings his partner's phone number by [Name][Last name]

• But when he decides to make his relationship more serious it will be [Name][Nanami]

• Religiously naps after lunch on his days off

• Kento masturbates when he gets insomnia to get tired and finally sleep

• Also, Kento suffers from insomnia most of the time

• Is the one in charge of getting rid of the bugs that get into your home, but if a cockroach starts to fly, babe you're on your own

• Get him a pompompurin plushie and it will sleep with him from now on

• Good night and good morning kisses are a must for Kento, beware of this before deciding to fall asleep/get out of bed without kissing him and break his heart

im kinda drunk and i decided to write this so if something doesn't makes sense don't blame me 🍷 cheers

[blindbeta]

So, I've been writing a blind character who cooks. So far, I've written him as being someone who relies a lot on routine and habit, who navigates the kitchen by touch and by memory. He's a bit rigid, and insists on using his own tools, which are color coded (he can see them up close with what residual vision he has) and marked with braille, but I was wondering what other tools a blind person might use when cooking.

A Bunch of Stuff For Blind People Who Want to Cook

I don’t know where and when your story takes place, so what is used might change depending on the character. Here are some options to get you started. There are many tools and techniques devoted to making cooking easier. I don’t know as much about the subject, so I’ll do my best. Please add any other ideas in the notes.

First, the creator @canseecantsee on YouTube and TikTok is an excellent resource. She has lots of videos showcasing how she cooks and does various daily tasks. She demonstrates the use of many tools, such as heat resistant gloves and high contrast items. Here is a video in which she demonstrates chopping vegetables.

Notice the high contrast items such as the yellow chopping board and purple knife. In the video, she demonstrates use of the towel or a place mat beneath the cutting board to prevent slipping. As she cuts a cucumber, tomatoes, and onions, she also uses a technique that allows her to feel the edge of the item so that she knows where she wants to cut and how thick the slices will be.

Here is a video by TheBlindLife showcasing his accessible kitchen. He has excellent points on the importance of contrast, from color contrast to shape contrast. The video includes

bump dots

labels

high contrast colors of tools

high contrast plates and bowls

talking scale and thermometer

heat resistant gloves

and alternatives for glass cups

High contrast is important and can be created by being mindful of the kind of countertops or tables used. For example, in the video, there is a triangular plate that is decorated like a pizza slice. Eating on this plate might cause food to get lost visually, especially food that has the same colors as the plate. Much like the plate, counters or tablecloths with busy patterns might cause items to be harder to see due to lack of contrast. Plain counters, tables, or tablecloths make items stand out more.

Additionally, creating contrast between surfaces and the items on them is helpful. The table is a dark wood? Light plates, bowls, and cups it is. The counter is plain white? The plates and bowls are a dark color.

For glass cups, the video offers solid, colorful plastic cups that offer better contrast. The fact that glasses are clear makes them even more of a challenge and colorful plastic alleviates that concern. However, if someone wants to use glass cups, they can use some that are either made with colorful glass or have color somewhere on them. This might help depending on the contrast and lighting.

In addition to memory, your character can also use labels and various markers. Sharpie, different colors and shapes, textural elements like bump dots, actual Braille or large print labels, tape, stickers, string, or ribbon. Label makers are great, but plenty of other options exist, particularly considering the aesthetic the kitchen has. He may also enjoy decorating this way since he has residual vision. Ribbons tied around containers of sugar, salt, and flour can be cute and functional.

A few other ideas after searching cooking stuff:

talking items, such as a blender, rice cooker, or microwave oven

marking speed on electric mixers or other devices

talking, high contrast, or large print timers

funnel or liquid level indicator

Braille or large print labeled measuring cups

individual bowls for portions, such as soup, rice, sauces, proteins, etc. Different shapes, sizes, or color could also indicate what food item typically goes in what bowl.

You can also come up with other ideas by thinking about what your character would use and how that might be done more easily. While I prefer characters use blindness techniques and assistive devices, people also naturally make things easier for themselves through organization and creating their own labels. A person who cooks might also be able to distinguish certain ingredients by smell or texture.

Another tip I have is to watch blind content creators on social media. Chances are, some of them show themselves cooking or discuss how they do it.

Lighting is also going to be a big deal. The kitchen will need good lighting, both overhead and under cabinets. Natural lighting is also great, although this is not as reliable or constant.

What he uses might also depend on various factors such as income; how often a character cooks; amount of available space; time period and setting; cultural practices around cooking, eating, and utensils used; access to the blind community; willingness to use assistive devices for blind people; any internalized ableism or ableism from family; and level of vision.

Hope that helps.

[what-even-is-thiss]

An easy-ish dinner you can make a bunch of and save for later because I’m bored so why not

Chicken and rice mess (chicken can be substituted for cubed tofu dusted with flour)

Some cubed chicken (maybe a pound, idk. Depends on how much you want)

1 Cup of white rice (don’t rinse it. The starch adds to the creamy texture in this one. Trust me.)

1.5 cups water or broth (chicken or vegetable)

One 15 oz can tomato sauce

One 15 oz can stewed tomatoes

Oil for sautéing

Salt and pepper

Onion powder

Garlic powder

Either Italian herb mix, OR a mix of cinnamon, paprika, and dried rosemary (grandma calls this version Greek chicken but we both know that’s not accurate)

Optional: Sour cream or plain yogurt

Get a real wide and deep pan and get it up to medium high heat. Brown your chicken or tofu on all sides in the oil. Add the rice.

Optional: Toast the rice on a lower heat in the oil until some of the grains start to look clear or slightly brown. Not strictly necessary but good if you’ve got the spoons for it)

Dump in the cans of tomato chunks and sauce, the water or broth, and all of the spices and salt to taste. Stir until incorporated. You can add a pinch of sugar here too if you prefer that in your tomato dishes.

Turn up the heat until the mixture is simmering and then give it one last stir before turning down the heat to low and covering it for 20 minutes or until the rice is very soft and most of the liquid has been absorbed.

If you want, you can add a big scoop of sour cream or yogurt to your serving for extra creaminess and protein. Tastes best the next day after sitting in the fridge for a while.

[slyvieselkie]

Sweet As Apple - Fushiguro Toji

Check out my masterlist for more!

˖◛⁺⑅♡Lᵒᵛᵉᵧₒᵤ♡⑅⁺◛˖⁺⑅♡Lᵒᵛᵉᵧₒᵤ♡⑅⁺◛

When Toji first met you, you were as plain as an apple.

Just a regular girl that would never catch his attention on the street. The only reason why he even looked your way was because you were neighbours with the two things that he helped create.

You kept to yourself, never making life difficult for the two but also never going out of your way to help them. At least that's what he saw every now and then, across the street from the rundown apartment building.

So you can imagine his shock when he sneaks inside the place only to find you seated in the middle of the tiny room, carefully darning Megumi's shirt. Despite him not making a single rustle, your head turns to the unlocked door. Your eyes lock with the giant black haired man, and Toji watches as your expression becomes sour like a bad apple.

"Huh, so you're the deadbeat father? Don't even think about stealing money, they don't have any thanks to some one", you sneer.

And he shouldn't be like this, because you were a nobody, but a deep anger flares up in his stomach. How dare you look down on him like those bastards did, even though you were the one living in a moldy box? Toji never got a chance to express his fury because a mug flies to his head and he catches it with a scowl.

You're still on the tatami floor darning like a good mother, "Get out, find a ditch and rot in it."

What a bad apple, don't you know who is standing before you? He could kill you in a flash, tear you to shreds, crush your neck like it was nothing. Green eyes stare down at you and imagine your face distorting into fear, horror, desperation. And to his shock...he couldn't see it.

"Ow fuck!", he was too caught up with his thoughts to dodge the rusty alarm clock, "Fuck off, shithead! Next time its a knife!"

Toji leaves, not because of your threat, hell no! It was because he wouldn't know what he'd do if he were to stay any longer. Irked at losing to a plain apple, he goes off to relieve his stress. Maybe grab a hot chick or hide away in a casino...he doesn't have any money though, shit.

....

"We're home!", you turn to two children busy taking off their shoes, "Welcome back Tsumiki, Megumi", you answer softly.

Tsumiki beams and runs into your arms, Megumi trails behind and latches onto your side. You chuckle, use a sugary apple tone telling them to wash their hands before eating dinner. It was nothing special, some cheap meat stir fry and vegetable soup with white rice, but they eat it up like its the best meal on Earth. Afterwards, you coo at Megumi to bathe while helping Tsumiki with her homework. When they switch, the little boy sits in your lap and finishes his grammar homework with his tongue poking out.

A giant shadow watches you like a creep, with a strange feeling swirling inside. Apple sweetness seeps out of you for the children to soak up, children that had no relation to you. Tsumiki and Megumi looks at you like you were the perfect apple, just the right amount of sweetness and crisp along with that fresh aroma. They cling to you and try to take as much as they could possible get.

You rock them to sleep even though they should be old enough to sleep by themselves, humming a soft lullaby. They're tucked into bed and snoring away by the time you sneak back to your apartment. You stop at the entrance because he was inside, sitting in the middle like it was his house.

"I knew you'd come back", you sigh and head inside flicking the lights on.

He's covered in blood and dirt, piercing green eyes stare at you behind the grimy and red mess. Toji sees your face turn sour and he suddenly feels a dread, that's not what you're supposed to do. You didn't with them when Tsumiki spills the soy sauce all over your dress, when Megumi walked in completely covered in mud, when they fling food everywhere whilst trying to speak.

"Oi, at least use my shower if you're going to sneak in. Look at the mess you've made", you click your tongue and point to the shower.

You meet the pair of glowing green eyes, lighthouses looking for the right direction, "Go, I'll heat up some leftovers for you."

Toji stands in the bath allowing the water to turn a copper colour, he could stay there forever. But you would grumble about the waste, so the man gets out and wraps himself with the fluffy towel. He was about to go out bare when green eyes noticed the folded clothes next to the sink. Somehow in that time, you've already washed and dried his clothes.

Toji exits the bathroom and sees you watching something on that ancient TV, a little grainy with sound that glitches every now and then. Next to you was a small wooden table and food, steaming white rice with slices of egg rolls and a side of soup. He understands why the children eat the way they do, Toji finishes everything in minutes and for once feels full even though he could eat three more servings.

Green eyes finally glances up at you, to see you watching with a soft smile. The black haired man visualises the nectar leaking out of your cracks. And he wonders what a girl like you was doing in this part of town, why an apple sweet heart was living in this garbage area. The dishes are cleared and the giant sits there, amused and embarrassed by the way his fingers fiddle. What does he do now? Get lost and find somewhere else to sleep? Does he repay you with sex?

"Just sleep, dumb ass", you flick his forehead and he jolts spinning around.

Oh, you've already showered and the lights have been turned off. That's a no for sex then.

Slipping underneath the blanket, you snuggle into your futon. Toji casually just lies back and rests his head on his arm, this tatami has nothing on the other floor he's had to sleep on. In fact, this was on the better side of things.

You giggle, "Idiot, come here", the man turns over to find you holding the blanket to reveal the empty space on the futon, "Why would I make sleep like that?"

He gets drawn in by the pretty smile you have on, and carefully lie down beside you. How odd, Toji was known as 'sex on legs' and yet he was here barely breathing so he wouldn't annoy you. Straight as a plank so you two would never touch. He'll probably just stay up to make sure your hands don't graze.

....

It's been a week since that night. You woke up the next morning to find that he's vanished, you shrug it off since that was expected.

Life goes on without him, you get busy as travel season arrives and people start booking you for tours around the city. While its tiring and stressful, the money is completely worth it and the photos you bring back for the children always makes it better. On the days where you could be out from early morning to nightfall, you let the children into your place where they can microwave food. You tell them to go back to their apartment, but the two always says that they can't sleep without you.

It was on a rare free day, you spin the pen while calculating your expenses. You grin seeing the remaining zeros in your bank, maybe you'll take the two out to the zoo and some barbecue afterwards. Then the door clicks open and your head snaps towards it, a robbery in broad daylight?

"...I'm sorry, when did you start living here?"

The black haired man smirks, strolling in with a bag swung over his shoulder, "Miss me much?", you raise an eyebrow, "Shook off the prude act did you?", he scowls at the reminder, "Shut up."

Sitting across from you, he throws the bag onto the table and you hear the heavy thud. You narrow your eyes at him but Toji only motions you to open it with a smug look. Carefully unzipping the bag, you peak inside to see the stacks of bills. Your sweetness grows sour and rotten.

"Where did you get this money from?", "Working?", he frowns because why are you scowling, "Working as what? A thief, a drug dealer, an underground fighter, a porn star, tell me!"

Green eyes sharpen, "Don't raise your voice at me", you laugh and sneer, "Don't tell me a murderer...fuck off", you shove the bag his way, "Fuck off and don't come back, don't ever show your face back here!"

You stand up and he follows, towering over your figure, "What's your problem? I just gave you five times the amount you made this week, you should be thanking me", he growled and you glare back, "Did I tell you to do that? To kill someone and bring me the money? No, I didn't, so don't justify this shit using me! You're a killer, a lowlife, worthless shit!"

In an instant, there's a tight grip around your throat and he leans in hissing, "Don't fucking test me, I can kill you in a blink of an eye."

But you smile like you've won, "Like I said, worthless piece of shit. Is that something you should be proud of, brag to me? That you can easily kill someone? That's the kind of person, the adult, the man you want to be?"

Your eyes widen as you make him falter, "You're nothing, less than the dirt you sleep with. No love, no family, no true friends, you're a completely pathetic loner. Just a clump of muscle to die alone...is that what you want to be?"

Before Toji knows it, he's out of that place holding the bag of money and remembering your last words, "If you want to keep living like that, then do those kids a favour and plan your own funeral."

....

The days pass as you and Toji think about what happens now.

Like last time, life goes on for you. There are bills to pay, food to put on the table, someone else's kids to take care of. But he's always lingering in the back on your mind, the defeated expression haunting your sleeps. Maybe you went too far, pushed him over the edge and now another life has been wasted. Those two never got to know their mothers, and now they'll never see their father.

Toji on the other hand had been cooped up in some temporary hideout, wondering what the hell he should do. He knew you were right, that you hit every weak point without a twitch of a finger. However...he's too far in, has done too much, has made too many enemies, has too many scars to forget. Toji wasn't meant to stay by your side, because he would only sour you into a bad apple.

But he also can't forget that night. How good it felt to take a warm shower, have clean clothes, eat a home cooked meal, sleep on a soft mattress and fluffy pillow. To not be alone and miserable. It's been so long since Toji has felt this weak, all he wants to do is fall asleep next to you.

So he sneaks into your place in the middle of the night, and sees your sleeping figure under the blanket. He first sits down beside you, observing your peaceful expression. It was so delicate, too fragile to be around him.

"Are you just going to sit there and watch me?"

You blink waiting for him to do something, but he's frozen and stuck to the floor. So you take your chance and pounce on him, too little compared to Toji to even make him budge. You end up curled in his lap, the blanket loosely thrown around him. Perfect.

Your voice comes out in a soft tone, "Give it a go. This world is your oyster as long as you take the chance. Just try to live a better life, for your children, for the ghosts around you, for yourself. "

Toji never responded, but you got your answer from the way his arms wrapped around you tightly. He drifts off to sleep with his face buried in your neck and feels the tension leave his body. Maybe this could work out, if its you.

....

"What are you doing here, you deadbeat man?"

He looks up from the ground to see Megumi glaring at him, "Oi, I still have it in me to give you a good spanking", his younger clone snorts, "When did you ever have it in you?"

He hates how right the kid is. Even if Megumi were to swear at him like an Irish man, Toji would only go and sulk to you. It probably has something to do with him not being there for Megumi since he came into this world.

"What are you doing here?", Toji smirks and pushes himself off the Bentley, "What do you mean, I'm just a good father here to pick up his lovely son~", the latter gives him a disgusted look, "Like hell you'd do that."

It's absolutely true, as if he'd go out of his way to pick the ungrateful brat up from high school. Plus, its tiring the way he has to ignore all of the housewives drooling over his muscles. They're not even trying to be discreet, evening making their children befriend Megumi to reach him. Those brats also have their own motives, always asking Toji to get a signature from the A-lists he stunt doubles for. But it was your orders, something about picking the kid up and go clothes shopping for a family dinner.

"Come on, let's get out of here before their panties get wetter", the boy feels queasy and Toji cackles, "I'm telling Mum!"

As he drives off, the black haired man feels his heart flutter at the way the children refers to you. It's perfect family, you're the perfect couple with two gorgeous children on their way to becoming adults. Of course, it wasn't accomplished overnight. While Tsumiki had no problem calling you two her parents, Megumi was different.

He resented Toji for a long time. For abandoning him when he was only a small boy, for leeching onto you...for bringing her presence into the house. The small photo frame of his real mother haunts him, it's a constant reminder that you could leave him any moment because there was no obligation. Toji gave up after a week, hiding her away in his wallet. But you made him put it back up despite all of the boy's tears.

"B-But don't you hate it?", "What do I hate, love?", he sniffles as giant tears fall down, "T-That I'm not yours, that t-the deadbeat cares about her?"

A chuckle escapes you as Megumi hides away in your arms, "Didn't I tell you not to call him that?", "...He deserves it."

Letting out a sigh, you reach out to caress the young lady inside the frame, "Your mum seems like a wonderful woman, I'm not surprised Toji loves her...I imagine if she was still alive, your dad would've stayed on the right track. She would've been a loving mother and wife, it would be disrespectful of me to let her beauty rot away just so I could feel secure."

You pull away and nuzzle into his hair, "Besides, I'm getting a little too old to be playing games with ghosts. Maybe in my teens, but I have bigger things to worry about now. If Toji can't see me without remembering her, then I have no reason to entertain him. But you'll always be my Megumi, my adorable boy, my child."

In that moment, you were the apple of his eye. A gift from the world that he thought abandoned him. And somewhere in his heart, he feels the same as Megumi. He should've met you first, long ago before anyone else. You two should've been together and happier years ago, Tsumiki and Megumi should've been born from you. You would've set him straight ages ago, turn him into the responsible father he is today.

But he learns to let it go, you taught him that. To move on from his past, to accept his flaws, to feel compassion and love, to cry and bleed, to smile and laugh.

"Dad, Megumi!", the exact copies wearing matching black suits see a blue ball of fluff bouncing about in front of the restaurant.

It's Tsumiki and whatever that thing she decided to wear. You place a hand on her shoulder to calm her down and Toji's breath hitches when he fully takes you in. It was really nothing extravagant, just a pretty apple red dress and the cheap earrings he bought you with his first check.

But it's you, so he falls in love all over again for the sweetest apple.

Hi Lovelies, hoped you guys enjoyed this!

Even though I think Toji might be a little too out of character, I always imagined him to be this confused giant when it comes to receiving affection and love. I hope the apple metaphor and motif wasn't too annoying, it felt a little...cringe in some areas but I just thought apple and couldn't look back!

Anyways, see ya again ‿୨♡୧‿

[flamingtouya]

𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢/𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚

word count: 1262

cw: none other than dabi's foul language

summary: dabi encounters a cat. i continue to spoon-feed this man happiness. based on this prompt by the lovely @scarlettcryptid ♡

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

The concrete is cold underneath his palm. Dabi welcomes April’s spring breeze, a strand of jet black hair tickling his cheek as he pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter. The dewy scent of the morning air is overtaken by the intense smell of steaming hot Yakitori, fresh off the grill, bought - not stolen - bought with his own, hard-earned cash money. (That, admittedly, he had stolen.)

You’ve got to indulge, the vendor had shouted, in the little pleasures! Treat yourself to life's delectable delights! Two plus two, Weekday special! Don’t miss out on-

“Screw you,” he’d told her, shoving the money on the little silver tray next to the register, scowling when she still served him with a bright smile, one that reminded him of Fuyumi’s excited grin every time she’d successfully pulled off a trick on her beautifully painted Kendama. Fuyumi would be so upset, he thinks, if she knew where he gets his food from these days.

He pulls the first skewer from the paper box, diligently inspecting a grain of Szechuan pepper. Dabi hasn’t laid eyes upon a spice in months - especially not one this pricey.

No, ever since he’s made a temporary home in the outer area of the city, it’s been nothing but dumpster diving and collecting restaurant leftovers for him. Stale bread. Expired cookies. Plain rice, cooked in an old bean can. Salted butter. Some Chili powder on top of his potatoes, if the old man at the soup kitchen was feeling generous.

Compared to the barely digestible nutrients his body runs on, the sight mere inches from his face is a divine gift.

After turning it over once more he finally takes a small bite, careful to pull the piece of chicken off the skewer with his front teeth. He’s become even more sensitive to temperature lately, and his teeth are the most annoying aspect. Not the sizzling of his flesh when he overuses his quirk, not the burn behind his eyes as they go dry. Those he’s gotten used to rather quickly. But when most of the food you eat is either cold or poorly reheated, the sensation of something hot is bound to cause major discomfort.

It’s not as bad as he expects. Neither the temperature sensitivity nor the taste. He begins to chew more boldly, savouring the harmonious balance between onion and garlic, sea salt and pepper, topped with tare sauce and just a hint of lemon. Say about the outskirt markets what you will, but those street food vendors do know how to grill a chicken.

Dabi doesn’t notice how quiet it’s gotten until something chirps behind him.

A cat.

A rather well-fed cat.

A cat that technically isn’t overweight, but its thick fur coat still makes it look a little fat.

Black with a white tummy and some spots of orange near its paws, sitting two arms’ lengths away. Its eyes follow the skewer as he moves it to one side, then the other, then dangles it upside down. Some grease drips onto the grass of the porch he’s sitting on. He finishes the remaining pieces of chicken and pulls out the second skewer, eyes shifting between his precious meal and the overly attentive cat.

Finally, he decides to pinch off a small piece, chewing at the spiced crust until it’s gone. He tosses the plain chicken towards the cat but to his surprise, it flinches and retreats behind a large flower pot.

The little fucker.

Wasted half a bite of perfectly good food.

Dabi turns his attention back towards his steaming Yakitori. Some time passes. He doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that he zones out looking at the flowering apricot tree in the distance, but he’s pulled back to reality by soft chewing noises. Careful not to make another sudden movement he shifts a bit, just enough to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the feline is greedily nibbling at the slice of meat. The two of them make brief eye contact before turning their attention back to their respective meals.

The sound behind him subsides shortly after and is replaced by a soft purring, one that he knows isn’t directed at him. He lets the cat have another piece from his third skewer nonetheless, this time giving it a gentle toss so it lands a few inches closer.

Still visibly tense, it takes a few steps forward and sniffs at the chicken before gulping it down in a few bites. Greedy shit, Dabi thinks, as he sacrifices yet another precious piece. He puts it down at his side, rubbing his fingers together. The cat’s attention is on the meat immediately, ears twitching as it courageously inches closer towards Dabi. He finishes the last of his Yakitori, never breaking eye contact with the cowardly little furball next to him.

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

After a thorough standoff, the cat’s curiosity gets the better of it. It keeps its stomach low as it sneaks across the ground, stretching its long neck to sniff at the finger that Dabi used to pull the Yakitori off the skewer earlier.

“If you bite me, I’m sending you to the coat factory.”

As if that theory was being tested, Dabi feels a sudden nip at his fingers. Cursing, he pulls back slightly, only to see the mischievous fucker’s pupils go wider. He wipes the bits of chicken grease off in the dewy grass and offers his palm again, checking both sides of the street to make sure nobody’s looking.

As if to taunt him, the little furball pounces and takes a swipe at Dabi’s hand before he can turn his attention back to the porch. It chatters in surprise when the man pulls away just in time.

Fucker, as Dabi decides to dub this newfound enemy of his, darts toward his other hand where he’s drawing lazy patterns on the concrete. With its claws half out and its tail puffed up, it races toward the wall, around the flower pot and jumps back onto the lawn to take another playful swing at Dabi’s limbs. Minutes later, he’s got the little menace chasing his fingers in circles, losing balance here and there and rolling over ever so often.

He’s focused, eagerly following the cat’s every move, trying to predict its attacks by the flick of its tail, an ear twitch, pupils that narrow ever so slightly before it leaps forward.

He’ll never admit it. That for once, there’s a sudden lack of grief in his heart.

Only when the first ray of sunshine hits the outer edge of the garden does he let himself fall backwards. The cat is but a purring weight on his thigh, stretching its paws across his lap with the softest ‘Meow’. Eyes closed and arms stretched out, he inhales slowly and holds his breath until he feels his pulse slow down. Dabi doesn’t care that his hair is getting a little wet, doesn’t care that the grass tickling his ears stings a little, doesn’t care that he’ll probably have red marks on his hands for a while.

If he shuts his eyes hard enough, he might still be able to convince himself that Touya is dead.

[chaifootsteps]

I honestly have no idea why Vivzie is pissed that people don’t like Chaggie all that much, when, let’s be honest… They’re boring as shit??? Both as individuals and as characters. If these bitches were a meal plan, they’d be oatmeal for breakfast, white rice for lunch, unseasoned chicken for dinner, and vanilla ice cream for dessert, their relationship is BLAND and FLAVORLESS.

All they do is reaffirm each other and hold hands, no playful teasing, no bedroom talk, no flirting, NOTHING, and when they do kiss, the camera makes damn sure to IMMEDIATELY back away from it! When all the dudes kiss you get to be up close and personal, take in every last fucking detail, but the ONLY lesbian couple??? OOP, can’t show that for too long! Any and all intrigue their relationship had was crammed in at the last possible second and gets IMMEDIATELY resolved anyway, so why even bother??? HOW FO YOU MANAGE TO MAKE A LESBIAN ROMANCE BETWEEN AN ANGEL WARRIOR AND A DEMON PRINCESS BORING, VIVIENNE????

Oh, I know, because you initially didn’t plan for them to BE an item, and it fucking shows! They were only made a couple because some of the employees thought they were cute, and I’m POSITIVE if Vivzie didn’t cave in, these women would be straight as rulers, I’m not even kidding. She ONLY made them a thing for some extra brownie points, they are as plain as dirt. Not only that, but individually they are STILL BORING

Charlie, despite being the PROTAGONIST, is the character equivalent of wonder bread. She’s got no long lasting arc, barely does anything truly impactful to further her goals herself, instead passively sitting on her hands whining the second she’d gotta be proactive, relying solely on other people to do the difficult shit for her, and speaking of which, Vaggie is even MORE boring somehow!! If Charlie is wonder bread, Vaggie is flour, she’s essentially Millie 2.0, with her only personality traits being “supports her girlfriend” and “fights for her girlfriend”, if you were to remove her from Charlie entirely, she’d be NOTHING. This girl is NOTHING, Her girlfriend is NOTHING, their relationship is NOTHING, just two NOTHING characters in a NOTHING show.

Sorry this got all ranty, I have a lot more thoughts on these two than I realized

A plain, white Wonder bread with a glass of water on the side for dippin' relationship if ever there was one.

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

Aizawa x Student reader platonic

-Shuu

Okay! Thank you for specifying lol! I hope this is as good as you hoped it would be :)

Masterlist<3

Warning: mentions of disordered eating...

Aizawa x Student!Reader (Platonic)- Only Rice?

You werent really eating. At least not as far as Aizawa could tell. He'd had his eye on you for a while now, first noticing your rather strange behaviour during lunch break when you sat on your own and didnt eat anything except for plain rice.

He found it peculiar that you would eat so little during your break, and it didn't help when all you wore were baggy clothes. He couldn't help but find it suspicious, but he hadnt said anything until one day you didnt eat altogether, worrying him greatly.

All you ever ate was plain white rice, and he never saw you eat anything else, and the way that your baggy clothes dwarfed your short, thin form made you seem much smaller than everyone else. His eyebrows furrowed in worry as he wandered away to see Present Mic and All Might, wondering what they would have to say about his suspicions.

Meanwhile, you sit at a table in the corner of the lunch room playing subway surfers on your phone, completely oblivious to the way aizawa is worrying over you. You had stupidly left your lunch at the dorms on the kitchen side and you couldnt muffle your mournful sigh, having really been craving rice for the past month.

It's another silly food obsession that will be replaced with something else any time now, you're sure, since you often go through phazes of craving your favourite food, only to then get bored of it and become obsessed with something else instead. This time, it was white rice. Boring, but so fluffy and sweet that you could literally cry if you tasted it again.

But alas, it sits on the counter a few buildings away because of your forgetfulness, and you just can't be bothered to go and get it. Curse your scatterbrain.

Once lunch finishes and the lesson after it ends you breath a sigh of relief, puffing out your cheeks like a hamster and readying yourself to leave when suddenly you hear Aizawa call your name with a troubled look on his face.

Oh oh. Aizawa Sensei never looks troubled. This spells bad luck. You fidget with the sleeves of your oversized school shirt, about to start rambling out random apologies for minor offenses like not replacing the toilet roll and using the last of the butter in the dormitory fridge until he clears his throat, waiting for the last of the stragglers in the class to leave.

"(-), I'm... worried about you. Answer me truthfully. I will know if you're lying. As your teachwr, I'm here for you and you can confide in me for any of your problems. I want to help you, but to do that, i need to know what's wrong..."

He pauses, his tone sounding heavy and full of genuine concern, which is rare even in worse circumstances.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

Your breath hitches and you blink in confusion, having not expected that question at all and doing a bit of a double take as he stares down into your soul.

You respond with a visibly confused expression, making Aizawa wonder what might be going through your head. Maybe you don't realise there's something a little concerning about your eating habits?

"Uh-... t-this morning? Why? Whats wrong? Have i been poisoned?!..."

Aizawa sweat-drops a little at your forwardness, though he is at least a little glad that you've apparently eaten this morning.

"Calm down, no, you haven't been poisoned. But- why didnt you eat at lunch? I only ever see you eat the bare minimum. And, frankly... I think you're suffering because of it. You seem very-... thin- lately..."

He hesitates to comment on your appearance, but he is genuinely very worried about you, since he came to the conclusion that you have some kind of eating disorder, and he know all about how dangerous the effects of these disorders can be.

You stare up at him in shock, your eyes widening as you finally realise what's going on, relief flooding your face.

"Wha-?... OH-! Ohhhh-... that makes sense now- listen, i know it looks weird, but please believe me, Sensei, when i say that i'm actually doing very fine. I just left my lunch in the kitchen this morning on accidwnt and uh-... might've been a little too lazy to go and get it..."

The conversation continues a lot like this, with Aizawa giving you a suspicious stare as you defend tour strange behavious, only now realising just how strange they are now that you're being called out. Oops.

Eventually you compromise with your poor, worried Sensei, offering to go and get your lunch now and eat it in front of him, and you both settle on that, the old man feeling a little better and more assured that you're not suffering all alone.

By the time you actually do manage to finish your food Aizawa Sensei is quite a bit more assured of your wellbeing, while you convince him that you're actually quite normal in size since you've always been kind of small. Though the conversation diverts to the clothes that shroud your form, and just maybe you let slip to Aizawa the fact that you only wear loose clothes because Mineta makes you feel really uncomfortable. But you only tell him that because he gives off very safe, parental energy, and you feel comfortable talking about it with him.

And just maybe he is silently fuming when you mention that it's not just you who feels genuinely unsettled by his presence, but it is in fact all of the girls in 1-A that feel this way.

Nobody knows where Mineta Minoru is the next morning, and nobody really wants to ask. And when the school cafeterias added plain white rice as a dish to be served on its own, along with a few other class favourites, noone thinks anything of it. But you do. And when your smile is a little brighter the next time your eyes meet your Sensei's, he feels acomplished as a teacher.

Dadzawa activate 👁👁

I absolutely adore dadzawa PLSPLSPLS THIS APP NEEDS MORE DADZAWA!! WE DESERVE MORE DAMNIT 🛐

[soggyriceee]

helloooo, how are you doing?? i was wondering if you could write a sort of sequel for the fic where price makes reader use the safe word where he is worried he's gonna hurt her again. If you can't its okay though <3 have a nice day/evening wtv byyye <3333

im fine | Captain Price

summary: your feeling needy and begin to try and get Price to touch you, but he cant bring himself to it

warning: female!reader, office sex, praise, oral(f!recieving), needy Price, sir kink

thank you anon for your request, I hope you enjoy <33

it had been about a month since you and Price last had sex. and it was draining you. everything he did felt like a tease to you. he got something on the top of the fridge for you? instantly wet. or he leaned down to hear you speak better? you could drop to your knees and suck him dry then and there. but as much as you yearned for him and his touch, he never initiated anything.

and you knew it was because of the last time you both had sex. he could shake the image of your limp body, your tears. the blood on your body from his own doing. he felt like he had failed you and swore to never let his own needs and lust control him like that again.

but you also never really initiated anything. you would give him small hints, like rubbing your arse onto him when you guys would cuddle. or wearing purposefully tight clothing, or his clothing. all of those things would usually turn him on and make him fuck you then and there. but he did nothing. nothing broke him. he was genuinely scared and worried to touch you. but you had enough. you needed to feel him inside you again.

so, when Price came home from shopping, you had an idea. he almost always goes into his office around the time you began to make dinner, working on paperwork and preparing for whatever mission was coming up, if any. so instead of cooking, you decided you'd seduce him into fucking you. or at least eating your pussy. anything.

" hi my love. I got mostly everything on the list. they were out of the jasmine rice so I got regular old rice. is that okay?" he asked, his accent booming into the kitchen. you turned to him and nodded, taking a second to bask in his handsomeness. he wore a black leather jacket, black pants and his black military boots. on top of his head was a black beanie, adding onto the whole black look. it made your pussy clench immediately, seeing the way he dressed do well in casual clothes.

"love?" he called out, realizing you were starring at him like some sort of meal. you shook your head, smiling up at him. " yes thats fine." you said softly before turning back to place the last dish in the dishwasher. he chuckled softly before walking over, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "ill be in my office." he said before making his way out the kitchen.

when you confirmed he had entered his office, you moved quickly into your shared room, applying a bit of lotion and some perfume to your skin. you wanted to smell perfect for him, seeing as it was one of his turn ons. he loved the perfume you had, especially if it was one he bought for you. so you pulled out your sexiest scent, his favorite scent, Christian Dior. he got it for you on Christmas and you definetly scolded him for spending so much on a small perfume bottle. but you loved it just as much and wore it every night you both had something planned.

you walked over to your mirror, pulling off the large hoodie you had on. underneath was your new pair of black stockings, a pink ribbon on each side of your hip. your underwear matched, black lace as was your bra. you ordered it a week or two back and now that it was finally in, you could go through with your plan.

you cleaned your throat, turning your body a bit to the side to see how your body looked before giving yourself a small smile before grabbing a plain white shirt to cover your upper half. fixing yourself for the umpteenth time, you made your way out into the hallway, and towards his office.

it was a bit nerve wrecking, you had to admit. you were never one to take charge and initiate anything. not this direct at least. it was almost always Price. you had no clue what to do if he did accept and wanted you to top him, or if this doesn’t go as planned and you just embarrass yourself. would this ruin your relationship? or help it? you were sure he was just as needy for you as you were for him. especially with all the subtle teasing you’ve been doing. so why wouldn’t he be?

you were so caught up in the what ifs, you hadn’t realized you were standing directly in front of his office door. you looked at the door, your hand on the knob as you began to re think to yourself if this was a good idea or not. but then, your ears picked up on some noise from inside. like, squelching?

you slowly opened the door, peeking only your head in. your jaw opened in awe when your eyes landed on Price. his bent over figure, head tossed to the side with his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. he let out the software moans, a few whimpers as his hips moved into what looked like the desk. but that’s when your eyes made out the small curve of an arse, a surprisingly small one at that. “f-fuck love.. g’nna cum soon.. so close” he groaned, moving his hips faster

you quickly realized in his hand was a sex toy. a fleshlight. your hand came over your mouth, the impact of skin to skin loud enough to catch Price’s attention. his eyes shot open, meeting yours immediately. you wanted to cry, confused as to why he was using a toy instead of the real thing. for a moment you thought it was because he simply wasn’t sexually attracted to you anymore.

“l-lovie i-“ he stopped, throwing the toy on the floor and pulling his pants up. but you were already heading out the door, clenching your jaw to hold back the tears. “wait, wait.” his arm reached out from his office in perfect timing to grip onto your wrist, pulling you back inside. but the tears were already dropping one by one from your eyes.

“please listen to me i-“ “are you no longer attracted to me.” you blurted out, your voice trembling from the tears. he remained silent before sighing, rubbing his hands down his face. “i knew that was a bad idea” he mumbled to himself before looking down at you. you couldn’t meet his gaze, you were to hurt and set on you not being up to his standards anymore.

“ i do. i find you so fucking beautiful my love. but i.. i’m scared.” he admitted, taking your hands in his. you looked up at him, confusion more than anger on your face. “ i’m scared of hurting you again. of making you get to the point where you can’t even take care of yourself. it hurt me to see you like that.. i remind myself every time of what i did to you that night whenever i feel like pulling you to the side and fucking you. i bought the doll as a distraction. i’m sorry my love.. i should’ve gone to you.” he said, looking down at you with pleading eyes.

for a moment you remained silent. you had no clue what you were supposed to say to that. you were happy it wasn’t because he didn’t see you as attractive. but also sad that he’s to scared of himself, if hurting you to satisfy his own needs. Price had always put you first no matter what. for once you just wished he’d put himself first too.

“John I.. I’m fine. it was a one time thing. that will never happen again, okay? you got carried away one night it doesn’t dictate our sex life for the rest of our relationship.” you finally said, walking closer into him. he reached out and pulled you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “ i just can’t see you like that again my love.” he whispered, gripping onto you tighter.

you both stayed like this for a moment until you pulled away, looking up at him. “i got all.. dressed up for you.” you did a small spin, looking back at him to see a smile on his face, his wrinkles at the corner of his eyes making you smile. “i see.. you smell so good too.” he said softly, eyeing you up and down. you giggled and nodded, looking down. “yea i put on the perfume you like. i was hoping it would get you in the mood.” you said softly, your eyes staring at his abdomen.

he was silent for a moment before taking a step closer to you. he grabbed your hand, placing a soft kiss at the top. “what if it’s working?” he asked, looking down at you. a blush was quick to appear across your face, a small giggle leaving you. he smiled down before pulling you over to his desk. he sat in his chair, pulling you down onto his lap. your thighs sat at either side of his lap, your hands on his shoulders.

his hand slid to the side of your face, pulling you into him for a kiss. it was passionate from the start, his tongue sliding in your mouth, sucking your tongue gently before pulling away, making moves to your neck. you gasped softly, tilting your head to the side more as his teeth nibbled at your skin, kissing or licking the same spot. “j-john” you whispered, pulling away from him.

his eyes moved up to yours, worry on his face. “are you okay? did i do anything?” he asked quickly, eyes darting across your face. you smiled and shook your head. “i just.. want to know if this is really what you want..” you said, “if this is what your comfortable doing.” his face and body relaxed, a soft breath coming from his lips. “ yes, my love. this is what i want.. i’ve been craving you for so long.” he said, eyes drifting down your body.

you blushed, looking away from him. “missed touching you like this, feeling your body pressed against mine.” his hips grabbed the curve of your hips, pulling you closer into his chest. your cunt rested perfectly above his bulge, his hips pressing up just a bit. “missed touching you, making you feel good.” his lips found their way back to your neck, his nose breathing in your scent. “fuck.. missed smelling you.” his hips again pressed up into your pussy, a small moan leaving his lips.

your pussy gripped around nothing, yearning for his dick to fill it up. you felt your own wetness every time you shifted in his lap, only making you want him more. his hands worked up the shirt you had on, stopping at the bra. his lips detached from your neck, looking at his hands under your shirt. “is this a new set?” he asked, looking you up and down again. he was so focused on making sure you knew he still was attracted to you, he hadn’t realized the new set you had on.

you smiled and nodded, lifting the shirt for him. he licked his lips quickly before his hands gripped your bra, pulling the cups down. your boobs jumped out, your nipples already hard for him. “so fucking perfect.” he whispered, cupping one in his hand. he leaned forward, taking the other one in his mouth. his tongue traced a circle over your nipple, a soft breathy moan leaving your lips. you hands found the back of his head, your fingers rubbing through his brown hair.

he gently pulled your nipple with his teeth, his hips bucking forward. your head fell back, back arching in his lap as his mouth and fingers worked wonders on your nipples. but he was eager for something other than just your boobs.

“princess..” he mumbled into your chest before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting his lips back to your nipple. “need you to sit on my desk for me. can you do that?” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours. you didn’t hesitate to nod, practically jumping onto the wooden desk. he chuckled as he watched your eager self rest onto his desk, your legs spreading apart.

“missed getting your pussy eaten that much huh?” he joked, dropping to his knees. his hands found the backs of your knees, holding them firmly. “my fingers don’t do enough for me anymore.” you responded, your hands cupping your exposed boob. “i know baby.. but i’m gonna take care of you now, okay?” he said, kissing your inner thigh

you watched as his face disappeared between your legs, his lips pressing a kiss each time he moved closer up to your pussy. his hands remained right behind your knees, pulling you closer into his face. when he got to your cunt, he took one hand and pulled your panties to the side, allowing his nose to press into your clit, a gasp leaving your lips. he chuckled before pressing his lips to your pussy, his tongue moving slowly up between your folds, then back down.

your head fell back as you listened to him suck and lick your cunt. collecting every drop of wetness that came from you. his tongue pressed into your hole slowly, only to drag it back out just as slow. you could tell immediately he was being more gentle with you, more cautious. usually he’d have his fingers in you while his tongue sucked into your clit, fucking his fingers into your hole fast and desperately.

but now, his tongue was doing all the work, giving you soft licks up and down your slit or slow thrusts in and out your hole. you needed more. you needed him to fuck you like he never will be able to again.

you pulled the back of his head gently, whining for his attention. he looked up at you, his nose already shiny with your slick and his own saliva. “are you okay, am i being to rough?” he asked, the grip on your back knees loosening. “no.. if anything your not being rough enough. are you sure you want to do this?” you asked, looking down at him with a serious, stern look.

he sighed before leaning back on the heels of his feet. “i do my love but i can’t put you back in that position. it hurt me and scared me to see you like that. and i know it hurt and scared you even more.” his eyes drifted from your eyes to your knees. you smiled and took his hand, gripping it gently. “it won’t get to that point, i promise. i want to have our regular old sex back.” you said, looking down at him.

his eyes drifted back up to yours, reading your face. “i will be okay. i promise.” his eyes drifted down to your pussy before looking back up at you. “okay.” he nodded before scooting back closer to you. his lips immediately went for your clit, sucking it into his mouth. his ring and middle finger found your home, slowly sliding inside. you gasped above him, your eyes crossing from the double pleasure you just felt.

one hand went back to the back of his head, the other pressing flat in his desk to hold you up. “f-fuck John.. just like that~” you whined, moving your hips against his face. he groaned between your thighs before his fingers moved faster, his tongue circling your clit to match the pace of his fingers. “fuck your so wet” he mumbled against your pussy, scissoring his fingers inside you.

of course, with this amount of pleasure he was giving your pussy, your stomach began to knot and you knew you were close. “j-john i’m c..close” you whined, your thighs pressing harder on either side of his face. “cum on my face baby i know you can do it.. come on” he encouraged, looking up at you as he continued to abuse your pussy.

the sounds were sinful. he was licking and slurping your cunt so well, small groans leaving his own lips every so often. your hand remained on the back of his head, your hips moving in desperation on his face. “that’s it baby.. fuck yourself on my face.” he said, sticking his tongue out into your cunt.

you whined, gripping his hair more. your legs twitched beside him and soon after, the knot in your stomach came undone. your cum completely covered his tongue, some of his dripping down his chin. “fuck yes baby just like that.. fuck” he groaned, pulling you closer into his face.

his tongue lapped up all your cum, the slurping sound filling the room once again. your body gently shook above him, your chest rising and falling quickly. “j-john~” you moaned softly, slowly resting on his desk. his tongue made slow movements up and down your cunt, his head moving in small circles around your clit, following his tongue.

your eyes fluttered close as your came over your high, chest rising and falling slowly. he slowly got to his feet, looking down at you. “tired already?” he asked, patting your hip. you shook your head, peeking your eyes open. “not even a tiny bit.”

he chuckled before leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer into you. “need you to fuck me.” you breathed against his lips, looking into his eyes through your lashes. he smiled down at you before he pushed himself up and off you. his hands made quick movements to undo his belt, dropping his pants to his ankles. his hands spread your legs open, your shiny cunt the first thing he sees.

he licked his lips, a small smile spreading on his lips. he grabbed the base of his dick, slapping it on your covered cunt. your fingers dipped down, pulling your drenched panties to the side. again, his tip slapped against your cunt. he watched as your lips ever so slightly shook with each slap he gave them before pressing his tip between your folds. you looked down, watching him play with your pussy. “john..” you whined impatiently, swinging your legs. he chuckled, shaking his head softly.

“so impatient aren’t we?” he said, replacing your hand with his. you smiled with anticipation, watching as his hips slowly moved forward, feeling his tip push into you. a gasp left the both of you simultaneously, a quick glance shared between you both. it was the first time in a month you’d felt something full you up, and he’d felt something real and authentic.

he pushed deeper inside you, stretching your kissy out perfectly around his dick. he groaned, one hand slamming beside your head, the other on your hip. “raise those legs baby come on. wanna fuck into you deep.” he breathed out, nodding towards your legs. instantly you raised them, pressing them to your chest as best you could.

his head fell back, his adams apple bouncing up for a moment. “you .. are you tight.” he groaned, pulling his hips back slowly. he wanted you to feel every inch of him, and he wanted to feel every inch of your warmth. your head fell back, your hands gripping onto his biceps. when he bottomed out inside you, he remained still for a moment.

“feel okay?” he asked, looking down at you. you nodded your head lazily, looking up at him through your lashes. “please.. fuck me.” you whispered, clenching around him. he groaned at the sudden tightness around his length, his head falling to the side. he slid out of you and pushed back inside, finding a pace and rhythm for your you both.

your back laid flat on his desk, your head slightly hanging off the edge. he took your legs and rested them on his shoulders, quickly placing his hands back on your hips. he picked up the speed of his thrusts slowly, hitting deeper inside you with each one. “fuck y-your so deep sir.. feels so good” you cried out, your hands finding the edge of his desk to hold onto.

one thing about John was he loved it when you called him sir. he loved when he had some sort of power over you. not to the point he was controlling of course, but when you’d give up into him, give him complete control and power. man he loved it. “i bet you do love. this pussy so wet for me.” he moaned, gripping your hips harder.

your body jerked up with each thrust he gave, his tip hitting your cervix each time. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth falling open. “ look at you, so fucking pretty. feel like cumming already.” he groaned, watching as your face twisted in pleasure. your eyes landed onto his above you, giving him the most innocent look you could manage to make. “feel too good sir.. so sensitive.” you whined, clenching around him again.

another thing John loved. when you made that cute little face. nothing made him cum faster than that. “fuck love.. don’t l-look at me like that.” he groaned, looking away from you quickly. but your whimpers and moans were everything but helpful in helping him hold back his orgasm. your pussy was still sensitive to touch from your previous orgasm, his pounding only made it more sensitive.

his fingers bruised your sides for sure, but you didn’t care. in fact you loved it. you wanted him to mark you up like he always does. and you were more than happy he was finally becoming okay with having you guys’ normal, rough sex.

“sir your s-so big.. fuck i cant take it.” you whined, arching your back off his desk. you were teasing him at this point, hoping to get him to cum first. he never came before you did, never. “i’m a gentleman, my love.” you remember him saying the first night you both hooked up. and he kept to his word. he never finished before you. not until tonight.

“c-come on love don’t s-say that.” he groaned, his head dropping. you smirked, up at him, giving him your doe eyes. “but you s-so big. feel so full.” his hips moved quicker, his nails digging into your hips. “baby please..” he whimpered out, trying to stop himself from cumming. “ need you to fill me up sir.. please.” you begged, clenching around him again.

his breath picked up, his hips slowing. “not gonna cum before you do.” he growled, looking down at you.

but you had different plans.

you looked up at him, your hands wrapping around his shoulders to pull him down. your lips latched onto his neck, biting and sucking his skin. another one of his weaknesses. “my god baby.. stop-fuck-stop doing this to me.” he whined, fucking into your faster. he couldn’t maintain the slow pace, he needed to cum.

your arms wrapped around him, your legs wrapping around his hips. “cum in me sir.. need you to cum in me.” you whispered in his ear, clenching around him again. his breathing picked up again, arms wrapping around your waist. “my god love.. gonna make me cum.” he groaned, slamming into you.

his desk began to scrape against the floor, your body jerking up with each thrust he gave you. just as he was about to cum, your second orgasm began to build up. “fuck keep going sir, please. so close.” you cried out, removing your lips from his neck.

“fuck baby- can’t hold it.” he moaned, his head digging into your neck. his legs gave out slightly, his orgasm rushing over him. he chanted your name into your neck quietly, pulling you into his chest. “f-fuck” he growled, slamming into you deeper.

his body laid on top of yours, his hips still moving to get you to your end. “come on baby cum for me.. wanna feel you cum on my dick.” he whispered, hands still on your hips.

your hands found their way back to the edge of the desk, lifting your hips up to feel him deeper. “right there sir - please” you cried out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. he raised his body, watching you squirm beneath him. his hand found it’s way to your lower stomach, pressing down on it. “ so deep inside you, so deep in this pussy.” he moaned, watching you with hooded eyes.

with the pressure of his hand and the force of each thrust, your high cane and went very quickly. he moaned as your cum completely coated his dick, watching your body shake. “f-fuck John” you cried out, legs gripping his neck. “that’s it baby just like that.. just like fucking that.” he moaned, thrusting gently into you.

as he rode out your high, your eyes looked up at him. his eyes were already on yours, a soft smile on his lips. “how are you feeling?” he asked, taking your hand to press a kiss on your palm. “good. really really good.” you smiled.

he nodded before looking down, watching himself pull out. you both moaned quietly at the feeling, a small pop sound coming from your cunt as he pulled out fully. “i’ll clean you up and we can cook together.” he said, pulling his pants up from his ankles. nodding, you watched him walk away, preparing to clean you up. you were happy that you were finally able to get Price back to his old self. so much so, you could stop from pulling him back between your legs again when he came back, begging him for a round two.

you both ended up eating dinner very, very late that night.

[winter-rp-memes]

Food preferences meme

🌭 - Hotdogs! Do they eat hotdogs at all? Do they use a lot of contiments? Toppings? Or just plain?

🌽 - CORN! Do they eat a lot of corn? Do they ever eat it by itself? Have they ever tried corn on a cobb? They put any butter or pepper on their corn?

🍿 - Popcorn! Do they have butter on their popcorn? Extra salty? Do they get any of the colored popcorn at movie theaters or just the usual stuff?

🍕 - Pizza! How many toppings? Which toppings? All the toppings? Stuffed, thin or regular crust?

🍔 - Burger! Do they prefer them on a charcoal or propane grill? No preference? How do they stack their burgers? What type of bun do they use?

🥪 - Sandwiches! What's their usual go to when it comes to a sandwich? PB&J? BLT? Ham and Cheese? Do they still cut the crust off their sandwiches? Preference on sandwich bread?

🥗 - Salads! Do they eat their greens? What vegetables do they like? Favorite salad dressing? Do they usually have a lot of crackers and cheese on their salad?

🧀 - Cheese! What kind of cheese do they like or consider their favorite? Are they the type of person that will put cheese on almost anything or do they use it sparingly?

🍳 - Breakfast! Do they have a big or very light breakfast? What's their go to breakfast food? Do they eat breakfast at all?

🥧 - Pie! Do they like pie or have a favorite type of pie? Do they prefer cake instead?

🥣 - Soup! Do they have any soups they like? Do they make it from scratch or just get canned soup? Is it something they commonly eat or is it reserved for a sick day?

🍚 - Rice! How do they season their rice? Do they eat rice by themselves or do they combine it with something?

🌯 - Fast food! Do they eat fast food often? What's their favorite place to do? Do they settle for something greesy or are they very picky about where they eat out at?

🌶 - Spice! How well do they handle spicy food? Do they usually put hot sauce on lots of their food? Or do they avoid it at all cost?

🍦- Ice cream! What's their favorite flavor? Do they get any toppings? Syrup? Whip cream? Do they prefer it in a cone or in a cup? Do they eat on warm days only or on cold days too?

🍧- Shaved Ice! Have they ever had it? What flavor would you get? Does ice hurt their teeth? Do they have to wait until it melts and it's more of a slush?

🍩- Doughnuts! Do they get a plain glazed? Icing? Jelly filled? Settle for Doughnut holes? Or do they want powdered sugar?

🍤 - Seafood! Do they have a favorite type of seafood? Like seafood at all? Have they had any bad experiences with seafood in the past?

🥩 - Meat! Do they eat meat? Are they picky about how it's cooked, where it comes from, and how to eat it? Do they prefer red or white meat?

☕️ - Coffee! Do they like it black? With lots of sugar and cream? Do they drink a lot of it or only in small amounts?

🫖- Tea! Do they have a favorite type? Do they drink any herbal tea for health benefits? Do they drink it warm or cold?

🍫- Chocolate! Do they have a favorite? Do they like dark chocolate or prefer it be as impossibly sweet as possible? Do they settle for low end stuff or get the expensive brands?

🍪- Cookies! Favorite type of cookie? Do they eat cookies a lot or just on occasion?

🥃 - Alcohol! The stronger the better or do they have a low tolerance for those type of thing? Do they drink alcohol by itself or do they commonly have it with a meal?

[p0pcorn-hearts]

Aphmau headcanons yay!!

(Except its just four main characters and a handful of miscellaneous headcanons because writing more than that is too much effort and also painful)

Aphmau

She has ADHD that's usually inattentive but sometimes is hyperactive

Both a cat and a dog person

Had a bit of an anger problem in high school but is much better at anger management as an adult

Because of her half-werewolf blood her teeth are slightly more pointy

Listens to dubstep and 2000-2010s pop music

Has chronic insomnia but can and will sleep the entire day away

Rejection sensitive dysphoria. Would do anything to make sure you don't hate her

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract to prove she's sorry

Super competitive though

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract to prove she's right/better

"If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?" "Yes"

Aaron

It gets really cold where he lived so he used to draw stick figures in the frost on his bedroom window

Has a few tattoos, nothing serious, just a moon on his back and a full sleeve inspired by his favorite band (okay so a bit serious)

Listens to exclusively rock but is fine with Aphmau’s pop music. He doesn't get it, but he loves her too much

He got the tattoos like right when he was free from his dad and now he kinda regrets them, but he has to admit, the full sleeve is fuckin awesome

Writes songs for his guitar, although he doesn't show anyone because they range from love songs about Aphmau to full blown vent songs about his PTSD from his dad

Speaking of his PTSD, he gets frequent nightmares and even when he doesn't or when he can't remember his nightmare, he'll still jolt awake in a cold sweat

Used to have a pet rock that he'd throw at kids who bothered him

His dad made sure to take care of that one

Still draws stick figures on frosted glasses, but while as a kid he'd draw his family, he now draws his friends and Aph

Actually decently friends with Garroth and Travis. They shit talk people together

There was once one time Aaron hung out with Laurence, Garroth, Dante, and Travis, and they ordered pizza but they couldn't pay so they played rock paper scissors to see who would negotiate and Dante lost, so he attempted to sway the pizza guy into lowering the price while fucking 6'5 Aaron stood ominously over Dante, piercing into the guy's soul

It actually worked

It never worked again though

Hanami (Kawaii~Chan for the uninitiated)

Autism

Is the token straight friend although she acts super gay, like she doesn't like girls but she *will* kiss the homies goodnight

Bakes even though meif'wa literally cannot have sugar

She has perfected her own recipes for sugar-free, sugar, and sweetened cupcakes

When she's angry her whole body scrunches up. Like she tenses, her ears lay flat on her head, her arms are pressed tightly to her sides, and her face scrunches up

Has almost sent Lucinda to the hospital because they'd get in play fights and meifwa claws are sharp

Best girl scout in the business. Literally created her own cookie because of her love of experimenting with baked good

Would eat plain rice. Just a ball of plain white rice

When startled, she jumps like three feet horizontally

Always lands on her feet. Except for when she doesn't

Knows how to sew and often modifies her clothing to add more ruffles and bows. When Katelyn wanted to put on a play her and Cadenza worked on the costumes together

Super competitive also

Would chug a bottle of imitation vanilla extract-

Highly empathetic. It's to the point that people being upset around her can get very overwhelming very fast

Ran a meif'wa colony in high school. She was often underestimated by the other colonies but she ended up being front and center a lot of conflicts and her colony remained standing after The Jury

She only has like three people in it though. Aimi (OC because there aren't enough meifwa), Xin (OC because there aren't enough meifwa), and June

Zane

Autism

Also has asthma, ASPD, depression and PTSD

Like pick a struggle 🙄

Was in a gang in high school but luckily has a rich daddy who can afford a lawyer to get Zane out of the legal trouble

Greatly regrets it now as like his only options for work are minimum wage and Aphmau and Aaron’s business

Lacks a lot of empathy but still good at comfort. He just somehow knows the right things to say even if he doesn't really get what they're upset about

Not actually emo, he's goth. He was emo back in high school because Gene is emo but only knew My Chemical Romance. He realized that he actually much preferred goth music and had a trad goth phase in college before settling on just more casual outfits during a massive depressive episode

How much Zane dresses up is a legitimate indicator of his mental health

Is he just wearing sweatpants and hoodies? Depressive episode

Is he wearing jeans and jewelry? He's fine

Also genderfluid (he/him or she/her, depends what gender hes presenting as)

Didn't really explore that side of himself until he was friends with Aphmau

Trauma :(

Likes vocaloid (Hanami's fault)

Miscellaneous that might get their own posts

Dottie, Daniel, and Blaze were in an open relationship until, yknow, Blaze kinda died

After that, Dottie and Daniel continued dating but decided to close their relationship until they properly got over Blaze dying right in front of them

The Shadow Knights are also dating, but they specifically date after high school after they went through their character arcs and became better people

Sasha dated Michi once

You can imagine how bad it was

Canontypical first Sapphic relationship

Melissa likes Twilight but hides it

Travis is essentially one of the girls. He mightve flirted with every one of them but Aph swears on him being cool. They invited him over for a sleepover once and they had so much Travis is just automatically invited to the sleepovers and girl nights out. He is very happy

Imagine getting invited to every outing with the girls but you cannot get a single chick. Even Zane, who is an honorary girl like Travis some days and an actual girl other days, has a girlfriend

It's okay, he has Dante

Dante is like "bro I just cannot pick up chicks" and Travis is like "me neither :(" they turn to each other. "I would date you if you were a girl" Dante said. "Me too" Travis said. There's a pause. They begin making out

Dante did have Nicole but they broke up on good terms because Nicole pursued a master's in engineering and it required too much attention. They're still besties though and hang out whenever Nicole is in town

Nicole is steampunk goals

Okay that's it. You may exit the theater carefully on your right

[possessionisamyth]

can’t read even 1/4 of the het ships in this tag because people put all the women into such tradwife roles it makes me want to vomit, so here are my headcanons when it comes to cooking abilities

Jill Valentine- Military rationing because it’s less time consuming. She cooks once and makes enough food to eat on for two weeks. She will eat that soup/beans&rice/chili for every other meal until she runs out. All her recipes are “throw everything in a pot and let it simmer overnight” style. Anything that has her sauteing, baking, or frying will get burned since she gets distracted doing other more important stuff.

Rebecca Chambers- Does not cook. Can not cook. Has not figured out how to cook. Take-out Queen. She can find a good restaurant or cafe in any area and this skill was honed on purpose. Hates long wait times for food though, so if she can she’ll send someone else to get her food/drinks.

Claire Redfield- Cooking level is tolerable as in she can follow easy recipes when there’s a video to watch, but may get an ingredient or measurement wrong and wonder why the dish tastes off. Anything more complicated than meatloaf or country fried steak is her nemesis.

Ada Wong- Fucking hates cooking. Can cook something decent with the littlest variety of ingredients, but hates it so much. She hates the mess during prep time, the mess during cooking, and the clean up afterwards. Hires a personal chef where she can or goes out to eat. (Before anyone disagrees saying she doesn’t trust strangers this much, consider she has a lot of money from her jobs and most people do not actually know who the fuck she is.)

Sherry Birkin- Substitution Queen. Loves to cook, and loves to experiment with food even more. If she starts cooking and finds she’s missing an ingredient, she’ll look at other recipes to see if she can replace it with something else. Will finish eating her food experiments or new recipe attempts even if they’re a little bland while constructing ideas on how to make it better next time.

Ashley Graham- Cooks college student food even into adulthood. Lactose intolerant but ignores it.  Her mom couldn’t cook, and no longer having a personal chef left her in the wild to figure things out. She will put together any strange combination of food for the taste and calories. She mixes cereals together. She mixes plain yogurt into her ramen. She will lovingly add a slice of cheese on top of the most white looking piece of baked chicken before adding hot sauce and sandwiching it between 9-grain wheat bread for the sake of getting some kind of fiber in her body.

Ingrid Hunnigan- The planner. She can follow almost any recipe without too much difficulty, and always makes sure she has all the ingredients before she starts. She cannot improv or substitute ingredients to save her life.

Sheva Alomar- Teaches herself how to cook a new recipe or better a current recipe when she has the time. Has 5 go-to recipes she’s mastered which everyone loves, but no consistent recipe book. Will default to military rationing where she’ll make a big pot of something and eat on it for a few days until she gets bored of it and goes out to eat. Forgets about ingredients she purchased and only used a little of, and they go bad making her feel guilty.

Helena Harper- Frozen meals or box meals where she adds a “secret ingredient” into whatever she cooks. The secret ingredient is always cayenne pepper or bouillon powder.

Mia Winters- Can cook only the most white american food possible, but thankfully is not afraid of spices or spicy food. Hamburgers, steak, casseroles, tuna salad, and so on, she can manage pretty well. Any “foreign” food is lost on her. The first time Ethan brought home an avocado with plans to make guacamole, he caught her using a potato peeler on it.

Let me know if you’d like a similar list with the men of RE.

[morrak]

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 142

I’ve been thinking a lot about criticism lately. It’s a thing I — we all — do often, of course, which probably makes it important. Some, but not all, kinds of criticism have traditions and vocabularies; you can (thought hardly anyone does) make a living writing about film or architecture or food. There are, on the other hand, some things about which a weekly column would have to get inventive. Spreadsheets. Individual songbirds. Tactile sensations. Rust.

I try pretty hard not to do the first kind of thing in these posts. Although that’s mostly because I fear committing to judgments on the record, it’s also (I think) an expression of sympathy toward the second kind of thing — not everything needs a critical tradition, but why not spread the attentiveness around, y'know? Maybe.

To such an end, posting about books is a pretty bad choice. You could argue that what I’m really reviewing isn’t the works themselves, but rather the choice to dedicate pieces of mind to them. I'm not sure why you'd argue that, but you could. If I’d thought this exercise through properly I’d have chosen some other thing I have several of, like 5V wall adapters or grains of rice.

Anyway, let’s talk about an art book.

Ben P. Ward’s 2021 I Dream of Dust, one of the four things Temper Books published before changing everything on their website to the past tense.

The How

From some small bookseller whose name I’ve forgotten and wouldn’t tell you anyway. A few weeks back, @krieper and I visited a printing studio that hosted some stuff — zines and local prints, mostly — on a self-service rack up front. All cool stuff, but this especially caught my eye.

The (Sub)Text

So, the Eastern Plains, right? This is about those, sort of. I broadly agree with the thoughts of this reviewer about the voice it delivers differing from Temper’s promise — yes, this is what Eastern Colorado can look like if shot competently, and yes, the meditation works for me, but no, I’m not sure it’s especially subversive.

The Object

I cannot offer you a good feel for these photographs or their printing here. Ward is on other social media, I’m told; you can also find some of these on his website.

This is a quiet project, which the printing respects. Thoughtful margins, easy blacks and whites, satin finish, more blank space than photo. Large format shots at this scale just work. I’m used to seeing posthumous collections or coffee table send-ups of painters, which are too often too full; this can breathe. Sensitive and inviting but only sparingly intimate. Glad for all that.

This first (and presumably final) printing comprised 500 signed copies in sewn hardcover bindings. Not unusual for a collection like this, but still nice to see and handle.

The Why, Though?

Because it mostly works for me, because it reminds me of other stuff than mostly works for me, and because the outing this came from involved talk of Colorado and Kansas and the Texas Panhandle, none of which I miss, I swear.

[foap-enjoyer]

Sensory deprivation | Overstimulated | Isolation

Sensory deprivation.

'A white room is a famous torture device used to psychologically torture its victims by depriving them of everything but the colour white.'

Trigger warnings: Self harm, minor character death. Ships: Implied GhostSoap, but very minor.

AI-Less whumptober baby! Avaliable on my A03, link at the bottom of this page, and on my pinned post.

~

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white food.

White room, white clothes, white fucking food.

God.

Sergeant John ‘Soap’ Mactavish could handle torture. 

He was a member of 141, after all, a squad famous for their hardy nature. He could handle waterboarding. Handle stabbings, being shot, being electrocuted, beaten, mutilated, scarred. Hell, being starved, dehydrated, it all came easy to him.

He was a stubborn roach, capable of living through anything, and he would not break.

But this?

Two months.

Two months of nothing but the colour white. White room, white clothes, white food. Iran knew their shit when it came to torture. Soap knew that, he’d known that since the first day he had heard of Iran’s favoritsm to psychological torture. Since he’d heard of the white room.

It was a good pick. You could ignore the beatings, ignore the pain your body was in. Push it to the back of your mind. But attacking the mind itself? 

Well. 

When you attack the mind, you make wounds deeper than any knife could slash. Then any bullet could pierce. When the brain hurts, and yet the skin remains untouched, you know you’ve hit the right spot. Iran knew this, as did Venezuela and North Korea. Countries that weren’t afraid to play dirty loved to toy with the brain, and god could they toy with it alright.

White room, white clothes, white food.

A white room is exactly how it sounds. White. Room. A room that is nothing but white. White walls, white lights, white floor, white ceiling. Some white rooms have beds, little white stone mattresses. Some have toilets, and sinks, even, with running water, but a white room that was truly, truly effective? Well, it had nothing.

His, had nothing.

It was just him, in white prisoner clothes that matched the same disgusting shade of white on the walls. Just him.

Just him and this white fucking room. 

White food, too. Of course, they didn’t want him starving, not when they needed information out of him. Rice. Plain, white rice, soggy with overhydration in order to give him needed water in the same go. Dumped on the white floor in front of his white door for him to lick up like a dog. 

He never saw the guards who brought it. A little post-box-esque chamber would open at the bottom of the cell-door, and there the rice would be, splattering wetly onto the floor like cat food to a bowl. He would catch a glimpse of gloves, sometimes. Pale blue medical gloves. Sometimes, even a flash of tan skin. A colour. Colours, for once. He enjoyed those days.

Which he soon realised meant he was losing it.

The thing about a white room, too, is that they’re completely soundproof. Inside and out. 

Not that that really meant anything to him. He knew, from his little time before being thrown in this cell, that the world just outside of these walls was far, far away from civilization. Far enough that even if he did scream, and it somehow managed to get past the white walls that held him in, that the only living creature to hear his pleas would be the wild gazelles who grazed nearby. He also knew that they wouldn’t care for his cries. He wasn’t one of them, so why would they? They simply ignored him just like the soldiers in this compound ignored him.

Of course, the soldiers, unlike the gazelles, hadn’t always ignored him. They’d tried, for the first few weeks, to get information out of him. They’d held him in a regular cell; there had actually been others, like him, there. Soldiers from all over the globe trapped between concrete and metal just like him. He’d even made friends with some. A Russian friend, Yurii, and Bjorn, a Norwegian man. They spoke broken English, but it was better than none. He was just glad he wasn’t alone.

So of course, his captors noticed. Noticed how he relied on human companionship. On small touches of comfort through the bars, or small jokes here and there, or pieces of bread shared among those who were unlucky enough to be fed after a rough interrogation. They noticed how, with friends, he could ‘open up’. 

So, of course, they ripped that away. Violently. Apparently Yurii hadn’t meant that much to them. So he was killed. Thrown and left to rot in the corridor between cells, his eyes fluttering frantically as his throat bled into the cracks in the concrete floor, unable to move as guards held him down with a boot to the head. 

Soap had watched the life fade from the man’s brown eyes, tried to provide comfort as he left them behind in those cells. Another cellmate, Yesna, had been able to reach him physically, holding his hand as he passed, her arm stretched uncomfortably through the bars, disregarding the danger the guard still stood atop Yurii presented, tears in her eyes and the words I love you on her tongue. It had been a sad day that day.

Then, of course, they brought him here, to further his own misery. To his own personal hell. To the white room.

He missed Yurii. Missed Bjorn and Yesna, missed the other silent and weeping prisoners of cell-block seven.

He missed home. Scotland. He missed his Ma, and her stupid jokes, and his sister and his niece. Missed his dad’s cooking, his bedroom. Missed the feeling of anything other than smooth concrete, than wet soggy rice. 

He missed 141. He missed his Captain, his second father away from home. He missed Gaz, the Sergeant who was like a twin brother to him. He missed Ghost, who was like… 

Well, he didn’t have a name for whatever Ghost was to him. But he missed the man. 

He wondered, deep down, day after day in this bright, white cell, with his white clothes, and his white food, and white walls, if they’d forgotten about him. If they gave up looking for him. Was he like Yurii? Was he disposable too? Would he be shot and killed, left to rot in a ditch somewhere where only the coyotes and hyenas would find him?

He hoped not. God, he hoped not.

He wondered what Bjorn was up to. He wondered if they had killed him too.

One day, he found another way to see colour.

Colour had long since stopped being in his dreams, as did the tiny flash of gloves from the hole that fed him every few days. No, they hadn’t come back in a very long time. He thinks, deep down, they’ve forgotten about him too.

But he can make colour. It’s not a pale blue, or a tan beige, but a deep red. His own red. 

If he rolled up his white sleeves, and pressed his sharp, long nails to the white skin that ran on the inner portion of his forearm, he could draw blood. His blood, yes, but blood- a colour. A colour other than white. A texture other than soggy rice and concrete. A feeling other than mind-numbing loneliness. 

Now, he could feel something- see something, touch something. He’d never felt more alive.

When was the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember.

Then again, when was the last time he spoke? He couldn’t remember that, either.

White walls, red clothes, white food.

White walls, red clothes, white food.

No food. But white walls, and red clothes.

He liked the colour red. At least red never forgot to show when he dragged his nails across scabbed marks on his arms, beckoning for it to crawl forwards. At least red kept him company.

Red didn’t abandon him like 141 abandoned him.

No.

No, 141 didn’t abandon him. They were coming, they were coming. He would go home, and see his Ma, and his dog, and his sister and his niece and his dad. See Price, and Gaz, and Laswell. Alejandro, and Rodolfo, and Ghost. They were coming.

They were coming.

Were they coming?

They had to be coming.

He tried screaming. Wondered if the wild gazelles he had dreamed of in their blood red hue could hear him. He wondered if they would lead his team to him.

He wondered if Yurii could hear him too.

No. No, Yurii was dead.

He wondered if Bjorn could hear him too. Yes, that was right. Bjorn.

He missed his Ma.

He tried drawing on the walls today. Blood, as it turns out, works well as a paint.

It was a shame he didn’t have the energy to get up from the floor to make something artistic. It was a shame that the only canvas he had was the floor beneath him. Blood didn't look so pretty just pooled on the concrete at it was

He missed drawing.

Food came today. 

He didn’t eat it.

Why should he?

He was going to die here, wasn’t he?

He missed his Ma.

.

.

.

The door opened today. Fully opened.

At least, he thinks it did. 

He didn’t have the energy to lift his head anymore. Why would he? He’d stopped eating for… He didn’t know, actually. How long had it been?

A hand grabbed his shoulder. At least, he thinks it did. 

His name was yelled. At least, he thinks it was.

He was so tired. When was the last time he slept? He can’t remember. He should probably sleep.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that wasn’t a bad idea, actually.

.

.

.

You can also read it here, on my AO3:

Ouch. - Chapter 2 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

[awritersometime]

If love is a sin, my stake is already burning

[ z. s & c. g ]

part 1 here

I guess another part is in order after this, what do you think? Hope you're enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! 🫡🤞🏼

When you appear in front of the Robichaux's Academy of exceptional young ladies, you take a moment to collect your breath. You inhale for three seconds, and exhale for six, a little trick you've learned that helped you get it together. You're glad to be early, everything is so peaceful and quiet. However, it would be way more enjoyable if it wasn't for that annoying ringing in your ears, a constant reminder that Zelda had a point.

Making your way inside the academy, you walk on your tiptoes, heading to the kitchen to fetch yourself a glass of water. You easily find your way there and help yourself with what you need. Your hands tremble as you take sips of your water. After that, you put it in the sink with a sigh. Maybe, it's a simple lack of sugar, you think to yourself. It could be considering you didn't have time to eat anything back home.

You're not normally one that snoops around, but you're desperate to hide that annoying trembling of your fingers, that you're sure, Cordelia would notice. Lifting on the tiptoes you open the top shelf, trying to find anything with a pinch of sugar in it. You're happy to know that at the academy you're not the only witch with a sweet tooth. You find chocolate and nuts bars, rice cakes, plain biscuits, crackers, honey and cookie jar, marmalade and cereals.

You don't really have time nor the patience to sit down and eat properly so you decide to go for a spoon of honey, hoping it would boost your energy. You hum contently as you taste its sweetness on your tongue. It feels nice, you can't deny it. As you do that, a quite familiar chuckled comes to your ears. You immediately recognize the voice, and a wave of warmth rushes over you. You lick your lips, trying to wipe your mouth from any residual of honey, before turning around. There she is, still in her white dressing gown, looking absolutely ethereal.

"Craving sweet stuff, I see," she voices, taking graceful steps towards you. You bite your bottom lip, trying to suppress your own guilty smile. Your lashes flutter, when she is few inches from you, "I'm sorry, I should have asked," you quickly apologize.

"Nonsense. This is your house," she places her hands upon your shoulders, offering you a gentle squeeze, "You're here early, though," she adds, tilting her head to the side, as to grasp any sign of discomfort in your eyes. The way she looks at you makes you feel both safe and vulnerable. Being the Supreme allows her a lot of things, one of them being a mind reader. But she is way too respectful to do such a thing, without permission.

You wince playfully, "you said that like it's a bother to you," your teasing causes a chuckle out of her, "I can leave and come back later, if you want," Cordelia clicks her tongue, and reaches out to grab both your wrists, "You know that's not what I meant by that, Celeste. I'm always happy to have you around," she confesses, her thumbs graze your skin affectionately.

"Are you now?", you hum, a little sarcastic, earning an eye roll from her. You feel her breath against your cheeks, calm and steady. She hums with a coy smile. You need a lot of willpower to keep your breathing at the same regular rhythm. She seems to notice that and decides to play a little with you, "Don't move," she whisper, and you frown, "Let me just—", she doesn't finish her sentence and you freeze in place when her hand brushes against your side, as she places it over the counter behind you to stabilize herself. Her thighs almost touch yours while she leans forward, "Grab this," Cordelia knows what she is doing, the grin on her face says so.

You hold your breath as her golden hair tickle your shoulder, her arm reaching out to grab herself a glass from the shelf just above your head. You blink in trance, feeling flustered by how Cordelia's front feels against you. Looking down, you spot her breast, and you suck in a breath. Her pupils gape at you doing that, but you don't see it, considering your eyes are elsewhere. You can't help the amused scoff that comes out of her right after. She's surely got a skin in the game. "All done," she mutters simply, backing away.

Your cheeks turn the same color of the setting sun on a summer day.

"Awesome," you reply awkwardly.

She takes a sip of her water, "would you fancy a proper breakfast instead of random spoons of honey?"

You shake your head, "I'm fine with this, thank you," when she gives you a skeptical look, you add, "t's perfectly nutritious," you allow yourself another mouthful of it. She giggles at the way your cheeks fill with honey, the tip of your tongue goes grasping some of it above your upper lip.

"You remind me of those little singing squirrels--" you scrunch up your face at that comment, "Don't tell me you mean the chipmunks?", the Supreme starts chuckling, giving you the answer you're looking for. You want to pretend you're annoyed, but truth be told you find it as funny as she does, if not more.

"No need to be embarrassed, they are adorable," she points out, mesmerized by how pretty you look when you blush. 

You cross your arms over your chest, "You know, flattering me will get you nowhere"

"Would you bet on it?", she adds, with slightly narrowed eyes. She playfully pokes your chest, the tip of her tongue showing as she smiles almost wickedly at you. You hesitate for a couple of seconds, opening and closing your mouth in search for a proper answer, but nothing comes out.

"Wise girl," she praises against your lips.

"Cordelia", your breath falters. If only were you brave enough, you'd take that single step needed to shorten the gap between the two of you. Melt against her body, become one with her.

In that moment, other girls make their way to the kitchen, saving you, or cursing you, you weren't sure. Cordelia pulls back a bit. You couldn't bet on it, but a part of you believes to have grasped disappointement by their intrusion.

You recognize some of your students, which happily wave at you, some of them even tackle you in a big hug. Cordelia melts at the sight before her eyes, her hand comes stroking your back and when you turn to glance up at her, you see pride and gratitude in her eyes.

"Morning, Celeste!" Mallory is the next to greet you, "Morning to you," you respond with a kind smile.

Zoe greets you with poke on your shoulder and a cheeky grin. She briefly glances over Cordelia, who's now rummaging in a pack of pop tarts, "You're here early,"

You snort playfully, placing your hands over your hips, "Glad to see everyone is always so thrilled to have me around," you mutter sarcastically, making a clear reference to what Cordelia had told you before. She freezes as she bites into the pop tart, "Stop it," she half whines, looking absolutely adorable with food in mouth.

"Don't be silly, we all are head over the heels for you," Mallory gushes.

You hum jokingly, before remembering one of the reasons why you showed up earlier, "I actually wanted to check on the bay tree's soil before the class."

"Mind if I come with you?", Cordelia is quick to ask.

You bow your head and attempt a knightly curtsy to impress her, "How can I say no to you?"

She peeps her tongue between her teeth. She leads you the way, turning her head just a bit to keep eye contact as you follow her right up, with a lopsided grin.

As the two of you walk towards the greenhouse, Zoe grabs the box of cereals, "I tell you, they will end up sleeping together within the next 10 days."

"I bet you twenty dollars it will happen even before that," Mallory replies with the same confident grin.

The other witch grins, before sealing the deal with a shake of hand.

*

"There you are," you gush, taking a careful look at the cute little bay tree you planted almost three weeks ago. If it hadn't been for your magic, you'd hardly see it stand like that, considering this peculiar specie takes a lot to flourish, years even.

Gracefully, you wave your fingers in midair, whispering an incantation to help speed up the process of growing. Cordelia is just behind you, in utter trance, she doesn't dare to spill a word as you do your magic. Her eyes glimmer with admiration as you proceed to tell her the story of the tree. Words spill out freely and passionately, considering you spent years at the Academy of Unseen Arts to learn everything you could regarding herbalism.

"It's ancient tradition to leave a leaf to dry for a day and then place it under your tongue until it dissolves. The Greeks believed it was synonymous of fortune and victory," your mouth curves into a smile as you take in Cordelia's astonishment. 

"Have you tried it?", she asks with genuine interest.

You crinkle your nose at that, "I never dared to," you chuckle, meeting Cordelia's confused gaze, "They say its bitterness isn't for everybody," you explain.

She hums in understanding, "what other use does it have?"

"I'm so very glad you asked," you grin, mischievously, "It's an essential ingredient for potions that have to do with another marvelous subject, that I'm sure your students would love by the way," you point out.

"Mythology?", her attempt at guessing is cute, you can't deny that.

The tip of your tongue shows up in the next smile you give her, "Conjuring of pagan gods," you say it as if it was like mentioning a trifle.

She hums amusedly, "I adore you, I really do, but that's a no go," you frown at that, your bottom lip wobbles a bit. Cordelia chuckles softly, "You're too cute for your own good," she teases, lightly shaking her head and poking your chest. "Yet your sense of responsibility is stronger than my charm," at your teasing, her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink.

"The girls once summoned the Axeman using a Ouija board and, to keep it short, he almost got us all killed."

Your mouth falls agape, "Oh shit, I'm sorry," you breathe out, "I had no idea."

She dismisses it with a small smile, as if it now became a silly story to laugh about. "I don't want you to think I don't trust you because I do. This Coven's just been through a lot, so I've learned you're never too careful," she explains, and you reach out your hand to grasp hers. She smiles at the gesture, her eyes lock in your now intertwined fingers, "I'm trying my best to not make the same mistakes of my mother."

"You're nothing like her," you say, beyond any doubt.

"Thanks, petal," that pet name sends you a tingle in your stomach.

You smile and give her a nod of your head, before refocusing on the bay tree on the table, already missing her hand in yours.

"It looks like a lollipop, doesn't it?", you chirp.

The Supreme hums in thought, as she examines the plant more closely, "Well, now that you point it out, I see it," she giggles, leaning against the table with her elbows.

You reach for the water can to dampen the soul around the tree's roots. Her eyes drop to your hands, and you put all your efforts to stabilize your tremor, but it doesn't work out as much as you'd like to. The water can shakes visibly and you mentally curse yourself, sure that Cordelia's noticed that too. You clear your throat, trying to switch her focus on your voice rather than your actions, so you start telling her more about the bay tree's needs and care. But Cordelia isn't stupid. She sees what you're doing when along with the uncertainty of your hands comes a sudden stuttering of your voice.

"Sweetheart, hey," she coos softly, eyebrows knitted in a frown, "What's wrong?"

You almost shudder, when her fingers move a strand of hair from your face, behind your ear, "Nothing, I—“, your lashes flutter close for a moment. While your mouth troubles you with mixed feelings about her, your tremor intensifies, making it impossible for you to hide. Your own legs feel like jelly, and you wish there was a chair behind you to sit down. "Let me just," you need to get out of that situation, so you turn around, pretending you're in need for a trowel, but you move too abruptly.

"Shit," your curse under your breath, having dropped the watering can on the floor, sending splash of water on both yours and Cordelia's legs. You bow down so abruptly that a wave of dizziness washes over you keeping you there, unable to get on your feet by yourself. Concern etches across the Supreme's features, "Celeste," she kneels down right next to you, "You need to tell me what's going on, please."

You shake your head wearily, "I'm fine," you insist, trying to stand up, but your wobbly knees don't let you. With a wave of her hand, Cordelia dries both the floor and your clothes, "You're not fine," she counters softly. Your face is rather quickly losing its natural color, but you can't see it. However, she does.

"Sweetheart, you can be honest with me," she wants to read your mind, grasp that information herself, but she can't. It wouldn't feel right.

"There's nothing to say, I felt a wave of dizziness, that's all," avoiding meeting her gaze, you look at the time on your wrist, noticing it's time to go in class.

"How about we ask Coco to cover for you? Just for this time?"

You make a face, "With all due respect, Coco isn't exactly specialized in ancient tongues," you point out, earning an eye roll from the Supreme, "Fair point," you give her a - glad we both agree - look, before heading out the greenhouse, or trying to. Cordelia walks right beside you, with no intention to drop the topic.

"Celeste, you're not listening to me," she pleads, concern vailing her voice, "Zelda, she said—“

You freeze on the spot, then turn around, "Zelda? Wait, so, you talked to her?", you narrow your eyes, in disbelief.

"She called me this morning, yes," she admits with a nod, "She was worried about you and now I see why."

Cordelia had promised not to say a word about it, but she couldn't help it considering you're being both stubborn and unreasonable, as always trying to hide how you truly felt around them. It was a mystery to both witches why you acted the way you did. You gave them mixed signals, because on one side, you were always so eager to spend time together, but you also shut them out every time something was bothering you.

"So you studied me, to see if she had a point."

Cordelia groans and rolls her eyes, being used to your passive aggressive behavior whenever you feel like you've been tricked, "Why is it so hard for you to understand that we care for you?"

If only you could see the truth, you'd know what both Zelda and Cordelia truly felt for you. It was more than a mere fondness, more than a pathetic interest, a fleeting crush or whatever. Both witches were in love with you, but they just didn't know how to tell you, without risking upsetting you, or worse, losing you.

"Why did you transmute here this morning, despite feeling unwell?"

You stay quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip as a wave of nervousness washes over you. How could you tell her the real reason why you kept going back and forth despite the exhaustion that has taken over you.

"I wouldn't have been mad if you asked for a couple of days off, you know," she coos softly.

Her heart breaks when she spots tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your eyes well up with tears, because you feel like shit, both physically and emotionally and it pisses you off.

"I-I..", your own voice betrays you. Suddenly your blinking intensifies, as long as your heartbeat. It quickly escalates as your feet and hands turn cold and clammy. Cordelia's eyes snap wide open as she calls your name a couple of times, her voice sounds like a far echo to your ringing ears. You know what's coming, and it absolutely enrages you.

"'m s-sorry," before you know it, everything turns pitch black.

[http-paprika]

Bite the Hand / Phillip Graves

⋆★⋆ part seven - exile ⋆★⋆ masterlist ⋆★⋆ previous ⋆★⋆ next ⋆★⋆

summary after frost exiles herself back to wyoming, she must cope with the grief of her past and plan for the future.

werewolf!au / pairing phillip graves x female!reader / callsign frost / wc 1765 / warnings references to childhood abuse & parental death

notes you thought this was going to be the chapter where everything comes together? well, hate to break it to you but frost has commitment issues and graves kinda sucks at relationships. but who knows, maybe a change of scenery is all they need.

Bones aching as the truck pulled to a slow, Frost buried her face in her hands. The plains around her were vast, stretching to the snow-jagged peaks. Soon, the whole landscape would be blanketed in white snow and black ice. It was the season she dreaded most as a girl, every morning Frost would bundle up in her father’s old work jacket while he’d scrape the snow off the windshield swearing about taking her to school. 

 Wyoming was as lonely as it was vast, not even the mountains seemed to break up the endless sky. The wind blew against her truck, sheep bleating in the pastures as Frost tried not to recant why she’d returned. She’d wanted to blame it on everything and everyone but herself, but in the end, it was by her hands that she’d left Texas. Left the Shadow Company, and left the man she thought there was a future with. 

 Finally gathering what courage she had left, the soldier got out of her truck. Boots collecting dirt as she walks up the drive onto the creaking porch where her uncle sat. The graying man looks up at her, his face lined with wrinkles and age. It was hard to believe that sixteen years had passed since she’d left the farm. Frost hadn’t even bothered to return when sent the news that her father had passed.

 “I thought you wouldn’t come back.” Her uncle spoke up, sitting back in the old rocking chair. “Your father always swore you’d never come back. Wouldn’t have blamed you.”

 “Things change.” She responds, glancing back over to the pastures of woolly creatures. “I just need some time. Few weeks, and I’ll be out of your hair, Richard.”

 “I don’t mind. It’s just me and the ranch hand during the day. I could use the company.” Frost’s aunt had left when she was just a girl, only a winter after her mother had passed. It had left Frost to learn a lot on her own about becoming a woman, always too afraid to bring it up to the two men. “And the help.” 

 She nods, adjusting the duffle bag over her shoulder. “Right.” 

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

“I’m leaving,” Frost tells him, her voice quivering with uncertainty as she stands in Graves’ office. The winter sun bleeds through the blind, casting a halo of light across his head. “For the best interest of the pack and you, I’m resigning.” 

That confidence she’d gained that night, after kissing that stranger, had quickly evaporated. Maybe it was sobriety, or maybe it was how quickly Phillip had become withdrawn in an attempt to shoulder the pain. There were no longer stolen glances during meetings, whispered approval as she geared up. And when he’d taken a bullet through the shoulder which was now hanging in a sling, it had been the end.

 Maybe Frost had hoped he would speak, argue back, and order her to stay. But he didn’t, his gaze dropped down to the desk as Graves nodded. There was a flicker of shame on his face as he ducked his head, guilt surging through her veins. It had been her fault, she’d pushed him away and he’d responded accordingly. He was getting older, he needed someone willing to mate, to commit. And despite her best efforts, she wasn’t ready.

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

The kitchen was dimly lit as Frost sat back in her old chair, the smell of burnt beans and rice making her stomach twist with unease, her nose scrunched. Before her, the plate of mush steamed as she waited for her uncle to return with what Frost had asked for.

 “Here they are. A little faded, but still useful.” Her uncle announces, setting the moth-eaten map of the farm’s property lines down on the table. “Your father had always done a good job of going out and keeping them marked, I haven’t been able to due to my knees.” 

 Frost nods, pushing away the plate to get a better look at the markings. Cooking had always been her father’s job, he wouldn’t let her uncle in the kitchen except to clean up. It was the one thing he’d done lovingly, making sure bellies were full before sending them back to work. 

 “When was the last time someone marked them?” Frost needed to hunt, especially if the only food her uncle made was burnt. More so, Frost wanted to establish her scent over the property like her father used to do. There were no packs in the area, but she wanted to keep nomads away from the sheep.  

 “Oh, I sent the old ranch hand to do them in the spring after the last snow of the season,” He tells her, sitting down with his plate of beans and rice. It was no surprise to her that he dug into the food without a complaint, his taste buds were dying and his human nose didn’t pick up on the rancid smell like she did. 

 “And what about the upkeep of the farm, what is the new ranch hand actually doing?” She asks, worried about the state of the farm. As much as the place brought her grief, it was the home of her childhood, the place her mother had passed away. “Richard?” 

 Her uncle bawls up his fists, the silverware shaking in his hands. “He’s just here for the sheep, keeping them healthy and fed until the spring. It’s been since your father passed, he ran this place better than I ever can. 

 Frost lets out a scoff, shaking her head and feeling pity for the man. Despite being the eldest son, her uncle had let all responsibilities fall to her father. Long before he’d been bit and turned, her father had already been seen as a leader in the family. Broad-shouldered, thick skull. For all her father’s flaws, which were many, he was a hard worker and took care of his own.

 “You’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t you?” 

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

 “I’ve worked my ass off my whole life for your little ungrateful wretch not to give a damn.” Her father snarls over the phone. Frost sits in the infirmary, the thick gauze wrapped around her ribs as she tries not to fall apart again. As if a bullet that should’ve killed her and a bitter betrayal by the man she once loved wasn’t enough, Frost had to listen to her father’s griping as he lay in a hospital, thousands of miles away on his deathbed. 

 “I’m not coming back.” She repeated to him, her grip on the phone tightening. “I don’t care if you’re about to die, I don’t fucking care if Richard can’t run the ranch on his own. I’m not going back to Wyoming.”

 Hadn’t he turned his back to her the day of Frost’s eighteenth birthday? Didn’t he vow not to call her again when she packed her bags to leave for the Marines? But in his most dire times, he’d realized he needed his daughter, and Frost had never hated him more. 

 When her uncle Richard had called the following day to tell her that her father had passed, she didn’t grieve. There was no weeping, not a single tear. His death was a comfort, the scars on her back didn’t seem to burn anymore. Even if she’d lost all else, Frost was free from him. 

⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆ ════ ⋆★⋆

 A frustrated huff escapes her lips as she rubs the stained material of an old t-shirt of hers against the bark of a tree. The musk of her scent clings to the wood as she moves through the underbrush. Cowboy boots that belonged to who knows crunching against the drying winter grass. 

 Frost wipes her face as she pulls back out the property map, mentally marking where she is. Not too far from the river that created the southern border, the one Frost had fallen in one summer as a girl where she’d hastily learned to swim. If it weren’t for the bright sun, she would’ve had hypothermia as her mother bundled her up in an old, red flannel on the porch. 

 She turns back against the wind, returning to the house through pastures, past sheep who bleat and run. They were simple creatures, she couldn’t blame them for trying to stay away from the wolf in human’s skin. They’d only ever responded to her father out of fear, the man was a shrewd shepherd. 

 In the barn, Frost drops the rifle off her shoulder. The pile of logs for firewood beginning to bother her. She’d quickly learned the ranch hand wasn’t much help, barely an adult who never seemed to pay attention. A smirk crossed her face, she was certain her father was rolling over in his grave at the state of the ranch. 

 Finding the ax, and scraping it against the sharpening block; the noise made her teeth ache. She returns out into the winter morning, her thermal clinging to her stretching muscles as the ax swings. It cracks through the wood with one slice, the wood falling to the side as she grabs for the next log. 

 The ranch hand calls her name as the logs turn into fine slabs of wood for the furnace. With sweat clinging to her brow, Frost turns his attention to the boy. “What?” 

“Richard wants you up at the house, there’s someone for you.” The boy tells her. She groans, jamming the ax into the chopping log before waving him off. Anyone who’d traveled this farm out must’ve been determined, there wasn’t even a sign for the ranch on the road. It was far from the beaten trail, the way she liked it. 

 Jacket in hand, she slowly returns to the house. Freezing at the sight of a black, shiny truck with a Texas license plate parked next to her battered one. It was a coincidence, Frost tells herself as she mounts the stairs into the house. Her ears must’ve been deceiving Frost as she listened to the two voices in the house. The sweet, southern drawl made her throat tighten. 

 And when she turns the corner into the kitchen, Frost is certain she’s hallucinating. Blue eyes gleaming in the morning light, the stubble thicker with the cold, and a tantalizing look of guilt that makes her heart swell. 

 “Hello, Frost.” Her former commander greets her, standing taller and putting his best foot forward. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he was hurting more than she was. Gray hairs seemed to be caught in the light from the window, tired eyes drooping as they met her gaze.

“You came?”

“I had to.”

taglist (comment to be added or removed) @iamcautiouslyoptimistic @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus @unicorngirly1 @pampanope