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ushioink · 3 years

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(Part 2 of Careful,)

The lecture hall is damp from boredom and like minded individuals, and so she puts herself in a spot slightly to the left, in the back where it’s a bit hidden from the nosiness of the students in her History class. She waits for Mrs. Kang to appear as she tinkers with her phone, searching through her images and playing games, considering the internet is banned from inside the actual classrooms for the benefits of busybodies like herself.

Mrs. Kang enters in the same time as the last group of students do, and she stares them down so hard that they quickly skittle down, thanking God that she, from all professors, don’t have that rule in excluding students that come after her. She stares at the glared at students with sick amusement, opening her laptop and turning it on to ready herself in notes taking. However, her small tinge of positive amusement is destroyed when a heavy body slides himself so casually on her seat, the one thing that she had happily bragged to own herself. She looks to the abhorrent nuisance that invaded her personal space, and her neutral face expression shifts into an annoyed one. Seeing this, Baekhyun just grins prettily at her, his straight teeth glinting like diamonds. She wants to gouge his intestines out.

“What are you doing?” She looks down at her laptop in feigned disinterest, even though her eyebrows constantly shift around in a narrow. “No, seriously, what the heck are you doing?”

“Shh, we’re in a lecture hall,” he puts a tall and pretty finger on his lips. “Mrs. Kang had not punished you before because you’re her favorite student, but I won’t take my chances. She knows who I am. I’ve made a ruckus or two,” he seems very proud of this, his eyes flashing smugly, “and I’ve been kicked out of her class a lot. So shush, let me concentrate.”

“All the more reasons for you to fuck off,” she tilts her head a little to the side so she can hiss at him, her hands beginning to type quickly as Mrs. Kang begins her lecture. “I’d rather not be seen here with you. Also, you’re not here to concentrate. You’re here to rip the skin out of my body.” She pretends to shiver violently.

He snickers, and it comes out a little loud. Mrs Kang instantly stops her exciting monologuing (it’s rare to find someone who manages to speak so boringly, and yet excitedly at the same time, but she does so perfectly) to whip her head around, her eyes hawk-like and deadly.

“I hear snickering!” She yells. “Who dares laughing in my class?”

Baekhyun instantly pretends to be an innocent listener, his eyes big and preposterously uncanny. Mrs. Kang ravishes the students with her narrowed, kohl eyes.

“Just because you give me a vague face, doesn’t mean I won’t find you.” The teacher threatens again. Still, no one gives her any response.

She’s a bit astonished that none of the nearby students who actually heard Baekhyun snicker were telling on him. But the surprise quickly vanishes when she looks around at their faces, every single one avoiding Baekhyun’s amused eyes, threat very clear under.

She rolls her eyes.

Mrs. Kang kinda mellows over once no one confesses and she no longer hears laughter, and resumes her lecture with the same vindictive tone that she has been using in the start of the semester.

Immediately after her back is to the class, Baekhyun slides his butt closer to her, until their thighs are a brush away. She gives him a creeped out look, and he simply leans against the table on his elbow, putting his head on his palm. He grins, or smirks. His lips only curl a little, and the devilish glint in his eyes makes him appear dangerous, so she goes with smirking. He is smirking, indeed. For a second, she understands why people are afraid of him. Tremors kinda bloom in her body, but she pushes the irrational emotion out of her system quickly. She turns to the board, focusing on the professor.

Soon, she realizes that he isn’t looking away. He’s staring at her in the same mischievous yet intolerable way. She gives him a thin-lipped smile, apparent in its annoyance. Her eyes wide and irritated. His eyes only twinkle more in that stupid, attractive glint of his that’s entirely evil.

“Yes? Is there something you need, dumbass?” She sighs.

He nods seriously, his face grave. “Yes. I was wondering if you’d be my Twin Flame. The walls to my well. The stone to my heart. The poison to my soul. Oh, be my favorite nightmare.”

She takes one of her blue pens and flicks it on his forehead. It flops pathetically on the floor. He sniggers again - much more quietly - and rubs his surely reddening spot.

“Seriously, I want nothing. I’m just quietly staring at you.”

“For what reason, oh please tell, you’re staring at me for?” She leans towards him as if potentially saying something secretive. “Do you know that staring so intently at someone’s eyes can affect their chakra? So, I’ll just stare right back at you hoping that my laser eyes can negatively make you bend over this desk. I gotta tell you, I have very strong chakra.”

He furrows his eyebrows weirdly. “You believe in this bullshit?”

Her eyes widen a little, but she quickly composes herself to squint instead. “No, I don’t. But I thought someone like you might.”

“I can’t help but have the slightest conclusion that you just called me a loser, which hurts my feelings. It really does.”

“Does it? And here I thought hurting your feelings would require more effort.” She gives him a mocking smile, and then turns to the professor with her default blank face.

He stares at her, a little amused at her odd shenanigans, and wonders how someone like her had slipped from under his eyes. He’s usually a quiet person that makes it his daily struggle to stare people down to scare them, but to see her, a person that’s so easily irritated for completely different reasons than his amusement actually makes him... excited. He hasn’t really considered annoying her today because of their promise to work on their assignment (or just his) but once he came inside the classroom, he remembered her amusing response of yesterday and subconsciously found himself going to her row, seating himself comfortably next to her.

He continues to annoy her throughout the lecture by poking on her shoulder when she concentrates and breaks her focus, or kicking her shin from under the table whenever she’s pulling a funny look at the utter shit Mrs. Kang is spouting so she’d adjust her bold facials into a neutral face, of course for her own benefits. He’d even steal pens from her large - very large - pen collection, throwing the used pen away from her grabby hands only to steal another one right under her nose. She’s disappointed in herself. She thought she has great reflexes, but she’s considered piss poor in comparison to Baekhyun’s fast, dangerous reflexes. Something about his numerous black belts in hapkido, as he easily bragged at her discomforted look towards her stollen utensils.

Of course, she’s hyper aware of the accumulation of stares from everyone piling up her back. She knows she’s being watched; or rather he’s been watched, for some reason their close proximity to one another, and the constant flying arms coming from her part to smack him away has ticked everyone the wrong way. She has been aware, since the start, that his presence so close to her would rise unfiltered attention from nosy students who found it their prime pastime to watch other unsuspecting students. She doesn’t care that much, of course. She has already been a suspect of gossip her entire life for having the personality that she does, but to be stared down at for different reasons than the ones she’s used to... she gotta say. It feels good.

The minute the lecture ends - very, very slowly - she instantly stands up, making her chair squeak. She raises her already collected stuff on her shoulder, turns to a suddenly flustered Baekhyun, and reaches over for his hair. His yelps come quick and excessive, especially when she uses his hair to pull him out of his chair. He complies, of course, so she doesn’t end up ripping his entire hair roots from his head, and follows after her obediently - yet loudly - as she drags him somewhere else. At first he doesn’t say anything, even though he can overpower her easily, because he knows he kinda sorta deserved to be treated like a dog, but the minute he sees her approaching the library (where silence is a requirement he can’t reach) he grabs her wrist and twists her hand as further back as it can go from his hair. It’s her time to yelp.

In response, her claws release his hair from their clutches, and he stands to his full height. Then, he pulls her towards him, or more like jerks her against him in a single gesture, until she bumps roughly into his chest, and pushes her on the wall so she’s stuck between two solid rocks.

She looks up at him with wide eyes. Her heartbeats are racing so fast inside her chest, she’s a little worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe at the end of this escapade. Of course, he looks down at her, his eyes narrowed and dangerous, but still holding a small flicker of childlike smugness. When he’s so close to her like this, she realizes how short she is. At first, she considered him short in comparison to most males in her university, but while he’s pressing her against the library wall like this, she understands that no, he isn’t short.

“Yah,” he calls, but the voice is soft and tender, the kind that makes a prey submit just to be devoured. She refuses to gulp in front of him and instead glares venomously at him. Seeing this, he lowers his face to her, his warm breath falling on her nose, her mouth and chin like waterfalls. “Yah.”

“Is my name yah to you?” She hisses like a snake, giving him her best don’t fuck with me look, even though genuinely, she’s shaking underneath him.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you think I let people shove their hands in my hair like that? Do you think people go around dragging me like that?”

She scoffs. She’s burning up from the inside; of course she is. In one hand, she’s not used to being squished like this against walls. In fact, she’s not sure she has ever felt such warmth from a human body encompassing her like this, and she’s not sure the sensation is to her liking. A girl from her background is used to selfish smacks on the head as a meager exposure of emotions, so such little proximity, with a man nevertheless, makes her feel.. strange. He’s not as soft as she first thought of him, as well. He’s all rigidness and soft muscles, and considering she’s as experienced as a squished slug, she’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. The way he’s staring down at her, like he’s conscious of the fact he might be in the presence of a cheetah hasn’t gone unnoticed by her, and despite his dumb personality, she has to admit that she likes careful people, especially those careful around her. However, she’s not exactly a flower girl. She refuses to be a flower girl, no matter how much respect she has for flower girls.

She lifts her knee and violently connects it to the man’s junk. She watches in sick, fascinated awe as the man’s face changes. It contorts into a painful scrunch, and quickly, he succumbs to the gravitational pull into the floor. He curls in a heap on the ground, moaning in pain. She huffs, brushes her hair from her sweaty neck - for no specific reason, of course - and glares at the watchful crowd. They quickly flush away like toilet water.

A few minutes after Baekhyun’s fall, she looks down at him as if she’s exhausted from his childish antics, and says. “I don’t let people pin me to walls, either. You’re not that special.”

She twists around dramatically - yes, she knows she’s dramatic - and intends to walk inside the library. But a few seconds later, she realizes that she isn’t being followed, so she pauses. She twists back dramatically (again) and narrows her eyes at the dead body on the floor. “Yah, Aren’t you coming? We have stuff to work on, you know.”

She yawns monstrously, and drags her heavy legs towards the convenience store a few minutes away from her tiny apartment in the middle of a neighborhood she has troubles remembering the name of. She bows respectfully at the older man owning the store, being on social terms, enough to be yelling at him without taking responsibility to her stupid anger, and walks further inside.

She shuffles around, her legs feelings like a full body sag as she tries to pull her weight up. Considering she has a certain amount of money she can spend on snacks because of her tight budget, she only chooses the most important snacks to her. For instance, she’s a sweet tooth so she gathers as much chocolate, marshmallows, and fluffy jellies as she can, then settles on two medium sized chip bags. She travels to the beverages’ fridge like a disabled elephant, and takes a few bottles of soda. She is not a fan of beer and soju. Those do nothing to tilt her world upside down anyways. To her, they are a waste of money.

Busy going around the ramen section, she doesn’t notice the tall man that enters the shop. She fails to notice the humongous sneeze that he releases either, shivering like a wet dog, sans the wet part. Her eyes are half-lidded with sleep, and her lips are practically swirly like water with how tired she is because of work, so she only gets attuned to his presence when she smacks into his side.

“Ow,” she mutters pathetically, rubbing her forehead with the hand holding the ramen. She raises her eyes to glare at the fucker, because that’s what she’s good at, even though she’s the one who bumped into him, only to falter when she sees Chanyeol. “Chanyeol?”

“Uh, yeah. Hello?” He sounds awkward, his large hands paused around two packets of ramen himself. He stares down at her because he’s a skyscraper, and that’s what skyscrapers do to align to people; and stares back at the ramen. He stares back at her, again, then at the ramen, nervous at seeing her for whatever reason.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “What the heck are you doing in this convenience store? Or in this neighborhood?”

Chanyeol blinks, “I live here?”

“You don’t sound so sure about that answer.” She continues to narrow her eyes at him.

“Okay?”

She rolls her eyes and shuffle away from him. Noticing that she picked everything she needs, she heads for the register to pay for her things. Oddly enough, Chanyeol’s quick to follow her, standing behind her patiently. She tilts her head backwards so she can peek inconspicuously at him, and sees he’s only holding packets of instant ramen. He notices her trying to act slick, and focuses his big eyes on her. She quickly looks away, feeling a burn in the back of her neck.

She pays, and leaves, walking through the endless night of the day, huffing because her bags ended up being heavier than she expected. However, she’s a strong, independent woman, and so she swallows up her growing whine. But that doesn’t stop her from stomping on the ground as she walks further away from the convenience store.

Her loud, angry stomps doesn’t entirely block her from the steps that’s strangely walking after her. She pauses in her strides to check if she’s really hearing things, and the footsteps behind her pauses as well. She turns around suspiciously and finds Chanyeol standing behind her, a confused look on his face.

“Why’d you suddenly stop?” He asks, and she’d have found the question an okay one if she hadn’t already surrendered herself to the growing suspicion in her belly.

Instead of answering his question, she fires a question of her own. “Why are you following me?”

He tilts his head to the side, and a lock of dark hair falls on his left eye, giving him a sense of innocence that contradicts the tight clothes he’s wearing. His leather pants are so snug against him that she wonders how he can even walk, and his leather boots make him appear taller, if that’s even possible. She’s a bit envious of the large jacket that he’s wearing, making him bigger and helping him against the cold nights of January. She has been dumb enough to forget her jacket at work today, and so she’s forced to walk around shivering like a rat.

After she finishes inspecting him like a creep, and remembering the fact he hadn’t answered her question, she goes on her merry way for some reason, noticing that his own footsteps commenced after her. She takes lefts and turns away from her house, to check if he’s following her, and once she makes clear accusation in her mind that he is following her, she swivels around to glare at him. He looks back, eyes entirely vacant of emotions.

“See? You are following me, listen..” she twiddles her toes inside her flats, instantly nervous at the concept of being followed. “I don’t know who you think I am, and I don’t know who you think you are, but kidnapping unsuspecting victims is wrong. Kidnapping any kind of victims is wrong. See, maybe you are failing your classes, and maybe you don’t have a flourishing sex life, and maybe you are into this bad boy bullshit, but trust me, a felony following after your back is bad. It’s very bad for your resumé. Weren’t you the one so careful about the internal scarring of your heart? A felony is so much worse than that, I gotta tell you.”

Chanyeol’s lips curl at the blunder she’s throwing on his way, her usually glaring eyes now shaking in nervousness. He gathers all of his ramen in one arm so he can throw a large hand on his mouth to stop his growing laughter from bursting out. To see a girl like her showing uncharacteristic nervousness, it’s kind of funny, despite evilly knowing it’s causing her an internal meltdown.

She looks at him carefully, eyes prodding, and she fails to notice the fact his raised hand is to cover his laughter, not to knock her out. She eyes him up and down, putting her large bag of bought goodies on her chest as a secure guard against him, even though he seems like he can smack her unconscious with a simple kiddie slap. She swallows, taking a step back.

“Please,” she whimpers, then clears her throat when it shows that she’s whimpering, “I don’t taste good. I have nothing against cannibals, but I have the thought to consider myself distasteful.”

He calls her name to pull her out of her stupidly amusing fear, and she swallows, lifting her head up in false confidence. She notices that his eyes are twinkling, the same devilish sparkle that she associated Baekhyun with. To see them so similar yet different at the same time is unnerving, but she doesn’t focus on that. She’s a bit terrified to be consumed at the moment to think about anything else.

“Listen,” Chanyeol’s low baritone comes out of his lips, and this time he doesn’t push himself to conceal his smile. “I’m not following you. I’m not going to eat you. I don’t like the meat of innocent women.”

She stares at him suspiciously. “You prefer the meat of innocent men? I’m not judging.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t eat people, sweetie.”

She bristles like she has been burned, and she forgets about her flammable fear to give him a cold, deadly look. He falters. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that, Chanyeol.”

He clears his throat, “Right,” he points at the house right behind her, the mirth quickly returning back to his opaque eyes. “My apartment is right behind you. I genuinely was walking home.”

she twists around to observe the house, noticing that it’s a large building with numerous floors. She guesses that he indeed is telling the truth, noticing the small sign on the corner naming the house as a university resident for males. Her face goes all types of colors at having not noticed the actual sign, and she starts to recollect her footsteps to see if she had accidentally just lead the man home. Maybe she is the stalker one. Her embarrassment grows.

She looks back at him, blinking, and he has the audacity to showcase his smug smirk. She clears her throat and squeezes her fingers around her bag, taking a few steps to the side so the giant scraper can get a leeway to enter his home. He does so, but before he can disappear inside; he turns around to give her another amusement-filled look.

She tries to gather her dignity, disliking the fact Chanyeol has seen her on her real act of a little scaredy cat, whether her fear is justified or not, so she clears her throat, swings her bag on her shoulder like a boss, and bellows, “Just so you know, cannibals are disgustingly immoral, whatever immorality is to you. I was just trying to secure myself a safe spot. I do have a lot of judgment against you. Lots and lots of judgments.”

“Good to know that.” Is Chanyeol’s cheeky answer.

She goes home with a stamp of red, crimson blotch all over her face and the back of her neck. For a second she wonders if she can avoid Chanyeol for the rest of her life so this episode of hers can be removed eternally from her internal disk drive, but then she rationalizes that the memory is shared between the two of them, not her alone. Whether she forgets her shameful distastefulness or not, she’s sure he won’t, so she bangs her face to a wall in her living room, believing that her stoic good girl image is ruined, forever.

She just hopes he doesn’t share this with Baekhyun.

Author Note:

So maybe the oc is dumb, ahaha.

I really find myself enjoying writing this fic. It’s very different than the characters I usually write, even though the concept is repetitive and cliché.

And yes, they live in the same neighborhood, but it seems that Chanyeol’s university resident is a bit far away from her apartment, thus why the lefts and turns she had to take to guide him away, ahaha.

We can see a bit of distinction in Yeol and Baek’s personalities??? We’ll of course see more of their personalities!

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molkolsdal · 3 years

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Pakistan's Transgender Community Is Hiding Out in a Hostile City

As Peshawar has come under increasing sway of an extremist view of Islam, its community of transgender hijras has been increasingly marginalized.

By Beenish Ahmed, 16/05/2014 Photos by Abdul Majeed Goraya

"My father used to beat me and ask, 'Why do you have to go around pretending to be a girl?'"

Now at 35, she says her cheeks burn and fists tighten if anyone refers to her as a man.

Khushboo, whose name means fragrance, classifies herself as a hijra, a South Asian gender designation that encompasses transgender and transexual people, as well as transvestites and eunuchs.

She has a different definition for herself and the estimated hundreds of thousands of other hijras across the region. "Our souls are female and our bodies are male," she says, dipping a rag into a red plastic pail filled with a chalky mixture of water and face powder. Surrounded by a group of several other hijras in a room they call their "office," Khushboo smears the dripping rag over her face and adds, "I've known I was a hijra since I was a child."

She used to wear her sisters' clothes. At 16, Khushboo slipped out of the house in one of their outfits and didn't return home for years. Along with another hijra, she settled in Peshawar, a city in northwestern Pakistan one night's drive from the costal city of Karachi where she'd grown up.

Peshawar has long been home to cultural traditions that insist on strict gender segregation, and the city has come under increasing sway of an extremist view of Islam in recent years. These intolerant, conservative beliefs are made brutally clear through the bombings and shootings that are now near-weekly occurrences. Taliban suicide bombers killed 85 worshippers at a church there last September, and militants killed thirteen people at a cinema showing pornographic movies in February. Lesser attacks are momentary blips on local news coverage featuring bloodied streets and blaring sirens.

Khushboo points to battered doors and broken windows around her. She says young men—"college boys" she calls them—wreak havoc on her and fellow hijras who are preparing for a dance performance later that night. Sometimes the men recite scripture and beat the hijras to shame them out of their profession as dancers, and other times they force them to dance or even rape them, she tells me.

Despite the extremism that has only further marred the city since her arrival nearly 20 years ago, Khushboo has an affinity for Peshawar because it's where she had a sort of rebirth as her new self.

Free from the abuse of her father and brothers, as well as the sense of dishonor she felt on behalf of her mother and sisters, Khushboo embraced a new life of openness—and was adopted into a new family.

"In this field we have mothers. We have gurus. We have uncles and aunts," she says, and then points to a girl who's rolling a spliff in the corner of the room. "She's my daughter. I'm a daughter of someone so she has a grandmother too. And," Khushboo adds, "She also has a father."

That last bit comes so quickly that I almost miss it. I inquire further about the girl's "papa" and Khushboo says, "Her father is married to someone else, but he loves me." She then goes on to explain what their relationship entails—and it's all very practical until it gets utterly tragic: "If I'm sick, he comes by and brings me medicine," she says proudly. "If I don't have money he drops some cash off. If I die, it's this man who will dress me up as a man and take my body to his house to carry out the cemetery. He might not explain the full story and just say that I was killed in the market or that there was some kind of shooting, but he's the one who will take care of the funeral."

I can't help but think that this grim possibility is one that Khushboo has discussed with her "husband"—and one that he too has come to terms with.

"In Pakistani society, there is a really strong [sense of] place and family," says Dr. Jamil Ahmad Chitrali, a professor of anthropology. "There is no alternative for anyone."

Based at the University of Peshawar, Chitrali has written about the city's hijra community. He says that by forging the same sorts of familial connections that they left behind, hijras create a social order that mimics the very society from which many of them fled.

"It's forcing all those revolutionary individuals who are against those binaries of man and woman to come into a structure which is reaffirming patriarchy," he says.

Pakistan's hijras have made some strides in recent years despite their rather isolated existence. In 2012, the Pakistani Supreme Court allowed for a "third gender" category to be added to national identity cards, which effectively gave hijras increased legal standing. It's because of this broader recognition that hijras could vote in that year's presidential election—at least five hijras even ran for office.

But the third gender classification has made little practical difference in Khusbhoo's life. "We live in a third world," she says, the difference between her life and that of a cisgender person just as stark as the difference between life in Pakistan, and say, Monaco.

And, she says, no matter what she does, she'll always be seen as different.

"Even if I give up dancing, everyone will still call me a hijra so what's the point? Why not do what I love?" She adds that even if she were to become a traveling evangelist, her family would still regard her with the same disdain. "I'm better off staying a hijra."

And that's the hardest thing that Khushboo has to face: her family. She got back in touch with them after five years of not speaking, and goes to see them in Karachi at least once a year. But when she does, she goes dressed as a man.

Though she moves about as a woman in Peshawar, Khushboo wears a black floor length, full-sleeved robe (or abaya), and a face covering (or niqab) that reveals only her eyes to hide herself from prying eyes. Even so, she's been thrown out of several houses by people who fear hijras will ruin their neighborhood.

While they occupy a marginalized space across Pakistan, hijras are probably worst off in Peshawar. In all of the other major cities in the country, they are frequent sites at traffic intersections or in shopping centers where they offer a prayer for a few rupees. Many passersby fear denying them might mean a curse and so will either oblige quickly or turn away completely.

I've spent a lot of time in Peshawar over the years, and have never seen hijras out in public the way they are in other cities. After speaking with Professor Chitrali, I learned that might be because hijras have a different role in the Pathan society that dominates the Peshawar area. In this part of the country, hijras aren't seen to have some sort of greater spiritual connection than cisgender people—instead, their role is celebratory. They're often asked to sing and dance at weddings and births.

"It's their performance which gives [a family] social recognition," Chitrali says, though the tradition is fading as weddings move from family houses into wedding halls. Some might have other professions—Khushboo says she has hijra friends who are lawyers and pilots and act cisgender in order to maintain their jobs, though they're free to "be themselves" with her and other hijras. Due to a lack of societal acceptance, many hijras live marginalized lives as low-income entertainers, but they've got a bit of a role as educators, too. Hijras sometimes teach—or even initiate—young men into sex. For many in Peshawar who live by strict religious and cultural codes that denounce almost any pre-marital interaction between the sexes as sinful, hijras provide a sort of in-between, or a "cushion," as Chitrali calls it.

"If you cross the domain of manhood into womanhood, that is against the culture, that is crossing your limits. But you can always move into the gray area, so this hijra community, in that sense, in a clear binary of man and woman among Pathans, [forms] a gray area." But he says that this "learning experience" is becoming less common with such how-to's readily available on the internet.

In Peshawar's increasingly religiously-motivated milieu, the presence of hijras—be they dancers or sex workers—is frowned upon and politicians vie for favor by pushing them out of their homes and worksites.

Seeing this, Malik Iqbal says he wanted to do something. "I sympathize with them because no one gives them any space," he tells me.

He rents out the office that Khusboo and her fellow hijras use to prepare for their dances.

"I didn't used to be on their side," Iqbal says. "Now I help them. I say they're humans too. We should have some empathy for that reason. Not just me, everyone should empathize with them as people."

But some believe Iqbal's connection to hijras goes beyond a shared humanity. Though he refuses to speak about it, Iqbal was arrested in 2010 for attempting to marry a hijra called Rani. Such a union would be illegal under Pakistani law, which only recognizes marriages between men and women. He has repeatedly denied the charge and claimed that police were trying to extort money from hijras at an event that wasn't a marriage but an innocent birthday party. Either way, the shock the story garnered reveals just how far removed everyday Pakistanis are from the hijra community. A big-grossing film called Bol, or Speak—released in 2011—may have helped some, but real connections like Iqbal's remain few.

And not everyone in close proximity to hirjas is sympathetic. Noor Illahi, who owns a grain shop down the street from the hijras' office, doesn't have a problem with the hijras themselves or even their work, but thinks they should find some other place to go. "My work has suffered because of them. The other storeowners and I, we think they should be given some place off to the side. It should be separate."

He's worked in his store for 15 years and says that sales have dropped fifty percent since the hijras set up shop next door a few years ago. "There are a lot of fights here now. They create quite a scene sometimes."

The raucousness has driven away his customers. Those who stop in the area are more interested in the hijras than the sacks of flour he has for sale.

"I'm not personally offended by them. But look," he says, pointing to a group of several white shalwar kameez-clad men loitering outside the hijra's building. "These poor people have earned just three or four hundred rupees all day ($3-4) and they'll come here and waste it all on them."

The men are all rickshaw drivers. One by one, they go on the record to deny being there to solicit sex. "We're just here to chit chat with them," one says while peering over his shoulder to see if any of the hijras have come out into the alley. "It's a totally innocent relationship that we have with them."

Back up in the hijras' office, the lights have gone out as a part of the rolling power outages that have frustrated Pakistanis for years. It might be another hour before they're ready to leave for their performance. When they do, they'll be cloaked in massive shawls and under the cover of night.

#long post #Pakistan #lgbtq #ASIA #transgender #hijra #gender #peshawar #beenish ahmed #Abdul Majeed Goraya

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nightingiall · 4 years

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things i love about you: you’re too good be all mine

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

anon asked: how are moniall dealing with quarantine?

Being at home all the time wasn’t something Mona really minded.

For one, the world was in a strange place at the moment and she’d very much rather be in her own space than outside. But also, it meant she and Niall got to spend more time with one another, which was not a luxury they were afforded for the past few weeks. They didn’t have to rush out of bed in the mornings and didn’t have to haphazardly slap together breakfast. While they still tried to stick to a schedule, considering they were both working from home, there was a lot more time in the day they could spend taking their time on the important things.

The first week or so was spent trying to get into the swing of things. Working from home wasn’t as easy as she initially thought; the distractions were endless and her self-control was often slim to none. Still, she somehow managed to get her work done and also catch up on some household chores that she hadn’t had time for; although, Niall did laugh at her when he caught her putting together a contraption that would clean that space where the refrigerator met the cupboard.

By week three or four—Mona lost track quickly, the days blurring together like watercolor paint—she thought she was holding up alright. Niall was obviously way better at the whole self-isolation thing than she was though. He was good at creating routines and sticking to them, always the level-headed one in their relationship. He even organized Zoom meetings with their friends so they could catch up or watch a movie or have a few drinks or do all of the above.

Mona was fine too. She missed her walks to work or hanging out with Jingle at Connemara’s, but she also enjoyed being at home, in a space she and Niall had meticulously arranged to suit their personalities and needs. He had his own music corner, the kitchen was stockpiled with everything they would ever need, the options for meals endless, and they had a reading nook that they shared. It was a comfortable bench under a large window, the warmest throw blanket folded neatly on top, where they often spent their free time with their legs tangled together and eyes on a good book.

She tried to be productive but had her lazy days too, mostly when her job didn’t require much from her and she had the rest of the day to lounge about. But sometimes, Mona faltered. It wasn’t her fault, it was just something wired strangely in her brain that had her slipping into dark places sometimes. A never-ending pit of insecurities and worries. Her thoughts would buzz incessantly, one after the other, drowning all together until they created a din that was like bees buzzing around a beehive.

Depending on the day, she could handle it differently. She’d call her friends to catch up or bake something sweet or watch one of her favorite movies, general things that usually made her happy since going out for a walk—in New York City, nonetheless—was virtually out of the question. Or she’d lounge about with her sunshine boy, making him talk about the things that made him happy, and he would always happily oblige her, readily pulling her into his arms.

Today, though, seemed to be a particularly bad day, exacerbated by the fact that she didn’t have the energy to even get out of bed and also Mimi, her on-and-off therapist over the past three years, was having internet issues and wasn’t available for their bi-weekly appointments. She was curled up into the blankets, pressing her head into her pillow as though that would aid in quieting the commotion in her mind. She often hated how crippling it could be, how she couldn’t seem to find the energy to move much less do anything useful.

“Darlin’.” Niall’s voice seemed muffled and far away, as though she was drowning underwater and he was just above the surface. But when she felt the warmth of his fingers smoothing across her forehead, she realized he was sitting on the bed behind her, not far away at all. “What’s going on in here, my love?” he murmured softly, lips pressing against her hairline and fingers rubbing circles into her temples as he pulled her into his lap.

The cool air of the room hit her face and she whimpered, feeling excruciatingly exposed, and she turned around to press her face into Niall’s tummy to hide again. She didn’t have it in her to form words. She couldn’t even think straight.

Niall wrapped his arms around her, gently bringing her up so her head was resting against his chest, lips finding her forehead again. “Where’s my Mona darlin’?” He held her tight, warmth blooming into her skin from his, and like she always felt in his embrace, she was safe. “I know she’s in here somewhere,” he continued, lips never leaving her skin. “The house is unbearably quiet without you, my love. Come back to me.”

He said that a lot whenever she got lost inside her head, whenever her mind switched into overdrive and she was suddenly in a daze, a hermit crab retreating into a large, spirally shell, unable to find its way out again. Although, none of those instances were ever as intense as this. This was him reaching into the water in which she was drowning, attempting to pull her out. She pressed harder into his chest, hoping he never let go.

“Come back to me, my Mona darlin’.” He pressed feather-light kisses along her forehead and over her eyes and down her nose, body swaying slightly, as though he was rocking a child to sleep. “I love you. Come back to me.”

Mona couldn’t help the way guilt pooled hot and blistering into her stomach, those unsolicited notions of never being able to be good enough for him now slinking around with the already loud thoughts in her head. Here he was, holding her close, immeasurably wonderful, murmuring sweet words into her skin. And there she was, paralyzed in this world of intolerable desolation, unable to do much else besides hold on to him and wish to the highest power in the universe that he didn’t eventually get sick of her.

“No no no,” he whispered quickly at the first telltale sign of her onslaught of tears, wobbling lips and trembling hands, his fingers already swiping at her cheekbones to catch any moisture that had not yet fallen. “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” At his words, she clenched her eyes shut, desperate to keep any potential tears at bay. She felt as though she was clawing for the surface, trying to reach his hand through the current of the water and missing each time. “I’m here for you, love.”

And, oh, how she wanted to give him the whole world. She wished she was half as good for him as he was infinitely perfect for her. It was often times like this when she wondered how she even got so lucky as to call him hers. She inhaled a long and shuddery breath, whimpering as she summoned all her willpower to attempt to quell the war raging in her head, because in her heart of hearts, she knew he was right, knew it wasn’t her fault she sometimes tripped into this chasm of overthinking that seemed to be a never-ending black hole. But she still felt hopelessly inadequate at times.

Niall had somehow maneuvered them until they were settled under the blanket, wrapping his arms snug around her as she used his chest as a pillow, one hand finding his as the other curled into his shirt, her anchor in this storm. “You can tell me when you need me to love you a little extra sometimes.” His voice was starting to sound less muffled, syrupy sweet and hushed in their already silent room, as if he didn’t want the walls to hear, as if his words were only meant for her ears. “And when I need it you can love me extra. But I’m always here for you.”

Mona held onto him tightly, letting his words wash over her skin, letting them absorb into her, letting them find the war in her mind and fight through the clutter. “I love you,” she managed to mumble out, voice getting lost in the fibers of his shirt. And then, another thought managed to knock his words in her mind down for a moment, and she ended up whispering out, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he repeated a bit firmer this time, still mouthing the words into her forehead, as though it will reach her mind faster that way. “Not your fault, my darlin’.” She curled up into him, legs tangling within his, trying to focus on the way his hands were smoothing up and down her spine, body a warm weight next to hers, trying to focus on the way he continued to whisper affirmations into her skin. She focused and focused until the thrumming in her head became nothing but white noise, and then slowly, everything became quiet.

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she opened her eyes to find herself in a different position than before, facing the opposite side of the bed, Niall’s chest pressed to her back. His fingers were loose in hers and she gave them the slightest squeeze, turning around to look at him. She was met with the sight of his beautiful sunshine smile, eyes glinting from the sunset light filtering in through their bedroom windows, and there was that thought again, wriggling its way back into her head. He was too good for her.

“Uh oh,” he got out, smile faltering. “You were back with me for a second there, then you started listening to your head again.” Mona sighed, shifting her way to rest her head under his chin and his arms fell around her easily again. “D’you want me to make you something?” he asked quietly, fingers trailing along her arm. “You haven’t eaten all day.” She shook her head against his chest, unable to think about food at the moment. She didn’t think she had the energy to stomach anything for the time being. Niall only allowed her mope for a few more moments before he started to get out of bed. “Come on, love. Get showered and I’ll make you some food, alright? You’ll feel better.” He smoothed her hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin there before heading off.

It was only until the other side of the bed started to get unbearably cold that she decided she should probably follow his advice and pull herself together. It wasn’t healthy to carry on like this and she knew it had gone on for long enough already. Still, it took her at least another hour to work up the energy and willpower to slide out of bed and let her legs carry her to the bathroom.

The steam from her shower made her feel more awake than she had in days. It somehow cleared her mind, giving her a boost of energy to wash her hair as well, a task she’d neglected during her visit to that dark chasm in her mind. Once she’d slipped into clean clothes—also something she neglected—and slathered moisturizer onto her body, she felt ready to finally leave the room and wander into the rest of their apartment.

“There she is,” Niall murmured as she walked into the kitchen, smile lighting up the entire room as he held out his arms for her and she stepped right into them. “She’s back.” He pressed a kiss to her temple before steering her towards a seat at the kitchen island. “I made you your favorite.” Sure enough, the plate he slid in front of her had a smile curving along her features, piled with fresh samosas, and not the frozen ones from the Indian grocery store. He’d gotten the recipe from Harlow’s mom way back when the two of them last went to San Francisco to visit everyone and he’d nearly perfected his samosa-making skills in the months he spent experimenting with them.

Mona looked up at him only to find his eyes glimmering with love and adoration down at her, and whatever she was planning to say disappeared from her mind. Instead, she reached out for his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

She may sometimes think that she doesn’t deserve him, but at the end of the day, she considers herself the luckiest person in the world. Because after everything, he still chose her every single day. Chose to love her, on her good days and bad days and everything in between.

And that was all she could really ask for.

Niall huffed in frustration at his laptop.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch because he could no longer sit in the kitchen for lack of focus. He’d been trying to find the correct word for what he was attempting to convey in his article and was failing miserably. Working from home was difficult sometimes because of the lack of communication with his team. When they were all together in the office, if he was stuck on a word, he’d simply ask out loud, guaranteed to receive an answer in moments, and then he could just keep on writing. Sure, there were Zoom meetings and conference calls now, but it wasn’t really the same.

He tried to remain positive though. If anything, he was more grateful that he and Mona were healthy and didn’t have jobs that required them to be out and about, even more so, jobs which afforded them the luxury of working from home. The same couldn’t be said for others, whose services were needed to help care for others, and he sometimes caught himself trying to remember that before complaining about anything.

“Take a break,” came Mona’s voice from behind him. She had crawled on the couch to sit above him, hands on his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his cheek. “You’ve been at this for longer than usual and you keep making angry sounds under your breath.”

He huffed out a laugh, leaning easily into her as she started to rub circles into the back of his neck, trailing down to where his shoulders converged, fingers easily finding the muscles that were taut with tension and massaging them away. “I have a deadline,” he muttered out, but closed his laptop anyway, a satisfied sound bubbling out through his lips when she found a good spot. He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders were, how much he needed this, but as always, Mona noticed for him.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t take a tiny break,” she retorted, but her voice went to that soft and reverent place that he loved, slow and sweet like honey. Her fingers started to press long lines from a spot behind his ears all the way down the curve of his neck and back again, and he sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t sure why, but it was his favorite spot, mostly because Mona’s hands were usually cold and his skin was always warm and it was soothing in a way he couldn’t really find words for. It was usually made even better because she sometimes pressed her lips along that line too, soft and fleeting kisses that usually left him waiting for more.

Her lips found the skin along his hairline instead, mostly because he was now leaning back into her lap, her arms wrapping around him to hold him close. “What are you doing?” he asked, nearly whining because she was kissing everywhere except for his lips.

She smiled against his skin and he felt his heart give a little start in his chest, warmth zipping through him because he never got tired of when she did that. “I’m loving you extra today.”

He couldn’t help the way he grinned at that, fingers tangling into hers to bring both of her hands to his lips and then holding them over his heart. He sometimes felt it was impossible to love her more but was always proven wrong when she did little things like this, repeating his own words back to him.

She was buried so deep into her head the other day that she wasn’t even answering his questions of concern as he tidied the room around her, where she was still curled into herself in their bed. He had begun to wonder if she could even hear him, a thought that nearly scared the life out of him because that had never happened before. He always noticed the way her eyes glazed over sometimes and she dragged her feet around the apartment, usually leaving her to her own devices for a bit because she was good at finding ways to pull herself out of it, learning that two days was a good grace period before he had to interfere with whatever war was going on inside her head.

But, the other day, time had seemed like it was passing by agonizingly slow, mostly because they were stuck in the apartment all the time, and he knew he had to do something quickly to bring her back to him, two day grace period forgotten after two hours. He wished she didn’t hurt so much sometimes, wished he could just reach in and take that part of her out, so she’d be happy and wasn’t plagued by darkness. But he loved her to the ends of the earth regardless.

“I made you your favorite soup,” she said now, cheek pressed to his head as she held him. “Might put you in a better mood?”

He couldn’t help the way he reached for her then, hands gently pulling her face down to his lips as he kissed her as sweetly as the angle allowed. It was awkwardly upside down but the way she smiled against him made it worth it. All these years later and she still didn’t really seem to understand that what made him feel the most gratified was when she was happy, when she smiled and laughed and glowed from it all, not overthinking, not caring about anything else. But he would pour his love into her until she did, until she realized that she really was the love of his life and nothing in the world could ever change that.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her lips, smile growing tenfold as she let out a breathy giggle. “I love you.” His heart still fluttered whenever she said those words back to him, and he knew that he would never get tired of saying it or hearing it back.

As he followed her to the kitchen and let her pour their lunch into bowls, all he could think of was how even if being cooped up inside all the time wasn’t ideal, it was worth it for how much time he got to spend with his Mona.

#it's been raining all day and i'm in a mood #moniall are my emotional support characters okay #idk who i am or what to do with myself if i'm not writing about them #in the background of my life #i've also decided not to number these bc i feel like they add pressure to tell the story chronologically #and this has no plot so LOL #things i love about you #writings #1dff #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan drabbles

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maryellencarter · 4 years

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excessively detailed headcanon meme from camshaft22 about Wes

What does their bedroom look like? Lots and lots and lots of extremely colorful pillows and blankets. Not a hell of a lot else. And Kettch.

Do they have any daily rituals? Um. Not particularly, I think? He’s spent his entire adult life in the military, which pretty much defines what he has to do when.

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often? Yes. We know that Wes is fairly good at hand-to-hand combat. I figure he also does weight training and cardio.

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy? Tricky question, as it often is for characters from military canons. But I’m thinking he’d either barge in and work around the other people using the kitchen, or if all the stoves/ovens/etc were busy, find a ration bar or something.

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.) We have pretty much nothing on this in canon. I tend to have his workspace covered in datacards and so forth, because he has that sort of ADHD vibe where your brain needs more than one screen to spread thoughts across. We do know that he has quite a good sense of smell, so he’s probably fairly cleanly in his personal life.

Eating habits and sample daily menu? Again: military. He eats what’s there to be eaten. Probably a fair amount of it, because all that muscle needs a lot of calories. I suspect during the Rebellion he helped supply the cooks by hunting for meat.

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time? Good question. He’s not as hyper as Shalla; there are a couple of points in the books where we see him lying down doing nothing when he has some free time. (Once toward the beginning of Iron Fist iirc, when the three ersatz Zsinjes are discussing plans, Wes is lying on a sofa with a glass of brandy while they talk, and then when Myn goes to find him for the “you can’t look dignified” talk he finds Wes lying down in bed though he has a chair in his quarters.) He’s probably always thinking about random shit and entertaining himself.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging? I think it really depends on the context. On Adumar, we see him cutting loose and enjoying the fame and adulation, and also capes and swords. In the Wraith books, he’s more disciplined, because his quacklings need him to be, but he definitely enjoys pranks, and also setting up the sort of prank-like training methods he uses. I don’t think he really has any guilty pleasures as such, not that he would consider guilty.

Makeup? I kind of doubt he’s been in a context to encounter it much, other than Face’s stage makeup. In universes where he has, he definitely likes body glitter, and has probably experimented with using contouring techniques on his biceps.

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such? You can’t be a Wraith without neuroses. He sits on them pretty effectively, but he’s a mess around the whole business with Kell’s father, and he’s fairly fatalistic about his own prospects of survival.

Intellectual pursuits? Good damn question. We know he’s smart, good at numbers, remembers obscure training protocols. We don’t know if he reads philosophy or writes poetry or... what exactly are “intellectual pursuits” anyway?

Favorite book genre? There are a lot of these questions that we don’t especially have answers to. I mean, I know this is a headcanon meme, but a lot of them I also haven’t pondered much. I don’t think we ever see Wes reading for fun, although I speculate he reads NR training manuals in order to figure out ways to mess with his students. I’ll have to ponder on this one.

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general? Wes is pansexual aromantic. He pretty much respects that everybody has different orientations, but finds romance confusing and occasionally distressing, especially when it interferes with his friendships.

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.) Um. Not really? The whole Star Wars bacta thing takes care of a lot of that. I have been messing around with a completely self-indulgent little sleep apnea headcanon, because you could just wear a specialized rebreather to sleep instead of a CPAP machine. I haven’t done anything with that, though.

Biggest and smallest short term goal? At what point in the story? That’s the trouble with a shared universe that spans 44 years at least.

Biggest and smallest long term goal? Ditto.

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress? Ahahahaha yeah. XD Wes is famous, or infamous, for his unique sense of style -- although apparently there are things even he doesn’t want to wear, because Wedge was able to threaten him with letting Hobbie choose his clothes on Adumar. He likes bright colors, capes, shiny things, weaponry, and glitter.

Favorite beverage? I have no headcanon about this. Star Wars foodstuffs are difficult.

What do they think about before falling asleep at night? Probably ways to cause minor trouble and cheer people up. Or maybe he tells himself stories.

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them? Well, I decided the “Hesken’s fever” that kept him out of the first Death Star battle was space chicken pox, and that he had it as a kid but it didn’t take, because I had chicken pox twice as a kid myself.

Turn-ons? Turn-offs? Sexually, or what? I’m old enough in internet years that I’m never quite sure whether we’re using this in the sense of things that you generally like and don’t like. Also, for as much Wes smut as I’ve written (it is a lot), I don’t really feel that I can produce a list.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? Paper airplanes, possibly decorated with dicks.

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life? Honestly, Wes is pretty damn organized when it comes to squadron stuff. I feel like this could go either way -- that he’s also super organized about his personal life, or that he’s completely and utterly disorganized outside the military structure.

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all? Wes Janson, Ace Statistician. XD Honestly, he could probably be good at most things, he’s a lot smarter than he acts sometimes.

How do they see themselves 5 years from today? Again, at what point in the story?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout? These are really difficult to answer without specifying a timeframe.

What is their biggest regret? Definitely the Doran Incident.

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy? Best friend is Hobbie. Worst enemy is probably whoever Wedge is currently pointing him at. Wes doesn’t really have a lot of personal enmities.

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?) Go extremely organized and make everything happen that needs to happen.

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies) Sit on his feelings until they stop bothering him.

Most prized possession? Kettch.

Thoughts on material possessions in general? He really doesn’t need much. I tend to figure he likes comfy cozy cuddly things and fancy capes, and other than that he mostly does with what the Rebellion / New Republic gives him. Hobbie probably invests his money for him (Ralltiir is a banking planet), and Wes doesn’t pay much attention to it. By the time he gets out of the military at last, he probably has a pretty fair pile.

Concept of home and family? The Fab Four are his family. I forget why, but I also decided he has some attachment to Taanab and probably goes back there to live once he musters out. The air and gravity just feel more correct there.

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?) Wes gives the impression that there’s not a thought in his head that doesn’t come out his mouth, but at the same time he has secrets he doesn’t tell anybody until he has to. So, some of each? It’s a balancing act.

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time? Um. I’m not sure he has any. I mean, this is a guy who unabashedly bounces on his bed to make a point.

What makes them feel guilty? Not much. Except the Doran incident and things that remind him of it.

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making? Emotional, to the point that he’s made a principle out of it.

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality? I honestly don’t know what this means. *googles* Well, I have learned a lot about tobacco lobbyists in the 1980s... ;P If I’m understanding what these mean, though, Wes is definitely not a Type A personality, and therefore is by definition a Type B personality.

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained? Being around people. Having fun. Conversation. Cheering other people up.

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither? Probably neither. Sometimes he pretends to have a superiority complex as a form of goofing around, which is much more difficult to do when you actually have one of these complexes. (Compleces? Plurals are complicated.)

How misanthropic are they? Ahaha. Not very. Hobbie does all of that for him. XD

Hobbies? BEHOLD A PUNE *koff* Sorry. I don’t really know that Wes has any particular hobbies, although I suspect he can sew for purposes of making Kettch new outfits. Somebody had to make that gray Hawk-bats flightsuit.

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education? Well, he definitely left school on Taanab by the time he was about eighteen at the oldest. I feel like he was probably kind of self-conscious about being a Rimworlder for a while (all three of the others are Coreworlders), and that might mix into his feelings about having left school early, if he did.

Religion? When I write Wes, he’s kind of an agnostic. It so happens that he never refers to the Force at all in the X-wing books, in any way, so I’ve riffed on that to a view that, while he’s seen Luke do things with the Force and knows it exists, he ascribes it a lot less power than the Jedi do. He sees the Force basically as a nonsentient temporally-amorphous ocean of impressions, which Jedi can use to foresee things like blaster bolts (which is useful), but when Jedi get larger and vaguer impressions about the “will of the Force”, he’s pretty sure they’re projecting. This doesn’t do too much harm when Luke does it, because Luke is a ball of sunshine who just wants what’s best for everyone, but it means that Sith and other fucked-up people have their own really dangerous views on the Force’s will. ...I may have thought this out rather a lot.

Superstitions or views on the occult? He probably has them. I’m very fond of space superstitions but I don’t think I’ve written any myself. Wes seems like the sort of guy who would laugh over ghost stories and then accidentally scare himself in the middle of the night.

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds? Ummm I’m not quite sure what this means. *ponders* Nope, I’ve got nuthin’.

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal? That’s also a hell of a question. Like does it mean who would they fall in love with? Are we talking that Anne of Green Gables shit about only being able to fall in love with a tall dark stranger with a melting voice?

How do they express love? Snuggling. Also annoying you into cheering up.

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like? More or less a mixed martial arts thing. We see him use some wrestling moves and spinning kicks. I suspect Shalla gave him some lessons after she joined the Wraiths, because he seems a lot more confident about his hand-to-hand abilities on Adumar than in the first Wraith Squadron book.

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not? Nope. He knows he’s going to die very soon; he’s a soldier in a war with an extremely high rate of attrition. His goal is to have as much fun as possible before he goes.

#wes janson #wes janson ace statistician #rogue squadron #star wars legends #meme

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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522

When's the last time you ran? I don’t know, I usually walk-run but I don’t fully run. The last time I did the former was last Wednesday when I was horribly late for my anthropology class. Do your jeans have rips, tears, and holes in them? I do; I have a couple. What are you dreading right now? Going to mass in a couple of hours BLECK. Do you celebrate 420? I don’t, but I celebrate the day after which is my birthday lmao. 420 was cute like 8 years ago but I mostly don’t care about it now.

Do you get the full 8 hours of sleep at night? Nope, mostly because I always end the day late but have to start really early (my classes this week start at either 7 or 8:30 AM). I get seven hours at most, and that’s when I’m lucky enough to be in bed by 10.

If anyone came to your house on your "lazy day" what would ya'll do? I’d be pissed they came to the house without permission? then be forced to spend the day with them anyway because I hate rejecting people. Who last grabbed your ass? My girlfriend, hehehe. Have you ever been on your school's track team? Yes in like fifth and sixth grade. I ran fast but wasn’t a fan of the sport itself cos it made me very tired, so I shifted to table tennis not long after. Do you own a pair of converse? I did. Red high top ones. I think my mom threw them out already though. Do you eat raw cookie dough? I rarely get the chance to bake cookies or watch someone else do it, but when I do I always hover over the dough. No amount of “that’s raw egg!” warnings could stop me, I think hahaha. Have you ever kicked a vending machine? Never; they’ve always worked for me. Don't you hate it when radios ruin good songs by playing them over and over? Tbh this is what happens with a lot of Ariana Grande songs. I like them on their own, but radio stations overplaying them ruins it for me. Do you watch Trading Spaces? I have never heard of this show(?) before. How do you eat oreos? Like how I’d eat every other biscuit. I was never a fan of the whole twist-lick thing, plus I’m lactose intolerant so I could never dunk. Have you ever stayed online for a long time waiting for someone? Back in the days of Yahoo Messenger, sure. Are you cocky? Maybe about like one or two things, but I generally avoid being That person. Could you live without a computer? NO. I need a laptop to do research, do my readings, take surveys, watch movies, etc. Do you wear your shoes in the house? No. Filipinos don’t do that. Who or what sleeps with you? A couple of pillows. At what age did you find out that Santa wasn't real? I didn’t find out; I just never believed in him cos I never saw him. I started doubting right when I was 5 because my mom kept saying he’s gonna come at midnight, but he never did. How many phones are in your house, that includes cell phones? We have two landlines and five phones. What do you do when you're sad? It depends, because I have different kinds of sad. Sometimes I’ll nap it off, sometimes I’ll cry it out, sometimes I’ll go back to a hobby of mine like coloring. Do you know anyone born in the year 1985? I don’t think so. Who would you call first if you won the lottery? My girlfriend, hahaha. Family would ask for favors almost immediately so that’s a no-no for me. Last time you saw your best friend? I saw Angela last Thursday and I drove Gabie home yesterday. Are you in high school? Nah, I’m like four years past it. What jewelry are you wearing? No jewelry. Is anyone on your bad side now? Bad groupmates from my communication research class last semester. When did reality become tv? Not sure, but the Kardashians definitely influenced its popularity. What's the first thing you do when you get online? Check if there’s work to be done. When did Motley Crue become classic rock? I’m not too familiar with classic rock in general. When did Ozzy become an actor? Dude idk Do you watch Grey's Anatomy? Nope. How do you most people spell your name? Robin. Which is fine - Robyn is the less common spelling, anyway. Would you wear a boy/girlfriends clothes? I could wear her oversized polos; but generally she’s a couple sizes larger than me, so no. Where do you work? I don’t work anywhere just yet. What are you doing tomorrow? Cramming school work, definitely. Is Justin Timberlake becoming the next Michael Jackson? No? Where did that come from? Where do you draw the line? There are so many angles this could come from lmfao. Favorite name for a girl? I am suuuuper loving Olivia and Mia. Favorite boy name? At the moment, it’s Jacob. Will you keep your last name when you get married? I’d hyphenate it with my spouse’s, so technically yes. When was the last time you left your house? This morning. I just got home. Do you return your cart? Yes. Do you have a dishwasher? No, that’s not too common here and I wasn’t aware about the concept of dishwashers until I was like 13 and started having internet friends from the States. What noise do you hear? I can hear my electric fan, some birds chirping, and a couple of dogs barking in the distance. Would you survive in prison? I doubt it. Who is the youngest in the family? My brother. Road trip! Who would most likely overpack? In my family? HAHAHAHAHAHA ME. I’d usually pack like five tops, five bottoms, and too many undergarments for an overnight trip. Do you know anyone with the same name as you? Sure. What's the last thing you purchased? A box of half-dozen doughnuts from Krispy Kreme to drop off for my girlfriend’s family when I drove her home last night. Do your siblings ever pay for stuff for you? Nah. My sister will sometimes pass me load when I need it, but that’s about it. What brand are your pants right now? I just took them off but they’re from Zara. What brand is your digital camera? Stopped using an actual camera a long time ago. Do you own expensive perfume/cologne? I dunno if it counts as expensive but I have Beyonce’s Heat Rush. Do you watch movies with your parents? Sometimes. Ever been to Georgie (the state)? No. What irritates you the most? Today it’s stupid drivers, but I’m irritated by a new thing every day. Are you taking college classes right now? I’m in university, so yes. Do you like sushi? I LOVE sushi; I had it for lunch today. Do you get your hair cut every month? No, I get my hair done probably like twice a year. I don’t really pay much attention to it – so long as I comb it everyday it’s fine. Do you go online everyday? Yes. I have to, or else I’ll be swamped with work.

#survey #surveys

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smallnico · 5 years

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[sees your tags on that post and shambles through your door because I've rushed here to ask you about your OCs and I'm out of breath] Hey so your OCs huh, who are these lawful and chaotic disasters? Where are they from (as in like... Story wise b/c I know you have a few groups of OCs iirc, but location wise is fine too)? What's their relationship like? I'm very much down to hear more about them?

(post!)

aaaa!! okay okay so

some of y’all who’ve been around a while might recognize them from that big pile of theatre kid ocs (i won’t link because they’re old outdated designs), which is what i refer to the lot of them as, even if it’s more just an excuse to have them all play in the same space rather than an actual comprehensive story. so that’s where they’re from, story-wise! they’re both just human disasters, nothing magic or fancy, but i think they’re pretty fun.

qi is the group’s stage manager, he’s a chronic perfectionist and permanently exhausted from carrying the weight of how disappointed he is in himself for not meeting his own impossibly high standard of performance and behaviour. this in mind he’s also incredibly ambitious (though he’s sticking with theatre as a means of slaking that ambition for now), suave, cunning, quick-witted, unreasonably intimidating, and absolutely terrifying if you get on his bad side – which, to be fair, is hard to do. i like to think of qi as someone who would have the ideal temperament and poise to be a supervillain, if he weren’t fundamentally a good person. he spends more time on his hair than he spends on speaking terms with his parents, and he’s bad at being affectionate with his friends and rowdy theatre family but makes up for it by letting them use his apartment for cast parties as long as they fucking clean up after themselves. he’ll make the nachos, even though he’s lactose intolerant.

lani is his polar goddamn opposite. she’s a hot mess, a juggernaut of chaos and bad decisions. she’s one of the theatre’s lead actresses and as such, she loves drama and attention, and (hopefully) unlike most, she will do all sorts of nonsense to achieve these things, including but not limited to minor crimes, impromptu public improv, making awful puns in class, and internet shopping when she’s left alone too long. she’s got a fun and gregarious disposition: she’s not evil, she’s just impulsive and romantic and brash. despite all her flaws and terrible habits, she genuinely can’t stand to see people suffer, so if she goes too far, she does feel intense remorse and will try to make it up to them. she’s basically a trickster god – no powers, but you’d be surprised what two human hands can wreak. that being said, she still helps clean up after cast parties, so she’s not so bad. at the end of the day she’s got a big heart full of love for her friends and family, but that’s not gonna stop her from declaring like half her castmates to be Passionate Rivals because that’s more fun and sexy than being friends.

qi is around 80% of lani’s impulse and preventative damage control, and lani is generally the only one who can yank him out of his vortex of self-hatred when it gets really bad. he keeps her stable and responsible, she keeps him laughing and human. they both need therapy (and they actually met in a psychiatric recovery ward), but they motivate each other to get better and healthier as people in order to take some strain off one another. their partnership is the rube goldberg machine model of healthy relationships. they make it work because they genuinely care about each other’s happiness. if there’s one thing i love it’s stories about love and recovery where caring isn’t the Healing Thing, but where caring motivates healing. they’re both bastards but i love them and want them to be happy

but these two i’ve also actually written a short story about, for school. if there’s enough interest i’ll post it but thinking about that gives me the Fear so i’ll wait before i do that

thanks so much for asking! i’m glad someone’s interested :,p

#janetofficial #the askbox #smallnioc

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zogunira-blog · 5 years

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thereisnobearonthisisland-arc · 6 years

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caramel chameleons

summary: In a Starbucks on one of their tour stops, Dan thinks of all the reasons he misses the Manchester Starbucks he and Phil frequented all those years ago.

2.5k words

special thanks and all my love to @freckliephil, @cutie-with-booty, @knlalla, @moon-boye, and @philsdrill, without whom this would be ten times worse.

read on ao3

A bell tinkles above as Dan opens the door to this new Starbucks in a new place, and he frowns. No other Starbucks he’s been to has done that. He holds it open, waiting for Phil to walk through the entry first. His eyes settle on the small of his boyfriend’s back as if the heat of his gaze alone could bring Phil the same warmth as the hand Dan’s so desperately craving to fit into that little dip. But he can’t. With a soft sigh, he drops his eyes to the floor and follows Phil inside, letting the door swing shut behind them. At least this place smells the same as every Starbucks he’s ever called home. It’s probably because it’s - well - a Starbucks, but Dan doesn’t really have room to be picky right now.

Phil pauses in the entryway, and Dan looks up to find him glancing from him to the front counter and back to Dan again, his head tilted to the side. It’s a silent question, the beginning of a wordless conversation. Do you want to order, or shall I? It’s mundane, much like many of the other silent conversations they have, but it’s necessary at times like these, when they’re in public spaces where anyone could be listening to them, trying to pick apart their conversations bit by bit. (Or maybe Dan’s just being dramatic.)

He places a hand on Phil’s upper arm because it’s less intimate than placing it on the small of his back, or his waist, or his dick, but they’re still close enough for Dan to ground himself in Phil, Phil, Phil. “Quietest place you can find?” he whispers in Phil’s ear before dropping his hand and forcing himself to step away. Friends don’t leave lingering touches on each other’s arms. Or at least, that’s what their fans have always said. (He and Phil have never been good at following the rules of friendship. Not even when they were still trying to figure out if they could ever be anything more.)

Phil gives him a little smile, and it’s enough to push him towards the front counter. He orders two caramel macchiatos, one with soy for Phil. As much as Phil likes to pretend he’s not lactose intolerant every time he buys a coffee, he is. And Dan’s not about to let Phil delude himself when he’s the one buying the coffee. He pays, thanking the cashier quietly, and goes to stand in the area where he can pick up their drinks when they’re done.

The whole place is buzzing with voices, a never-ending low hum of people trying to have private conversations that can never really be private. Not here. It’s why he and Phil usually take their coffee to go. But today, today they have an hour to kill before they have to get back to prepare for their meet and greet. Neither of them feels much like staying inside today, though, and Marianne asked them to please not go too far away, so here they are in a Starbucks two streets over.

No one has so much as glanced at either Dan or Phil since they’ve walked in, but Dan’s stomach is still churning as he turns to watch everyone in the shop. There’s a group of uni students sat at a long table on the near side of the counter. They’ve all got their laptops open, their headphones plugged in, and they aren’t even looking at each other. They’re just existing in each other’s space, and it kind of reminds him of how he and Phil do their work at home, except for the way they seem to be completely unaware of each other. Dan is always aware of Phil.

On the far end of the counter, smaller tables have been pushed together to form a longer one, and a group of well-dressed people sit in the chairs surrounding it. If Dan had to guess, he’d say they’re probably having a business meeting. They’re all dressed in crisp pant suits with fitted blazers, sitting stiffly in their seats as a woman at the head of the table rambles on about whatever the topic of this meeting is. Half of them are watching with tired, glazed-over eyes, and Dan can't really blame them. It's Friday. He'd be exhausted and unable to focus on anything, too, if he were in the same position.

Dan’s skin itches with each passing second that he spends watching the suited business people. That could have been him. He forces himself to look away before he starts clawing at his throat, as if doing so could strip away the layers and and layers of anxiety pressing against his windpipe right now. He’s so glad that it isn’t him, but if he’d just done one thing differently, if he’d decided to stick it out in law school seven years ago, it could very easily have been. He could have been miserable and exhausted in a meeting on a Friday afternoon, but sure that he’d always be financially secure. Part of him still wonders if that might have been the right path, or if it would have at least been more secure than fucking about with his boyfriend who had just as little money as he did. Maybe in another universe he did choose that path, and he and Phil drifted apart as he put Youtube on the backburner in his life, and they don’t even see each other anymore there. Fuck, he needs Phil.

He's never been more desperate to seek out Phil than he is in this moment. There’s bile sitting at the base of his throat, just waiting for Dan to make himself sick enough for it crawl upwards and shoot out of his mouth with the rest of his lunch, and he really fucking needs Phil right now. Because Phil reminds him of why he made the decision to drop out in the first place. Phil reminds him that it was the right decision, that there’s more to life than just financial security, and that he’s better off for putting himself before a degree. (Look at where he is now, on a world tour with the greatest love he's ever known.) Phil reminds him that it's okay to break the mold sometimes, even if it goes against everything that he should be doing. (He and Phil fell in love through the internet, after all.) Phil reminds him that it's okay to be sad, as long as he doesn't let it fester. (And Phil always lets him ramble so he doesn't.) And Phil is always there to give him these reminders when he forgets.

Dan needs a reminder right now, so he scans the room for black hair and a hooked nose. His eyes pass over couples pressed close together in ways that he and Phil can never be. At least, not anymore. Maybe once they were able to. Back in Manchester, back when no one knew their names and they'd been in the kind of young love that puts blinders on everything but each other. Back then, they'd had a sofa hidden away from everyone else in that Starbucks, their Starbucks, and they were able to sip their Manchester macchiatos with legs tangled together and soft words whispered into each other's ears. No one ever bothered them, save for the occasional homophobic jibe from some asshole passing by. And it was good.

That's not to say that it was perfect. They were both nearly penniless, and living together even though their parents griped about it being far too early in their relationship to make such a commitment. They fought with their parents and they fought with each other, and they had no idea if this dream they were chasing on the internet would pan out. They were stressed and unsure of anything but each other. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. They never had to worry about fans spotting them out in public and if they were sitting too close together (they were), if they were looking at each other too fondly (every look they shared was fond), or if, at any given moment, they'd be forced out of a closet they weren't necessarily hiding in, but definitely hadn’t come out of yet (but maybe it would have been easier back then, without the bitter taste of denial from years past on their tongues).

There are a lot of couples here - a burly man in a red flannel sitting across from a tall brunette, two young girls who are so lost in each other that Dan's half tempted to grin stupidly at how easily they can show affection for each other, and half tempted to scold them like a scandalised soccer mom. There are some obvious first dates and some couples who look like they've been together forever. There's even an elderly couple. And as much as Dan would like to say that he's happy to see so much love pouring so openly out of complete strangers, he's really not. Not today. There are too many lovers here on an early Friday afternoon, reminding Dan of all the ways that he can't prove himself just as in love. Some are giggling behind their hands, eyes glinting with mirth as they toss teasing remarks back and forth to each other. Others are whispering quietly, completely wrapped up in their own worlds, soft smiles playing on their lips as they take sips of each other's coffees, holding them out of their partner's reach if they like them and wrinkling their noses and pushing the mugs away from themselves if they don't.

Every single couple there is wearing the kind of adoration he wishes he could wear for Phil, and for the first time today, Dan wishes that they'd decided to stay back at the theater. At least there they wouldn't have to pretend that they're anything less than two completely enamoured fools. He still hasn't spotted Phil, and it's starting to feel more and more like his throat is swelling shut as each second passes. It's not, and he knows that Phil has to be around here somewhere, but sometimes you feel things that don't make sense. At least, not realistically. Sometimes your throat doesn't swell shut, but you forget how to breathe. Sometimes your internet idol falls in love with you, and you build a life together despite everyone telling you you’re destined to crash and burn.

The big burly man and the brunette stand up, and finally, finally, Dan spots a shock of black hair behind them and breathes a sigh of relief. Phil is here, and he's craning his neck to find Dan, and Dan wonders for the umpteenth time if Phil has some sort of sixth sense to detect when he's feeling anxious. His lips quirk up when he spots Dan, and Dan feels the entire room melt away as he soaks in the curves of Phil’s cheekbones, the fullness of his bow-shaped lips, the wide expanse of his forehead. The fwiff is still kind of new, it still shocks Dan from time to time, but he's come to enjoy it, and fuck it all if he can't point out his boyfriend's beautiful forehead at any given opportunity.

He flashes a soft grin back to Phil, swiping his index finger over the bridge of his nose swiftly. It's a small action, but it means the world to both of them. Phil's eyes light up, and Dan is so glad that they came up with discreet ways to share their affection all those years ago. To anyone else, it would just look as if Dan had a slight itch on his nose, but Phil knows better. Phil knows that a nose swipe means I love you, just like he knows that three blinks means I wish I could kiss you right now and that an ear scratch means I'm so glad you're here. Dan scratches his ear just as the barista calls out his name, and Phil gives him a toothy grin.

Dan grabs the drinks from the barista, thanking them quietly, and heads over to the table Phil's claimed for the two of them. It's a tall table, which Dan's legs are grateful for, although it's not too wide across, so maybe he shouldn't get too excited. Their legs are still going to be crammed together, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. He slips onto the seat across from Phil, sliding the cup with an "s" written on top and a stirrer for Phil across the table to him, and shoves his own stirrer into his cup. He swirls it around a few times, trying to mix in the caramel as best as he can.

Phil hasn't even touched his yet. He's just staring at Dan, a goofy smile on his face as he scoots his chair closer to the table so there's less of his lap to spill hot coffee onto. Or maybe just so he can bump his knees against Dan's. Either way, Dan's not gonna complain about it. Phil tilts his head to the side and presses his thumb into his cheek as if that action alone could forcibly insert dimples into them. Dan grins back, trying to ignore the fact that Phil can still make his heart beat this erratically. Because pressing a thumb into his cheek means I wish we could be alone right now and I wish I could kiss all of your dimples, and even though the Starbucks in Manchester allowed them to be more open, Dan doesn’t think he’d trade this for anything.

The Manchester Starbucks gave them freedom, but it also gave them uncertainty. And this Starbucks, this is just one stop of many on the second adventure he’s taking around the world with the love of his life. Phil is the only certainty he really needs, and Phil is right here with him, right now. The Manchester Starbucks holds hundreds of fond memories, but they’re about to make so many more memories on this tour, and just the thought of new memories makes Dan feel light. Who’s to say that these won’t be the best memories yet?

Dan blinks three times in rapid succession, and Phil bumps their knees together. Hooking an ankle around Dan’s, he finally picks up his stirrer and sticks it into his coffee cup. He swirls it around a few times, just as Dan did earlier. When he’s done, he licks the foam off of it, and Dan has to bite his lip to keep himself from giggling when Phil’s nose wrinkles. Phil’s about to be a drama queen, and Dan knows it, but Dan still loves him even when he’s being a drama queen. Sometimes he loves Phil because he’s being a drama queen, although he’ll never admit that out loud.

Phil glares at him playfully. “Daniel. Did you order me a macchiato with soy milk?”

“Yes, I did.”

“But Dan, macchiatos are better with actual milk.” Phil is actually pouting right now, and there’s nothing Dan wants more than to kiss it right off his face. He blinks three times, and Phil’s pout quirks upward slightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dan says, blinking innocently.

Phil furrows his brow, and Dan wants to reach across the table and smooth it out. “I hate you,” he says, jutting out his bottom lip. He swipes his index finger over his nose. I love you.

Dan brushes two quick swipes over his own nose. I love you, too.

#phanfic #phanfiction #my fics #tour fic

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neuvis · 6 years

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all of them for julius and ainoqres (^:

BOY OH BOY

A: Aptitude1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

Julius | Shadow magic, his strength/speed, and thinking quick

Ainoqres | Traditional magic, Serian, critical thinking, and noticing even the smallest of details.

2. what activities have they participated in?

THIS IS SO VAGUE

Julius | Soccer? Stealing? Killing?

Ainoqres | School clubs relating to traditional magic, and uh...war?

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

The strength of their magics.

Julius | Cooking and patience

Ainoqres | Sewing

4. what things are they bad at?

Julius | Being patient (in the beginning), watching his language, and not generalising groups of people

Ainoqres | Understanding others’ feelings in general

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Julius | Either his physical strength or his cooking

Ainoqres | Being able to use both traditional magic and elemental magic

B: Basics1. what is their hair color?

Julius | White

Ainoqres | Black

2. what is their eye color?

Julius | Gold

Ainoqres | Purple

3. how tall are they?

Julius | 6′2″ ish

Ainoqres | 6′11″ or so

4. how old are they?

Julius | 24ish

Ainoqres | ?????

5. how much do they weigh?

Julius | Somewhere in the 200s because of his height and muscle

Ainoqres | ??????

C: Comfort1. how do they sit in a chair?

Julius | His legs a bit wide and his elbows on his knees

Ainoqres | Legs crossed and back straight

2. in what position do they sleep?

Julius switches between his back and his sides

Ainoqres sleeps on his sides

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Julius | Warm sunny day, eating his own food, quiet in the house, sunbathing on a rock.

Ainoqres | Sleeping all day in a cool and humid room.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

Julius | Potatoes stuffed with other foods because his mother used to make them for him all the time

Ainoqres | Sheep meat with chili and god knows why

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

Julius | Eises

Ainoqres | Evina

D: Decoration1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

Julius’ would have a sleek and modern look to it with all the updated technology. Lots of white furniture too. Not fully decorated but not entirely minimalistic either.

Ainoqres’ would prefer that wooden furniture decorated look, so wooden shelves and tables here and there. He’d probably have paintings of landscapes too.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

I’m gonna go with young child

Julius | A room with lots of space and areas to put whatever posters said kid would want. Probably some shelves and what not so the child has a place to put their toys. It would also have a stand with a modern tv.

Ainoqres | Paint it a colour that the child wants.. Would put a window on it, and of course, more wooden decorations like shelves and a table.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Well neither of them have a permanent home and are always on the move, so they can’t really decorate it at all.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

Julius really loves formal clothing like button ups and dress pants, but he also really loves sweaters with jeans. He has a thing for trenchcoats too. He likes it when they have colours that contrast his skin colour. He also has an earring on his right ear.

Ainoqres prefers darker coloured clothes with no sleeves.Belts too even if he doesn’t need it. He always wears a mask that only covers his lower half of his face just for the heck of it.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

Julius is fine with it even though he doesn’t really follow them. Ainoqres knows nothing about current trends.

E: External Personality1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

Oh goodness yes to both

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

Nope to both

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

They do their own thing

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

Nope

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own?

Julius does the former and Ainoqres does the latter

F: Fun1. what do they do for fun?

They both like to read. Julius really loves to fight too

2. what is their ideal party?

For Julius it’s probably just jokes and alcohol.

Ainoqres??? Party ???

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Julius | Eises

Ainoqres | ??? Aluxymo ??

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Sort of

5. do they go out a lot?

They both kind of have to

G: Gorgeous1. what is their most attractive external feature?

Eyes for both

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

Julius | His inner sweetheart

Ainoqres | How he keeps his cool ?

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

Good food, protection, and laughs

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Julius really hates his temper and is mixed about his stubbornness.

Ainoqres likes how he keeps his cool and how mysterious he comes off. He really hates his past.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

Julius | Having money and patience

Ainoqres | Having a normal life and being able to understand how others feel

H: Heat1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Julius | Hot

Ainoqres | Cold

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Julius | Summer

Ainoqres | Winter

3. do they like the snow?

Julius doesn’t but Ainoqres does

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Julius loves to sunbathe and Ainoqres loves to dip into the river

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

Julius likes to bundle up in blankets and have hot cocoa and Ainoqres secretly loves snowball fights and making ice sculptures

I: In-the-closet1. what is their sexuality?

Julius is straight, Ainoqres is bi

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

Nope

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

Nope

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

Julius’ would be if he was, Ainoqres’ wouldn’t be

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

Ainoqres never really felt a reason to come out until he met Pravis :3c

J: Joy1. what makes them happy?

Just being around the Mulidais ;w; Also food

2. who makes them happy?

...the Mulidais xP

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

They dont really listen to music

4. are they happy often?

Not at first but slowly they become happier

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

Just!!! The Mulidais !!! And seeing where the groups is now compared to how they were before the group formed

K: Kill1. have they ever thought about suicide?

Ainoqres has frequently

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

They’ve both done it already

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

They already have and now they want to kill Vantis

4. who would miss them if they died?

The whole Mulidais ;w;

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

I mean a lot of the enemy groups would

L: Lemons1. what is their favorite fruit?

Julius loves melons of any kind and Ainoqres is a cherry man

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Julius hates watermelon and Ainoqres really doesn’t like grapes

3. are there any foods they hate?

Julius generally doesn’t like sour foods and Ainoqres mostly doesn’t care

4. do they have any food intolerances?

Nope

5. what is their favorite food?

Julius is a fan of anything spicy

Ainoqres likes any kind of bird smothered in pistra sauce with a side of veggies

M: Maternal1. would they want a daughter or a son?

Both ;v;

2. how many children do they want?

At least 2

3. would they be a good parent?

By the end of the story both of them would

How they are now, sort of?

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

Julius would name his son Sebastian and his daughter would be Maria

For Ainoqres... ???!!! Something as elaborate as his name god

5. would they adopt?

Julius wouldn’t mind

Ainoqres hasn’t officially adopted by law but he might as well have when it comes to everyone in the Mulidais

N: Never Have I Ever1. what would they never do?

Not counting the obvious abuse

Julius | Skydiving

Ainoqres | ???? God that’s a good question

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

Julius | Explore underground desert caves

Ainoqres | Fly in the sky during the dragon festival with the other dragons

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Julius | Skydiving

Ainoqres | I don’t think he’s surprised at anything people do at this point

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

Julius | Tripping into a garbage bin

Ainoqres | He refuses to say who knows

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Julius | Befriend men

Ainoqres | Everything in the current story oh my god

O: Optimism1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Julius is a mix of both but Ainoqres is optimistic

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

Not openly

3. are they good at giving advice?

Julius is. Ainoqres sort of is but in a tough way that doesn’t kick in at first.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

Evina and Maurice

5. were they always optimistic?

Ainoqres used to be pretty pessimistic

P: Personality1. what is their best personality trait?

Julius | His humour maybe or his inner sweetheart

Ainoqres | His wisdom probably

2. what is their worst personality trait?

Julius | His temper

Ainoqres | His brutality ?

3. what of their personality do others love?

That they tell things how it is but also try to act tough and scary despite being a real big softie inside

4. what of their personality do others envy?

How emotionally strong they both are

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

Julius doesn’t like his temper and he hates guys that are cocky and look for a fight for no reason

Ainoqres despises people that are just plain evil

Q: Questions1. do they ask for help?

At first neither of them did but eventually they do

2. do they ask questions in class?

Ainoqres did, Julius didn’t go to school

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

Yeah

4. do they ask weird questions?

Julius doesn’t usually but Ainoqres always does

5. are they curious?

R: Rules1. do they follow rules?

Depends on the rule

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

Julius would be in between and Ainoqres is a bit strict

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

Oh god yes

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

Yeah :(

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

Of course

S: Streets1. are they street-smart?

Yeah

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

Probably not

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Julius has tons of times, Ainoqres only did once to beat up Julius

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

Bad things sure

5. are they cautious when out?

Very

T: Truth1. are they honest?

Yes

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

Usually

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

Not at all

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

Not really

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

Sort of

U: Underdog1. have they been bullied?

Julius has

2. have they bullied anyone?

...Julius has

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

.....Julius has

4. have they ever been doubted?

Tons of times

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

No one expects Julius to be good at cooking nor Ainoqres to sew in the first place

V: Vomit

what the fuck

1. do they vomit often?

Nope

2. do they get lots of stomach aches?

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

Julius is

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

what does this mean

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

Cough??

W: Water1. do they drink enough water?

Oh sure

2. have they learned to swim?

Both have

3. do they like to swim?

Of course

4. can they dive?

Yeah

5. can they swim without holding their nose?

Yep

X: Xylophone1. what is their favorite genre of music?

They both love jazz and swing

2. do they have a favorite song?

Probably not

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

Most likely

4. can they sing well?

Surprisingly

5. can they rap?

Julius might

Y: You

1. how old were you when you created them?

Julius | 15

Ainoqres | 10/11

2. what inspired you to create them?

Ok with Julius I used to rp young Walter in a touhou crossover rp but later on he sort of of became really ooc especially with the backstory I had going on. I still liked the ideas in general though so I decided to just make an oc for all those ideas and leave Walter at peace.

I can’t remember what inspired me to make Ainoqres but a big part of finalising his character came from making a polar opposite to my former oc Serqonia back in like 2011

3. were they different when they were first created?

Goodness yes

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

Depends on what other characters but Julius is pretty fun while Ainoqres is kind of hard but very interesting once I actually pull him off

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

God I love everything about both of them you can’t just make me choose

Z: Zebra1. what’s their favorite animal?

Julius loves salamanders while Ainoqres has a soft spot for Torraqas, which is this small black fuzzy animal

2. do they like animals?

Oh sure

3. cats or dogs?

Cats

4. what’s their dream pet?

Pretty much their favourite animals

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Julius has a dog named Cake

#e #ask icey #ocs #gracelingdesolate

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the-headbop-wraith · 3 years

Text

2_31 Seclusion

Such a nebulous sensation. He was barely aware, could scarcely perceive his immobile body, couldn’t feel his outer-extremities. Was this what it meant to be comatose? It was a blur, all of it. Had he been aware during that time? Resting and waiting, body and soul mending from a trauma flesh could not endure? Was he not meant to remember the time between, when he was shifted out of existence and lay at the precipice of death? He shuddered internally from the recollection. Maybe he had blocked the entire thing. If so, what else could he be blocking?

It came back a little at a time. Weightlessness, floating. He was falling. Falling into the black pool beneath, high above a jewel glimmered against the abyss he had been thrown from. But really he was above, while simultaneously staring down at himself. The body below wasn’t his.

If emotion had a descriptive and physical form, Arthur would have recoiled. He felt himself cringe away, flee the memories, the ambiance. Pain. Not there. Not there. Stay away.

Where was he? What happened? What had happened?

The ripples came back, digging through his muscles like ravenous insects nipping; snipping at his nerves, bit-by-bit cutting him away. Secluding what was Arthur within an emerald haze. The presence. Not his mind, not his thoughts, nothing that could be identified as a part of him. It was a separate entity invading, taking over.

No! No-no-no-NO! He fought, thrashed, but there was nothing substantial to bring his self against. He was swarmed, overwhelmed. Stolen. NO! “NO! Lewis! For fucks sakes Lewis! Look up! Please! I don‘t – !”

“I’m here, Art.” The voice was there suddenly, but it lacked solidity. It was thin and somewhat distant, but no doubt it was Lewis. “Take it easy, you’re safe.”

“You’re here,” Arthur sputtered, awareness reeling. Blank after blank greeted his puzzlement, he couldn’t remember beyond the falling and the sudden heat in his body. But he was breathing, and somewhat connected to his inert mold of physicality, but he wasn’t… there was nothing inside this fog of his maimed consciousness. Somewhere, far back in his cognizance thrummed a steady pulse. “What? Where… What happened to me?”

There was a span of silence, a void of sound. The complete absence of being. “You’re just sleeping,” Lewis says. “You couldn’t handle the strain, and you collapsed. Just… steady yourself. Don’t panic.”

Arthur has no vague idea in what sense that Lewis is ‘there,’ let alone existing. Though, he can pick up on the tension, like a concern nagging at his thoughts as if he forgot something very important. Lewis’ voice, a projection in his mind, expressed a lingering unease, and palpable worry. But it was the clearest that Arthur had heard Lewis’ voice come through in a long time.

“I’ve gone insane,” Arthur muttered. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to ‘be’ or stress, or anything. He just wants to sleep and dream of nothing.

“When you wake up,” Lewis goes on, voice nearly transparent. “Try and… take it slow. I might not… be able to keep up. Art, you there? I want you to understand, I don’t want to be here.”

“Why are you ‘here’?” Arthur responds. He’s distressed, and he knows Lewis must pick up on it somehow. Arthur can’t figure how that works but he does know it, like it’s been imprinted in his mind. “I can’t… Lew’us. Where— ?” He wanted to admit he was scared, just go ahead and say it, but to make it verbally known made something hitch painfully in Arthur.

Another long pause came from Lewis, the emptiness stretched between them. The whole situation was bad and it was quickly escalating toward something intolerable. Finally, Lewis’ answer came. “I don’t know,” the voice resonates. “I was trying to latch onto your arm, the fake one, and… I guess I overshot.”

“You… overshot?” Of course, only Lewis was capable of overshooting a target and… oh. “Did you… did you possess me?” Silence. Arthur waited a long time; there was nothing present to gauge how long, only the steady thudding somewhere deep and lost in his head. Lewis, he wouldn’t… he knew the truth, at least that’s what he had said. No, he would never…. “Lewis… I don’t like this,” Arthur yelped, tried to. He became frantic, panicked; there was nothing to fight, nothing physical; just words and brief snips of colors, and that constraining presence sitting on his sentience. “I know… I know you don’t give a fuck about what I was made to— and-and…. The possession! But—” Arthur was ill all over again, he could feel it in the core of his chest burrowing deep into his soul and anchoring itself there. He hated it, it needed to be gone. “Nah! No! No! You hafta… you gotta fix this! Get outta my head! Lewis! Let me GO!”

Lewis voice was so faint, Arthur nearly missed it whisper under his internal cries. “If I could, Arthur, don’t you think I would?” Something was in the pauses Lewis punctuated his resonate projections with. “It wasn’t my intent, it… I wouldn’t do this to anyone, last of all you. Believe me, I was going for your arm.”

Honestly, hearing that truth didn’t comfort Arthur to any amount. Nothing was exchanged for what felt like ages, the haunting pulse merged its palpitations into something of a hum. Arthur lost touch of it, didn’t care. “I’m asleep because my body was overburdened?” Arthur murmured. Old news is old. “What happens when I wake up? Lewis? What do you do? Lew? Lewis! Are— ”

“Could you calm down?” Lewis voice was frail, threaded together only by a persistent desire to remain buoyant. “I’m… not as strong as I seem. I lost too much of myself, and I thought I would’ve….” He trails off there.

It was too much for Arthur to process – the nightmares that plagued his restless nights, the unyielding guilt; the contradictions to his retooled instincts. Arthur knows Lewis wouldn’t have done what he did unless he absolutely believed his existence was in peril. It was an accident. But his mind couldn’t accept this actuality. Scars… never mended quite right.

“Lew? I’m… I didn’t know,” Arthur burbled. “I said some things, didn’t I? I don’t remember… can’t. But I wouldn’t… y-you get caught up with the worst of—”

“Don’t say that,” Lewis replies. “Not that, Artie. You can’t… say such things.”

Hours whisked by. Soon the sun was descending, the frigid sharpness on the air seeped into everything. Shadows stretched across the walls and congeal around the lone window of the room, while lights outside the dark shelter brighten until the only colors that sift through the thick curtains burn with amber-gold. The only other color to contrast the gloomy recesses was a blue sheen from a lone computer screen; timid and far spaced ticking comes and goes as the hour draws out. Beyond this world cars chug by, the distant shrill of mechanical engines call from a distant yonder, sometimes the voices of nearby people going on about their day and their lives drift in and out of the small environment contained within the warm room. As the daylight slowly escaped, it seemed as if the world outside had slowly slipped away as well. That place was barely a distant memory. Memories of a place….

Vivi sat on the ruffled covers of the bed, her back braced by a pile of pillows complimentary for the room’s guests. She passed the time watching internet videos – animations, gif compilations, lol vids; at one point she raised the volume on a kitten vid.

At the foot of the bed, where he lay beside Arthur, Mystery raised his head from his paws and gave Vivi a curious look. The dog tilted his head one way then the other, his yellow spectacles flashed against the cyan light.

“Sorry,” Vivi whispered, through a thin smirk. Mystery wagged his tail and lay his head down, patient and unreadable as always. Vivi returned to her video, but not before giving the shape under the covers a short glimpse.

Nothing. Not even a whimper.

Vivi had to drag him the whole way to the motel room. Arthur’s stiff limbs hung like weights and he made no visible indication that he was still alive, aside from the warmth of his body and the slow beating of his heart. Throughout the short venture Arthur had reacted in no way to his relocation, not even a shiver in the frigid air.

The night was zipping away, but Vivi hardly noticed. She did keep track of the minutes and every half hour she would scoot forward to check Arthur, assure herself he was still breathing. His breath had become so shallow Vivi had to avidly search it out. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything else but wait and let him recover at his own pace. Medically speaking this might have been unwise, but she didn’t know what else could be done. Aside from hooking Arthur up to a bunch of machines and running tests; lots and lots of tests, with the possibility of Arthur awakening on his own, to a horror scene and maybe no grasp on the exact series of events that led up to his current state. And Arthur’s wellbeing was not the only one she was apprehensive about.

Finally, Arthur twitched and coughed. Tense, Vivi watched as the wad of blankets shifts and stills. She thought briefly it was an impulse, a fluke of muscle spasms, but a few minutes passed and Arthur began pushing at the covers pinned over his shoulders. Jostled from his warm spot Mystery hopped off the bed and strolled over to the computer chair, beside a side table that stood adjacent to the bed. He leapt onto the sunken cushion of the chair and curled down, adjusted his head upon his paws to face Arthur and raised his eyebrows high.

“Art?” He didn’t react to Vivi’s voice, not at first. Slowly, Arthur pulled himself out from under the blanket and huddled beneath the heavy shelter of the room. He tried to raise his prosthetic to his head, but Vivi had removed it early to simplify transporting him. Arthur stiffened at this realization and held himself motionless, the blankets slipping down the back of his dirt stained shirt. “Arthur?” Vivi tries again.

Then he turns to look at her, eyes aflame in the dark room. Vivi took a sharp breath and tugged at the laptop on her lap. “Lewis?”

Arthur made a face and winced. He dropped his head and brought his only arm up to rub at his eyelids. “No,” he said, voice hoarse. “He’s here. I think… you have that?”

Vivi nods. “I….” She dithers to say, or ask. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, in case you… you look terrible.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Arthur hung his head and closed his eyes. He loops his one arm around his side and held himself, rocking slightly. The light from the computer was so-so bright.

“I wanna ask how you’re feeling…. Fuck it. Are you both okay?” Vivi shoved the computer aside and leaned forward, reaching out to Arthur’s head. She’d done her best to clean his face and bandage his wound beside his brow, though it wasn’t serious. She needed something mundane to do, since there was nothing else she could help with. “Do you understand what’s going on?” Arthur nodded. Vivi raised her hands to his face and gripped the sides of Arthur’s head carefully.

“Hold on.” Arthur took the side of the blanket and tossed it over onto the laptop, just to dose the light a bit.

Vivi checked his eyes, she didn’t need much light to help. Arthur’s eyes retained an eerie hue. “I’m checking for dilation,” she said, as explanation. “It’s like head trauma. I found a website that had some good information, credible. At least Mystery thinks…. You had a nosebleed to, not bad.” She smoothed back Arthur’s hair and released his head. Arthur looked down. “Art.” Vivi lowers a hand to his stronger shoulder and grips it tightly. “I know you’re in a lot of pain. But… what else is there?”

Arthur took a slow breath and exhaled. “It’s not like that,” he murmured. “The shock of it. Mostly.” He shrugs Viv’s hand off his shoulder. “It was an accident, but it’s better when I don’t fight. Lewis… he isn’t comfortable with this at all, I think because it’s me. Where‘d my arm go?”

Vivi left the bed and snagged the prosthetic off the desk that Mystery was lying beside. She handed it to Arthur, and held his shoulders a he began swaying again. Instead of attaching the arm, Arthur left it on the bed and pressed the wristband of his good hand across his eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” Arthur mutters. “I’m just… we’re really exhausted.”

“Is he…?” Vivi lowered herself to sit beside Arthur on the bed. She wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort Arthur in some way. “There? Talking to you?”

Arthur faintly shook his head. “I try getting his attention. It feels like he’s ignoring me, or hiding. Too much for him. Too much.” That was only partly true, but Arthur didn’t want to say anything more. He reached his hand up and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Do you need anything?” Vivi asked. Arthur mumbled a negative tone, hardly audible but Vivi caught it. A car steered by outside on the parking lot, its headlamps flashed across the upper wall of the small room causing Arthur to fold down silently. Vivi waited until the rumbling engine faded, before she moved to rise, carefully. “I’ll go get you some food and drinks. You’ll need that.”

“I don’t feel much like eating,” Arthur murmured, through his shoulder’s sleeve.

Vivi joined Mystery beside the side table, and gave the hounds cheek a scratch. “And I don’t want to leave either of you in this state,” she answered. Vivi had already claimed her shoes where they were left on the floor and slipped the blue foot ware on. “But Mystery will look after you, and later you’ll probably need something. I won‘t be gone long.” She took the laptop off the bed, and Arthur shielded his eyes from the bright screen until Vivi had shut it. She went into the little bathroom and the light flashed on, the sound of running water came and stopped in short succession. When Arthur raised his head, he blinked at the bright outline of light shimmering around Vivi’s blue silhouette. She held a water filled plastic cup out to him. “Drink this.”

“What’s in it?” Arthur took the offered cup and peered through the side.

“Just water, you dork. Stay hydrated.” Vivi revisited the small bathroom and clicked off the light, the rush of dark immediately set Arthur to ease. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?” Vivi pressed. She stood near Arthur in the gloom, hands clasped together or tangled with the edge of her sweater. “I won’t leave if you don’t want me too?”

Arthur raised his arm a bit and motioned for the door. “No, I… we’ll be fine,” he mumbled. “Give me a chance to… come ‘round.” Briefly Vivi fidgeted with her hands, before she leaned down to give Arthur a tight little hug.

“Don’t work too hard,” she murmured. Vivi left Arthur where he sat and crossed the room; on her way out she snagged one bag off the low bench placed near the room’s door and stepped out into the bright, cold night. The soft sputter if the heater geared up, overreacting to the timid puff of white flurries that swept in through the open door. Upon her departure the atmosphere of the room thinned, it became open and vacant. Empty. Though, Mystery was still there.

Once Vivi was gone Mystery raised his head and looked over the chairs armrest, to view Arthur.

“Hey bud,” Arthur burbled, clumsily. Even with that comforting presence, Arthur was the least bit solaced. “I’m good. Don’t worry about it. It… that doesn’t help.” Mystery reversed the position of his paws on the chair cushion and gave a very large yawn. Arthur checked the dog once more, as Mystery lowered his head down to his paws. Those eyes though, they remained on him.

Arthur’s breath quivered as he raised the plastic cup to his lips and took a sip, only to wince and choke. It took a brief pause for Arthur to get some control over himself, but once he managed he held the cup up and pressed the soft texture of the cheap plastic to his forehead. If he held still the pain would subside, but stubbornly it lingered. The tinges of his vision pulsed with the yellow haze from the curtain, its radiant colors made him sick; the idea of engine exhaust and cigarette smoke made him sick; breathing made him sick. He wished, he prayed for the searing pulse in his head to fade, but it was impervious to mental persuasion.

“Are you there?” Arthur mused, mentally probing for the shade that was not a piece of his mind. “Lew?” His mind felt vacant of that other presence, though his body was thoroughly convinced it was there. Arthur waited as an aching burn soothed out of his skull; he nearly crushed the cup of water, he was gripping it so tightly. “Say something. Anything. Are you… are you able to go through my memories?”

A low rasp came, easily identified as Lewis. Hearing the resonance in his head, while aware and awake, and unclouded by the haze of unconsciousness, it was different. Arthur was scarcely certain if he was not insane. A toneless whisper whistled, “No.”

Arthur waited for an elaboration, a vague out of context comment from Lewis, but the spirits responses were waned. Lethargic. “You’re not going to? Or… you can’t tamper with my thoughts? I mean, would you? Lewis!” Arthur was terrified by what the response might be, even if it were a deception to alleviate his concerns. Arthur just needed some sort of answer.

Arthur leaned far to his side, eyes squinted tightly shut. Nothing helped. He could hear Mystery in the dark, the bright red collar, bright-bright, vibrant red, collar, jingling as the dog adjusted his head accordingly to Arthur’s movement.

“Even if I could,” Lewis voice threaded through the pain, barely audible over the throbbing of Arthur’s blood. “I wouldn’t want to understand what’s in your mind.”

For some reason, Arthur nodded. Lewis probably knew or couldn’t care, Arthur himself was barely able to stay conscious. He leaned over in the dark and set the cup on the nightstand beside the bed. He nearly dropped sideways, briefly forgetting the lack of his arm when he had lowered his shoulder to the bed. His remaining arm caught the side of the blankets and tightened on the fabric, biding time till the vertigo waned. It took a good while but Arthur had obtained a small slither of euphoria that promised he could stand without collapsing.

Thin scraps light entered from the window curtains and crept across the room to fall over the lumps of bags, sagging on a foldable bench placed beside the opposite wall. Dull hues of yellow slip across the polished particle wood of the side desk, where the neglected television was setting. A random lurch of movement in Arthur’s peripheral startled him, but he eased himself quickly when he raised his hand in defense towards the glossy surface of obsidian hovering low in the dark.

Just his reflection. No shadows. No looming shapes, pale faces, smoldering flames. Arthur listened for a moment to the dull thud of his heart in the near silence of the room. It always comforted him at night, once he settled down in the aftermath of a night terror. The thought of those dreams raised the bottomless dread in him, and he raised a hand to grasp at his chest.

From the corner came a low groan. Mystery. Impatient, waiting for him to do something interesting. Arthur gave a low snigger as he began to paw around at the bags on the cotton bench. A little rasp of relief slipped from him, when his hand brushed over the familiar fabric pattern of his travel bag. He wriggled the zipper loose with his thumb and forefinger, and managed to get his thumb through the small opening. It took no effort to work the bag open.

How many times had he done this? In spooky homes with no light, while something venomous lurked; or in the back of the van while Vivi slept. He pushed aside some vials, a piece of graphite, a random article of clothing, a small pocket knife… there. He plucked out the little container and ran his thumb along the lid. Wrong one. He pushed the bottle aside in the bag, and dug around a bit more. This was the one. He could identify the groove carved in the top easily.

Mystery’s tag clicked as the dog moved – probably raised his head curiously – when Arthur knelt down. Vivi had already taken his shoes off, so Arthur need only to stuff the container’s base between his toes. It took some skill and effort but once he had the bottle secure, Arthur gripped the top and pushed down, then twist. The top came off no problem.

Arthur relocated his carry bag on the bed, and sat down near the nightstand. On the chair across from him Mystery’s eyes gleamed as the dog watched his companion’s actions intently. “Don’t worry,” Arthur spoke. “I‘m just… take one. I gotta cut this.” Mystery vague shape tilts his head and moved his ears apart. Eventually, the hound does lower his head to chair cushion. “I serious… doubt slippin’ a knife under the mattress is gonna help.” Arthur takes a small tablet and drinks the rest of the water.

It would take a while for the effects of the pill to work. Arthur stashed the bottle back in his bag and lay down on the bed, slowly. The dark fringes around his eyes pulsed, god it felt like his brain wanted to erupt inside his skull.

“Lewis?” There was no answer. “You freaked Vivi out really bad.” Nothing still, and the faint thudding had nearly vanished from his mind. “You… Lew? You’re not gonna control me, or anything?”

“Shhh.” Hissed in his mind. “Rest a bit.”

“I’m trying,” Arthur whispers, aloud. The night before seemed like eons ago, a bad dream, the forest sprite squealing, the heavy scent of cinder. Arthur… didn’t want to ask Lewis what had happened to the hostile. Arthur had never seen the sight of it before. Never, since…. “Lew. For… how long are we stuck like this?”

The response took its good sweet time before Lewis rasped out, softly. “Slow down, Art.” His disembodied voice faded in and out, sometimes clear but Arthur had to pay careful attention or the wording would begin to garble off. “I can’t separate… can’t manifest on my own. It wasn’t simple to… make you aware I was present in the first place. I tried….” The dimming pause came. Arthur decided he didn’t like it when Lewis was silent. “Take it slow. Calm. I don‘t know how…..” Then the voice faded off and did not come back. Arthur waited, growing anxious in the minutes that followed. The reply hadn’t ended abruptly, but it was left unfinished.

“Lew? Lewis?” Arthur didn’t take the sleep aids, he was sure. Or maybe he did, he wasn’t thinking straight, his head hurt and his shoulders ached. There was no one portion of him that was not in pain. What if they had an adverse effect on him due to the possession? Medications. Many were sometimes wrongly prescribed in similar cases, but Arthur couldn’t have known. He should have asked first. But Lewis was aware enough, he knew what Arthur was doing, should have known. Wouldn’t he? At least, that’s what Arthur wanted to believe. The room’s dark walls and pale edges began to blur, the contrasting hues of gold and blue melted together and swirled. Falling….

Falling….

#msa #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfiction #msa ghost #msa fanfic #msa mystery #msa vivi #msa lewis #msa arthur #mystery skulls fanfiction #fanfiction

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melonoverlord · 6 years

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ABCs for the beautiful baby bois

Since these are long ass prompts, I’ll split them up. Here is the baby boi Ravi first.

A: Aptitude

1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

He’s been doing hospital work ever since he was around two. It started just as organizing documents and running from room to room getting supplies to help his mom who was in the surgery and delivery ward. He’s also suspiciously good at guessing which couples are going to end up together.

2. what activities have they participated in?

He’s often Val’s guinea pig for her inventions that have to do with bionic parts, but he’s also a really avid bowler. It was one of his physical therapy requirements so he could be used to lifting heavy things.

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

Making his bionic arms and legs are natural to him as his normal limbs were. It took a long time to be able to walk and move on his own, but now he knows just exactly how to move his limbs for the most fluid motions.

4. what things are they bad at?

Staying still while getting shots. Whenever he has to get his daily flu shot, Nivviah has to chase him around the ship while he screams and cries. Eventually Nivviah has to cast “Calm Emotions” or “Charm Person” on him to get him to calm down and sit still to get his shots, which she hates because she dislikes taking away Ravi’s autonomy, but he gets sick easily otherwise and please Ravi, we can’t keep doing this.

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Boy is incredibly good at anatomy. He definitely has a career in the medical field because he can find any vein or blood vessel and know just where to cut in surgeries.

B: Basics

1. what is their hair color?

Black

2. what is their eye color?

Dark brown

3. how tall are they?

4′0

4. how old are they?

5. how much do they weigh?

75 lbs

C: Comfort

1. how do they sit in a chair?

Criss-cross applesauce with his hands in his lap.

2. in what position do they sleep?

Curled up in a tiny ball. He usually takes up as little space as possible. It makes it perfectly for scooping into your arms.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Wearing his onesie while watching Disney movies with his parents, siblings, Castor, and the snabies. Also playing nerf guns with his siblings, Castor, and Val because Ravi takes no prisoners.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

Lassi. It’s an Indian yogurt drink that he really likes. It reminds him home. No one else can really make it, though.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

It used to be Crumb because Crumb thought it was his duty to take care of Ravi, but now it’s his good good mama Ciri.

D: Decoration

1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

He just wants a house where him and all his siblings have their own rooms but connect them to make one giant sleepover room. If he could choose how Tam and Ciri decorated the house, everything would be connected to a slide and the floor would look like a little forest floor.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

He won’t have kids for a long, long, long time, but he would try to put as much little toys in their room because he spent so long without them and would give them everything from chemistry sets to trampolines just so they can try everything.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

His room’s actually one of barest, but he’s slowly building up his toy collection, but he also has one of those little plastic slides that he likes to go down. He also has a lot of his own artwork on the walls.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

Usually he wears jeans or overalls and a sweater, but in the summer when it gets hot he likes wearing summer dresses, especially ones that are swishy. He likes wearing long skirts in the spring or fall when it’s not cold but not super warm either.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

He doesn’t like wearing makeup because it makes him itchy, but he loves doing his nails with Venus or Percy whenever Percy comes over.

E: External Personality

1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

Yes for the most part. There’s a hidden salty part of his personality that comes out when he really does not like someone, but for the most part he’s a bubbly boy.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

There’s not really much of a norm given how secluded they all live, but compared to other children, he tends to be more fluid in everything from actions to dress.

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

He usually does his own thing. Because he’s been the only kid for a long time, he has to start his own child trends.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

There’s very few non-Freedom Vessel things he knows.

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it outon their own?

The personality he displays for the most part is his honest one, so most people can figure out his personality right away. It takes a little while but people see that he has a hidden sass and mischievousness underneath that good little boy exterior.

F: Fun

1. what do they do for fun?

He really likes bowling with the kids or playing Nerf Guns with Castor and the snabies.

2. what is their ideal party?

Slumber party with his friends and family while they watch Disney movies and then he kicks their butts at bowling.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Crumb is still his very best friend, but he’s getting close to Allura as his first non-family friend.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

He’s a lawful good boy who has never broken a rule in his life. Except maybe training with knives. He’s broken that rule a bit.

5. do they go out a lot?

Nope. The first time he stepped off the ship since when he was rescued from Earth was Dryas. And everyone has been hesitant to let him out of their sights since.

G: Gorgeous

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

He has the cutest fucking baby nose and is a very short kid. He’s absolutely precious.

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

You know that he 110% cares about you and looks up to you and you never have to worry whether he’s faking his devotion to you.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

You get the best, free health care and he will love you unconditionally even when no one else will.

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

He likes his intelligence and kindess, but hates that there’s not much he can contribute to the ship because he’s small. He also hates and doesn’t understand why he has such big gaps in memory and can’t remember stuff.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

He envies that he is the only child on the ship who is restricted from doing stuff (when he learned that Kalliste was going to Helios he asked if he could come with them but Luna said no because he was too recognizable).

H: Heat

1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Cold. He loves wearing onesies and being buried under 7 blankets, and he can’t do that if it’s too hot.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Winter. Summer in New India got sweltering hot, and if his limbs get too hot they will flat out stop working and most likely burn him.

3. do they like the snow?

The few times he got to experience snow he loved it immensely. When he lived on Earth, he loved doing snowball fights and making snow angels.

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Making ice cream sundaes with Tam and Crumb.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

Snowball fights. It’s why he likes nerf guns so much.

I: In-the-closet

1. what is their sexuality?

He’s a little baby bi in the making.

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

He hasn’t met enough kids to establish a crush (as every kid he met eventually became his sibling or y’know, tried to kidnap and sell him to Genesis), but he knows that if the time is right, he will have a crush on someone.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

No, he’s always been a bouncing baby boy. But in his presentation he tends to dress more fluidly in that he’ll wear overalls and a t-shirt one day, and a dress and painted nails the next.

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

Absolutely, his family just wants him happy and safe over all else. Also both his parents are Bi so there’s not much to be not okay about.

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

He wouldn’t really come out just because growing up under a rainbow flag of a ship, coming out isn’t necessarily a requirement, you just say who or who you don’t want to kiss.

J: Joy

1. what makes them happy?

Trains, being a help to the Freedom Vessel, nerf gun fights, Disney movies

2. who makes them happy?

Ciri, Tam, Crumb, Psyche, Castor, Allura, and Kalliste. His family and his very best friends.

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

‘You’ll Be in My Heart’ from Tarzan.

4. are they happy often?

For the most part. He has some underlying sadness sometimes but most of the time he’s able to push that down and be happy.

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

His favorite baby brother, Crumb.

K: Kill

1. have they ever thought about suicide?

No, he just wants to live in peace.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

Absolutely not. The only reason he killed Manisha was because she was going to kill his family.

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

Nobody. Ravi is already messed up from killing one person,

4. who would miss them if they died?

Everyone on the Freedom Vessel and their cousin. But he thinks Crumb and Ciri would probably be the worst off.

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

Genesis, Magdalena, Adrian probably.

L: Lemons

1. what is their favorite fruit?

Blueberries

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Technically tomatoes are a fruit, so tomatoes. He doesn’t like skin and thinks its too squishy.

3. are there any foods they hate?

Carrots. They’re too crunchy and bland.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

Pumpkins.

5. what is their favorite food?

Pancakes, especially blueberry pancakes.

M: Maternal

1. would they want a daughter or a son?

Both. All. He’d love them all.

2. how many children do they want?

Probably 4. He doesn’t want anyone to feel alone like he did and wants his kids to be best friends.

3. would they be a good parent?

It’s like at least twenty years before he becomes a parent, but he’d be the most attentive, caring parent that reads voices in the stories and tucks his kids into bed.

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

He would name his daughter after his birth mom Padma and would probably name his son after his big brother Castor.

5. would they adopt?

His favorite mom and dad adopted him, and he knows firsthand how many orphans of war there are.

N: Never Have I Ever

1. what would they never do?

Swear or lie to people. Or willingly hurt someone.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

He still wants Castor to teach him to use a knife. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody with it but he likes playing pirates with Crumb and the snabies and wants to do knife tricks like pirates do.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Tell lies (or swear)

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

When he was first trying to get used to his limbs, he left the infirmary before Val told him he was ready and got until out the door when his legs stopped working and he fell. He was stuck on the ground for three hours just sobbing until Nivviah came down because she wanted to check on him. Needless to say, after that it as clear that everyone was a problem child on the ship and Ravi had 24/7 watch.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Kill somebody.

O: Optimism

1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

He’s very optimistic. About 90% is his actual optimistic nature and 10% is trying to be optimistic for his family and friends because he knows that they aren’t that optimistic about the future often.

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

Absolutely. He is probably the only Freedom Vessel member who’s honestly hopeful about the future.

3. are they good at giving advice?

No one’s really came to Ravi for advice because he has a limited world experience, but his advice tends to fall on the optimist side of things. If you want advice that looks more on the positive side, come to Ravi.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

Usually it’s Crumb but usually he has to throw his own optimism on himself.

5. were they always optimistic?

Yeah, at least as far back as he can remember.

P: Personality

1. what is their best personality trait?

Caring

2. what is their worst personality trait?

Gullible

3. what of their personality do others love?

Castor loves his big heart, endless love for everyone, his determination to be helpful, his kindness, and secret mischievous side. Ciri loves everything single thing about him from the top of his head to the tip of his cyborg toes and everything inbetween. Particularly she loves his intelligence, sweetness, bravery, and loving and trusting nature.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

Everyone pretty much envies his endless optimism even as he got kidnapped. Castor envies Ravi’s innocence and cheerful personality and his ability to make anything he’s doing fun. Ciri envies his ability to trust easily.

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

He doesn’t really like personalities that rely on pushing people away or being mean to people, especially non-Genesians to other non-Genesians. He knows that Genesis already treats people bad. Why do other people have to as well?

Q: Questions

1. do they ask for help?

Usually. He wants to do a good of a job as he can be, which is why he often asks for help when he can’t do something. It embarrasses him when he has to, but he knows that everyone needs help sometimes.

2. do they ask questions in class?

He’s the kid who sits in the front of class and raises his hand for every question.

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

He’ll probably answer your questions even if it makes him uncomfortable, unless he desperately doesn’t want to answer it in which he’ll just shut down completely.

4. do they ask weird questions?

He tends to ask fairly normal questions unless he really wants to know something, then he’ll push.

5. are they curious?

He wants to know everything about the world and would do anything to get the knowledge he seeks. He’s a Ravenclaw through and through.

R: Rules

1. do they follow rules?

He’s a lawful good boy who follows every rule.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

He’d be strict in the sense that he wants his kids to do go but he’d give them freedom to just be children and run about.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

I mean, he was consequenced in the sense that he literally got kidnapped, but not in punishment.

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

He still mentally kicks himself for not listening to Ciri on Dryas and still trusting Magdalena.

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

Let him play with his knife, he’s a growing boy. He got it for a reason.

S: Streets

1. are they street-smart?

He is still a fairly trusting kid who tends to take things at face value. He’s spent very little of his life being able to talk to the general public and has spent about half his life solely in the Freedom Vessel.

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

Absolutely. If he ever went to a planet with people begging, he would try to help them anyway he could. Which would probably get him dragged into bad situations.

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Nope. He doesn’t usually like fighting and hasn’t had a chance to start any kind of fight.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

Absolutely. The two biggest scares of his life happened when someone came up to him on the street.

5. are they cautious when out?

Now he’s more cautious, but he also has like ten people ready to destroy the world if someone tries to stomp out Ravi’s light.

T: Truth

1. are they honest?

He’s pretty honest. If he doesn’t want to tell you something, he will just straight up not tell you. He’d never lie about anything. Though with his memory problems, there’s a lot he doesn’t say.

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

He’s got a +5 to insight, so he is pretty good at telling when people are bullshitting him, but he also likes to see the best in everyone so tends to push past his instincts and trust people.

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

He doesn’t usually lie but it’s not super obvious when he’s lying. Since he never lies, people usually assume he’s always telling the truth.

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

Nope, he’s an honest kid.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

There was the Dryas tapes when Ravi killed Manisha, but that part is kinda common knowledge.

U: Underdog

1. have they been bullied?

Yes, mostly by Adrian.

2. have they bullied anyone?

Nope, he is too good for that.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

I mean, Adrian attacking him is 110% of the reasons why the party hates the pussy.

4. have they ever been doubted?

Luna rescued him just because Crumb led her to him, but she just expected it to be a child that they’d take of. When he finally got better enough to ask if he could work, Luna almost said no because she thought he wouldn’t be able to keep up and should just stick on being a kid.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

Absolutely no one expected a four year old to be this good at anatomy and medical knowledge. He may be a small child but he’s a prodigy at anything in the medical field.

V: Vomit

1. do they vomit often?

Nope, kid’s got a pretty good stomach.

2. do they get lots of stomach aches?

He really only gets stomach aches if he’s actually sick. He mostly gets head colds than

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

He’s the ship’s doctor so he’s pretty good. When Castor was on his death bed while sick, he came and gave Castor chicken noodle soup and make him drink tea.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

When Ravi is sick, you’ll know he’s sick because he’s the clingiest little shit that just wants to be carried everywhere and held. When Ravi’s sick, all the caretaking is given to Ciri since she can’t catch his germs.

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

He hiccups a lot when nauseous or vomiting. Most of it is because he’s actually hurting, and the second half is because he doesn’t like vomiting so he starts crying.

W: Water

1. do they drink enough water?

He’s a good little boy who knows that you need water to stay healthy and hydrated.

2. have they learned to swim?

He knows how to swim, but only the bare basics. He’s too scared to put his face underwater. He learned when he first came to the ship and was able to use his bionic limbs.

3. do they like to swim?

He likes wading in at best and splashing around, but likes it more when his feet can be on the ground.

4. can they dive?

Nope. He’s one of those kids who tries to dive and just ends up in a weak jump.

5. can they swim without holding their nose?

Baby boy needs the whole scuba goggles to swim period.

X: Xylophone

1. what is their favorite genre of music?

He really loves Disney music or classical music. He likes listening to piano or harp as he goes to sleep and Disney music during the day.

2. do they have a favorite song?

‘Feed the Birds (Tuppence a Bag)’ from Mary Poppins. He remembers his birth mom singing it to him when he was a baby. It’s one of the few things about his early childhood that he remembers.

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

Enya. She’s very peaceful when he’s trying to go to sleep, especially because he doesn’t like the feeling of falling asleep. Sometimes it feels like he’s being forced under for some reason.

4. can they sing well?

He has a really cute, high voice. He actually is really good at singing to Disney princesses.

5. can they rap?

He tries his best, but he always ends up out of breath.

Y: You

1. how old were you when you created them?

16. His powerpoint is dated July 2014.

2. what inspired you to create them?

I think Ravi’s story was one of the ones that started from a dream about a little boy with robotic arms and legs and had a little robot that followed him around.

3. were they different when they were first created?

He’s a lot more wholesome and less salty. He is now also a lot younger (his original form was 11 years old). All the salt got transferred to his big sister Sasha.

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

I mean, one of my favorite things is well written child characters, so Ravi is a blast to play.

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

He’s my good, smart little medic boy who just wants to help people. Also I’m just really glad that people love him because he used to be my obscure boy from a story about a Dystopian Steampunk India and now he’s everyone’s favorite brother (or son in Ciri’s case).

Z: Zebra

1. what’s their favorite animal?

His favorite animal is a bear just because it’s the species of his teddy bear and Winnie the Pooh.

2. do they like animals?

He’s a little scared of animals just because he hasn’t been near a whole lot of them, but he likes the ones that are on TV.

3. cats or dogs?

If you show him a tiny dog, he will probably die because it’s small and he’s small so he can’t protect it.

4. what’s their dream pet?

Anything soft like a bunny or guinea pig.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Nope, but he’s helping Nivviah take care of Noodle while Castor’s on Helios. He and Allura have a running joke of calling Noodle everything noodle related but not her name. Favorites include ‘Spaghetti’, ‘Fettucine Alfredo’, and ‘Linguini’.

#imaturtlebug #Ravi Thakur #my characters #genesis campaign

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overdressedcarp · 7 years

Link

21st-century kitchen appliances are intolerably complicated. Baking is plebian and old-fashioned to begin with. Shampoo bottle labels are deceptive. At any rate, none of this is Cavendish’s fault.

Full text below the cut.

Baker’s Dozens and Other Omens of Misfortune

“Oh—fiddlesticks.”

Cavendish dropped the baking sheet onto the counter, grumbling under his breath as he fanned his painfully-pink hand. Today would be the day for their towel-slash-potholder to be in the laundry.

He snatched a fork from the dish drainer with his uninjured hand and poked at one of the smoldering eyesores petrified to the baking sheet. It refused to budge.

“Scarred by your thwarted ambitions toward edibility,” he muttered. “I understand.”

This was what he got for trying to be considerate. A kind gesture, out of the goodness of his heart—yes, technically this was meant to make up for the shampoo incident, but guilt didn’t automatically invalidate kindness!—but of course his own personal life curse couldn’t even let him properly apologize for misreading the hair-care labels at the supermarket.

“You’ve gotta have some Murphy blood in you somewhere,” Dakota had said after last month’s situation involving the hotel sprinkler system. Cavendish was almost starting to believe him.

The door to the apartment rattled, then slammed. Dakota’s voice filtered into the kitchen: “Hey, Cav, did you set something on fire again? It smells like smoke in here.”

Cavendish pressed his palms against his forehead and fought down a scream.

“It wasn’t my fault! The timer didn’t set properly and I was filling out mission reports at the same time and I didn’t have my —”

“Cavendish.” Dakota placed his hands on Cavendish’s elbows. “Look at me. Is anything on fire?”

“Er. No.”

“Is anyone mortally injured?”

Cavendish tucked his still-pink hand behind his back. “Not, strictly speaking, mortally —”

“Did you manage to destabilize the time stream during the half-hour I was gone?”

“I have done nothing of the sort!”

“Then for the love of Tchaikovsky, would you cool it with the swan songs? I don’t need the Tragic and Guiltless Lament of Balthazar Cavendish in A Minor.” Dakota stepped around Cavendish, then reached across the stovetop and switched off the oven. “Why were you messing around in here, anyway? I thought we were gonna order takeout for dinner.”

“I had hoped that a gesture of friendship might finally encourage you to bury the metaphorical hacksaw.”

“It��s a hatchet. The expression is ‘bury the hatchet.’”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! I am trying, for antiquity’s sake!”

“Fine, fine. Don’t have a fit. Which hacksaw are we talking about, specifically? Because I feel like we’ve got a whole tool shed at this point.”

Cavendish glared at the kitchen tiles. “I apologize for inconveniencing your personal hygiene regimen. I had no intentions of implying anything derogatory about your hair, dandruff-related or otherwise.”

Dakota raised his eyebrows, then burst out laughing. “And this—this is your idea of restitution? You bought the wrong shampoo and decided to try baking as an apology?”

“I know that you’re partial to food.”

“I’m partial to good food, Cav.”

Cavendish rolled his eyes. “You bruise my heart.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m flattered? That it’s the thought that counts?”

“Perhaps!”

“Okay, whatever. Consider yourself absolved.” Dakota leaned over the counter and squinted at the baking sheet. “Um. What were you trying to make?”

“Ah—I was... er...” Cavendish wrinkled his nose. “You know, biscuits—you don’t call them biscuits, though, it’s—those dratted snackish things; you practically never see them anymore outside of documentaries —”

“Cookies?”

“Yes! That! Those!”

“Oh.” Dakota studied the baking sheet. “They, uh. They look crispy.”

“They’re burnt. And fully inedible. I’m not seven; you needn’t sugarcoat things on my account.”

Dakota tipped his head to the side. “Yeah, I don’t think sugar would help these.”

Cavendish scowled at the failed culinary exercise. “This is such an antiquated method of food preparation. I don’t know how people avoided starvation in this century.”

“Desperation is the mother of learning how to cook your own meals, I guess.” Dakota unzipped his jacket and tugged it off. “Where’s your recipe?”

Cavendish gestured to the beat-up laptop on the table. “I attempted to interrogate the internet.”

Dakota tapped the space bar on the laptop, then peered over the top of his sunglasses at the dim screen. “Yeesh, everything’s in imperial. How’d you even measure the ingredients?”

“I tried to convert the measurements to metric, but we’ve only got the one measuring cup, so I mostly shook things into the mixing bowl until the consistency seemed... tolerable.”

“Yeah, see, that might work for a Pollock painting, but cooking’s a little more finicky.” Dakota crouched down and opened their tiny fridge. “You didn’t clear us out, did you?”

“I believe I may have exhausted our supply of margarine.”

“No big deal. We’ll do a modified recipe.”

“I thought you said cooking was—finicky.”

“There’s a difference between changing the recipe because you don’t know what you’re doing, and changing the recipe because you’re out of margarine and can’t be bothered to go to the store.” Dakota handed Cavendish the mixing bowl. “Here, rinse this out. I’m gonna try to scrape Dessert 1.0 off the baking sheet.”

“I appreciate the thought, but this really isn’t necessary.”

“Who said anything about necessary? I want cookies. Might as well give you a crash course in home economics while we’re at it.”

Cavendish folded his arms over his chest. “I have some concerns about your methodology.”

“Look, I am ninety-nine percent sure this is how my mom used to make them.”

“And I am ninety-nine percent sure that you were supposed to remove the shells before adding the eggs.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

Dessert 2.0 never made it into the oven. They decided not to speak of it again.

The grocery store cashier gawked at Cavendish. “Um, sir? Your —”

“Not relevant,” said Dakota, sliding the package of break-and-bake cookies down the scanner belt. “Just ring us out. Thanks.”

“But —” The cashier glanced back and forth between Dakota and Cavendish, then leaned in to address Dakota in a low whisper. “His moustache —”

“We’re aware of the moustache situation.” Dakota fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of dollar bills. “It’s been a rough day. Ring us out.”

“Oh. Uh...” The cashier slid the package of cookies over the scanner, then tucked the bills into the cash register drawer and fished out the change. “Paper or... plastic...?”

“What do you think, Cav? Was last week’s nuclear reactor incident enough environmental damage for one month, or should we continue our pattern of gross neglect for this century’s health?”

Cavendish sniffed, then rubbed at the burnt left side of his moustache. “I told you; that wasn’t my fault.”

“Did I say it was your fault? I never said it was your fault.” Dakota turned to the cashier. “Did I say it was his fault?”

“Um—no —”

“See?” Dakota slid the change into his pocket, then snatched the package of cookies and tucked it under his elbow. “I never said it was your fault. I said the situation was a bad bucket of bears, and that Savannah and Brick would probably loathe you until eternity. But I didn’t say it was your fault.”

Cavendish cleared his throat. Adjusted his vest. “Good to know we’ve clarified your feelings about that particular episode.”

“These come with chocolate included, you know,” Cavendish said. “It says so on the package.”

Dakota ripped open the bag of chocolate chips—procured from their unspoken stash of junk food on the top shelf of the pantry—and poured them into a bowl. “You will thank me for this later. I promise.”

“You don’t find this a bit... excessive?”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s ridiculously excessive. That’s the point.”

“Ah.” Cavendish plucked one of the chocolate chips from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “I think I might still have some of the candy-coated chocolate pieces in my desk drawer if you’re looking to be truly horrific.”

Dakota grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

“We can’t let down our guard. This is where Dessert 1.0 crashed and burned.” Dakota closed the oven door and brushed his palms on his track pants. “Heh. Burned. Get it? Because you nearly set the kitchen on —”

“I get it.”

“Anyway. We need to watch this one carefully. Even a slight miscalculation could doom us.”

“You’re taking this very seriously.”

“I’m hungry! Dessert 3.0 is our last shot; I’m not starting from scratch again.”

“This batch isn’t, technically speaking, from scratch —”

“Figure of speech, Cavendish!”

They crouched in front of the oven and stared through the grease-crusted glass pane on the door. The break-and-bake cookies, heaped with every scrap of chocolate they had in the apartment, sat on the other side of the door.

They waited.

“Are you sure you set the timer?”

“Yes, I set the timer.”

They waited.

“Are you sure —”

“You watched me set it!”

They waited.

The timer beeped.

“I got it!”

“I’ll get it!”

They both leapt to their feet, scrambling around the cramped kitchen and generally doing an excellent job of running into each other.

“Where’s the potholder towel?”

“It’s in the laundry!”

“What do you mean, it’s in the laundry? How did you get the first batch out?”

“I burned my hand on the baking sheet!”

“Oh, for crying out loud —” Dakota glanced around the room, then grabbed his jacket from the kitchen chair and yanked the oven door open. Using the jacket as an ersatz oven mitt, he seized the baking sheet and hefted it out of the oven.

The jacket now bore a set of prominent scorch marks. Dakota complained about this for almost ten minutes while they wiped down the kitchen counters and washed the dishes.

“Since you’ve suffered so much,” Cavendish said, “I suppose you ought to be the first to taste the products of our labor.” He didn’t mention that his burnt moustache was, objectively, a greater testament to culinary suffering than the besmirching of any article of clothing.

Dakota plucked a cookie from the sheet, wincing as he did so—“Hot, hot”—then took a bite. And another.

“Well? How is it?”

In response, Dakota chewed in silence for three full minutes, He worked his way through five of the cookies before finally licking his lips and confirming, verbally, that this batch had turned out okay.

“At this rate,” Cavendish said, “you’re not going to have room for dinner.”

“Cavendish. The number-one rule of baking is that when you have warm chocolate-chip cookies fresh out of the oven, the time of day is irrelevant; you eat the cookies.”

Cavendish plucked one of the cookies from the cooling rack and nibbled the edge. “I’d hate to violate a sacramental kitchen maxim.”

“Exactly.”

Cavendish tried to ignore the further mess he was making of his charred moustache. The unholy amount of chocolate, he decided, was worth it. “These aren’t bad, actually.”

Dakota leaned against the counter and took another bite of cookie. “No. No they are not.”

#milo murphy's law #mml #balthazar cavendish #vinnie dakota #fanfiction #one shot #hamperdink #those two pistachio guys #writing #carp spins yarns

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modernstoryteller · 7 years

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An unexpected Birthday Surprise

Anne tried to look pleased, she really did. It’s just that her….Aunt had a funny idea of what would constitute as a ‘good’ birthday gift. For example, she was 25 years old and Aunt felicity still thought she needed a gift at all. It was nice really, but kind of pointless when Anne could just go out and buy whatever. Hell if it was money then that would have been even better. But no, Aunt Felicity thought that it should be personal. It had to be unique, had to be meaningful. Which given her Aunts love of novelty teapots meant her top cupboard was virtually overflowing with porcelain. Her Aunt meant well, really, it was just…

Anne’s smile turned more into a wavering grimace as she beheld the small bundle of colour and silk. It smiled back with a red painted grin, bells faintly tinkling. “..the breeder was all but throwing the little guy at me. Seems to be the runt of the litter. Is it a litter? A brood? A carnival? I’m not sure. But I couldn’t just leave it there. All alone. The last one, but I don’t have enough time myself to look after one of these guys and then I thought to myself…” Anne nodded on encouragingly, mhmming at the right points. Once her Aunt got going it was like a verbal steamroller. Nothing could stop the flow of words. She long ago learned to just roll with it. “…so since it’s your birthday, and your living all on your own now, I thought that a companion might help liven up the place” Anne’s face froze. She tried to speak, cleared her throat and tried again. “Ah, that’s very…nice of you Aunt Felicity…” “Please, It’s Aunt filly” “…but I don’t think I have the space.” Or will, but there was no need to be insulting. Her and pets didn’t get along at the best of times. The one attempt at goldfish she had tried three Christmases ago went belly up. Literally. Besides, it was hard to keep something in a tiny apartment like hers. Which she gestured around quickly to show, less her Aunt had somehow missed that fact. Hard to do as the Kitchen table doubled as a living room one and the two were taking up pretty much all the space. “Oh that’s no worry” Aunt Felicity waved her off, “these guys make great apartment pets. They only grow to the size of their home” “Are you sure that’s not fish?” because she distinctly remembered that being one of the selling points. “It’s small anyway” Actually about the size of a medium cat, with golden eyes watching everything like one too. That stare was a little unnerving, and she swore it’s smile got bigger on noticing her unease. “and I’m going to be leaving for my trip in two days, and I can’t possibly find anyone else on such short notice to…” “alright, alright” Anne sighed, knowing she had lost this one. “I’ll look after it while your gone” “Excellent” Aunt Felicity beamed. “Who knows, you might even decide to keep him” “I wouldn’t go that far…” but she was mumbling to herself. The matter settled, Aunt Felicity promptly started discussing her travel plans as Anne nodded along dutifully. She left not too long after, with a wave and a promise to call her once the flight had landed. Which was just how Anne fell into one of the more lucrative pet markets out there. Clowns. Why did it have to be Clowns?

Clowns were one of the more bizarre pets in the trade, and surprisingly fashionable at the moment. It was probably why her aunt had gotten one in the first place, even if she claimed it to be a gift. Expensive too. she didn’t know much about pets, but she did know the basics of responsible pet buying. This one seemed to be...malformed. The forehead was a little too big, it’s coat seemed ragged and worn, three little orange splotches on it’s chest where the pompoms would come through later. It’s eyes were bright and alert, which were a good sign and it didn’t seem to flinch back so it hadn’t been mistreated. Perhaps it really was the runt of the litter. It’s deformity would of kept most customers from purchasing it, leaving it the last one there. Anne felt a pang of pity. Which was quickly gone when the Clown started to gnaw on a cushion. “Wha..hey! no!” she tried to pull it away, only to have it tugged back insistently. Small teeth firmly embedded into the material. “No! down! Bad Clown!” The clown shook its head furiously, trying to dislodge Anne from it’s prize. Bells faintly tinkling. It would have been cute, except that she was losing this tug-of-war . “Let..goWOAH!” The clown complied, sending her sprawling arse over teakettle from the edge of the sofa. A tiny high pitched giggle followed. Gods that’s creepy Anne sat up with a glare . It puffed up in response, trying to glare back. It didn’t quite manage it, still far too small and round eyed. “What am I even going to do?” She had no experience with this sort of thing. She was terrified of her Aunt coming back only to find it had run away. Or worse yet, gotten killed somehow. And wouldn’t that be fun on her conscience. “Okay okay, breath..” There was no use panicking just yet. First things first, information. Find out what exactly she’d need to get to house this thing. And maybe a name. She couldn’t keep calling it ‘you’ all the time. The internet proved…somewhat helpful. It linked her to many pet stores which stocked clown related paraphernalia. There was one specialist store two towns over that looked promising, even though the cost of shipping would be a bitch and a half to pay. Links to book recommendations, links to vets whom had experience treating Clowns previously, some clown enthusiast blogs and even a local group that met up weekly at the park to socialise. There were some tibits on such things as diet (Strange unidentified meat? The hell?!) as well as exercises (juggling balls were not recommended until past a certain age) and a list of common clown names. Flossy nope Bozo nope Chuckles She looked over briefly, contemplating. It did like to giggle a lot. “Hey Chuckles” The Clown did not look impressed. “That’s a no then” Daffy, Happy, Koko and Smiles were all summarily ignored. She did not even try with Tickles, shuddering at the mental image of that. The clown meanwhile had begun exploring the apartment. Sniffing everything, and occasionally gnawing at it if it seemed interesting enough. It was like a cat. A jingly, puff sleeved cat with ruffles that would bite her ankles if she didn’t lift them up out of reach already. Maybe a laser pointer would work on it. Oh hell, she was going to need to find a bed for this thing too, wasn’t she. Because there was no way she’d let that thing in her room at night. Clowns were only cute in daylight. A box would work right? She had some lying around somewhere surely. She did not, in fact, have any as she later found out (after another three pages worth of names. By the end she was getting desperate and just throwing out words to see if anything would stick. Lettuce was not one of the better options). By then it was getting into the late evening and the Clown itself had not shown any signs of being tired. Anne however, was. Coffee only did so much and she hadn’t even thought about the food issue yet. Limbs popping from sitting so long, Anne trundled over to the fridge to find ‘something’ that might fit the bill. pizza, leftover Mac and cheese. Some milk that hadn’t spoiled yet. (Clowns were lactose intolerant, the web page has stressed this). There was spam in the cupboard, surely that was ‘strange’ enough to cater for them. she scooped it out onto a plate and offered it before him (he had taken to perching on the kitchen divider like a gargoyle). The clown huffed, turning it’s nose up. “Oh come on, NO one knows what goes into spam” Another huff. Turning its head the other way. “Fine fine..” She pulled out a steak. “I guess it could do..i mean, if I cut it in half and..” There was a weird half honk of delight and Anne found herself suddenly with armful of clawing Clown. It was instinctive. She screamed and threw the plate. The air was full of flying meat and hissing before landing with a thud (and jingle) on the tiles. The clown looking oddly pleased as it perched over it’s prize, eyes glittering in warning. “You know what? It’s cool. I’m not even hungry anyway” backing away slowly with unease beating a thrum in her chest. Don’t turn your back, don’t turn your back. Christ almighty, how was she going to survive two weeks of this?

______________________

Notes: So I’m jumping on one of the WEIRDER bandwagons out there. Clown Pets! I don’t know what I find so gosh darn likable about this sudden new trend, but I for one am delighted by it. Enjoy my not at all serious fickletts as I play with the zany possibilities of this.

Several things to be noted:

1. Pennywises are not TRUE clowns. They’re like parasitic Cuckoos but a lot meaner.

2. I am unsure of the word for Baby Clowns but I feel like it should be ‘Chucklett’

3. This Chucklett is small and has not yet grown into many of its abilities. This will not stop it at all from causing mayhem.

4. Always support registered breeders and ensure you know what type of Clown you are getting before bringing one home.

#Clowns #Pet Clowns #Pennywise #It #Humour #Not to be taken seriously #I shouldn't be allowed to write #someone take away my keyboard

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

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Is Practicing The Craft Secretly Right For You?

Avery Hart

Do you practice witchcraft out in the open or are you more secretive? Perhaps you’re partially open with your craft and only certain friends and family know about your spiritual life. Or maybe you’re not yet sure where you fit in this dichotomy!

It can be a difficult decision to be open or not about your practice with the people in your life. While a lucky few have friends and family who are accepting and supportive about their choices, many people have reservations when it comes to witchcraft. The people around you might think that your craft is a weird phase, an attempt to be edgy, or just plain fantasy. Worse still, incredibly religious friends and family can make life extremely uncomfortable if they find out. How is a new witch supposed to navigate these murky waters?

If you’re stuck in this situation and feeling really conflicted about what to do, know that you’re not alone. I’ve been practising for my entire life and I’m about as open about my practice as a witch can be (hello entire internet!) but even I feel apprehensive about telling new people about my spiritual life and beliefs.

It’s tempting to give everyone a blanket feel-good sentiment like “you shouldn’t care about what other people think about your practice!” but these ideas aren’t practical. As uncomfortable as it is, there are people in your life who have direct influence over your quality of life. Parents, spouses, friends, bosses, coworkers, maintaining harmonious relationships with these people can make your life significantly easier and it may not be worth your peace of mind to rock that boat. Blanket statements simply won’t do in this situation so today I’m going to break down the pros and cons of each side of this argument so that you can get a better idea of which approach might suit you best.

Pros & Cons Of Practising Openly

Practising openly is always touted as the preferable option in this debate but that's not necessarily the case! While there are some unique benefits that come with this choice, that doesn’t mean that it’s right for everyone. Just because other people feel like being open about your craft is the ideal way to be, does not mean it’s going to be right for you. Between being open about your craft or keeping it a secret, neither is inherently better. There is only what is right for you and your life.

The benefits of practising openly largely come in the form of community. When you’re open about your craft, other people can connect you with other witches that they know, you’re free to pursue witchy meetups, and you can have witchy friends without worrying about being outed. This is a powerful benefit! Many people underestimate how wonderful community can be for a spiritual practice and while there are certainly plenty of witches who are happy being solo, many of us thrive in a community setting.

There’s also the benefit of not having to censor yourself. When everyone knows that you’re a witch, you can mention it casually in conversation without worrying that you’re about to blow your cover. This allows for peace of mind for those with accepting friends and family.

The last big benefit of practising openly is the ability to have your craft out in the open, literally. Altars, crystals, tarot cards, and personal symbols can be kept out in the open and be used to decorate your living space without worry that they’ll spawn unwanted questions. This can allow your altars and spell materials to be far more elaborate and beautiful. When you can collect, curate, and enjoy your materials all the time, you develop a personal style and preferences that helps you tailor your witchy decor and tools to your tastes without having to worry about whether or not it can all be stowed in a shoebox under your bed afterward.

Being open about your craft isn’t all sunshine and rainbows though. Putting yourself out there can cause a whole host of problems if you’re not careful. As we all know, there’s a strong religious presence in many parts of the world that can make practising openly not only uncomfortable but for some people quite dangerous! If there is someone in your life who has a good deal of power over you that you think might use this information to your detriment, you should keep that information to yourself! It’s not worth risking your safety and wellbeing.

Dangerous people aside, there’s still a great deal of damage to be done by people who are simply dismissive, condescending, or rude about your practice. A large number of people think witchcraft is a joke. And while you absolutely should not let these peoples opinions deter you from doing what feels right to you, you don’t have to open yourself up to unnecessary criticism and grief simply because someone isn’t likely to be dangerous. Some witches are mentally fortified enough for these kinds of comments to slide right off but witches as a whole are a sensitive bunch. That’s part of why we find witchcraft! I would just about bet that many of us are far more likely to be hurt by unkind or thoughtless words and you do not have to tolerate or invite this kind of behavior by being out if you find it distressing.

Pros & Cons Of Practising Secretly

Secret witches get a lot of flak and I think it’s about time we lay the idea that being secret is somehow lesser to rest. Keeping your craft close to you and private has many benefits, not the least of which is that it’s incredibly traditional! In Mastering Witchcraft, Paul Huson discusses the four pillars of witchcraft and along with will, belief, and imagination, secrecy is the fourth pillar. Secrecy is embedded in our culture in many ways, from the traditions that spawned grimoires, to the keeping of secret witches names. Keeping your craft secret can add power to your working simply by merit of nobody knowing that you’re working magic! If your working is secret, then nobody will know to counter your spells.

Secrecy affords witches a kind of freedom in the craft that can be hard to achieve any other way. When you keep your craft to yourself, you never have to answer questions, explain your beliefs, or reassure someone again that you’re not going to curse them. You never have other witches telling you how you should or shouldn’t practice, nobody will morally police your magic, and you can pursue exactly what interests you without other witches, friends, or family members expressing their opinions about how you live your life. This can free your mind to explore the intricacies of the craft that feels most genuine to you and that is a wonderful expression of personal power!

Secrecy also means safety. In a world that is often violently opposed to all forms of otherness, it can be a relief to not have to worry about whether or not your life will be turned on its head because the wrong person found out about your craft. If you’re careful about keeping your materials and your practices covert, you can practice right under even the most intolerant noses without any danger to yourself. This often requires you to amend your craft to look more mundane, or even to require few to no tools but safety is well worth the effort it takes to learn these kinds of magic.

Of course, secrecy also comes with a sense of loneliness for many people. When nobody knows of your craft, you lose all potential outlets to discuss and get feedback on your magic. It can be very uncomfortable feeling so different from the people around you while still pretending to be otherwise. This disparity between reality and the personality you’re projecting to the world can be damaging in the long term if it’s not a way of living that comes naturally to you.

When you’re secretive, you may miss out on many of the things that originally draw people to the craft. The witchy aesthetic becomes harder to achieve without arousing suspicion, you can’t keep books about witchcraft out in the open, and sacred or magical symbols will largely need to be kept under wraps unless they can be disguised as artwork that might be found in the average house.

Which way is right for you?

Deciding which approach is right for you and your life is going to be unique to your own life. No two people will ever find themselves in the same life and nobody can weigh the pros and cons against your personal situation better than you. Keep in mind that you are not required to be open about your craft with everyone. It may suit you best to tell a few trusted friends but keep your craft from the rest of the people in your life. This is entirely ok! You are not obligated to divulge every aspect of your self to anybody.

The one hard and fast rule I would encourage every witch to abide by is this: Never, ever put yourself in danger because you want to be open about your craft. It is not worth your safety! If you cannot practice openly without your physical safety, your food security, your housing situation, or your job being put into jeopardy then DON’T. Keep your craft secret and yourself safe above all else.

This post is aimed at witches who are over 18 but I’d like to take a moment to address those minors who may find their way here. You should know that in the US at least, it is not legal for anybody to teach spiritual material to a minor without parental consent. This sucks, I know, but if you’re in a situation where your parents or guardians would object to you practising the craft then you should not practice. Wait and hold onto your interest in the craft until you come of age and can make such decisions without endangering yourself or those who would help you learn. Minors face uniquely difficult circumstances in this realm since they are often entirely dependent on their guardians and legally underprivileged. Please, do not place yourself in a situation that will put your safety and wellbeing at risk. The craft will still be here when you’re old enough to make such decisions on your own!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/2018/6/26/is-practicing-the-craft-secretly-right-for-you

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cautious-adventure · 7 years

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1 to 100 sweaty ❤

Unusual AsksSpotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?Spotify boiii is your room messy or clean?Messywhat color are your eyes?Dark browndo you like your name? why?Kinda its alrightwhat is your relationship status? Single as fuckkkkkdescribe your personality in 3 words or lessA lil fuckedwhat color hair do you have?Dark brow what kind of car do you drive? For right now a blue sonata but soon a blue Honda civic color?Bluewhere do you shop?I dont tbh the only place i consistently shop is Old navy but only for jeanshow would you describe your style?Plainfavorite social media accountTumblr or twitterwhat size bed do you have? Queenany siblings?Oneif you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?Sand Diego California favorite snapchat filter? The devil onefavorite makeup brand(s)I dont wear thathow many times a week do you shower?Everyday favorite tv show?Broad Cityshoe size?9-9 1/2how tall are you?5'9"sandals or sneakers? Sneakersdo you go to the gym? I dont have the time anymoredescribe your dream dateHaving onehow much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?$12what color socks are you wearing? Blackhow many pillows do you sleep with?3do you have a job? what do you do? I work at burger king as a cashier and drive thru personhow many friends do you have?Idk maybe like 20 whats the worst thing you have ever done? Broke my grandparents radiator and framed the cat (i pulled it off flawlessly though and they never found out it was me) whats your favorite candle scent? Campfire3 favorite boy names????3 favorite girl namesSerenitityfavorite actor? Eh idkfavorite actress? Eh idk pt. 2who is your celebrity crush?Emma Watson favorite movie? Stick itdo you read a lot? whats your favorite book? I do but i dont have a favoritemoney or brains? Brainsdo you have a nickname? what is it? Alvi and coco how many times have you been to the hospital?Three times? I thinktop 10 favorite songsI am not motivated enough to write this out rndo you take any medications daily? Not since the warwhat is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)Oilywhat is your biggest fear? Being all alonehow many kids do you want? I dont really want any but if i did 2 whats your go to hair style?Sidebraid booiiiwhat type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) It has two floors but its not bigwho is your role model? Idk manwhat was the last compliment you received?Someone told me I was funnywhat was the last text you sent?"Bro homo" to @hifoxxhow old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?9what is your dream car? Either a doge charger or a camaroopinion on smoking?Its unhealthy and you shouldnt do it do you go to college? Yupwhat is your dream job? Owning a storewould you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? The suburbs because I would die of boredom do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? No I take the lotionsdo you have freckles? A few across my nose do you smile for pictures?Sometimeshow many pictures do you have on your phone? 2,861have you ever peed in the woods? Yepdo you still watch cartoons? Sometimes I rewatch the old teen titans episodes do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?McDonalds for sureFavorite dipping sauce? It sounds so gross but ranchwhat do you wear to bed? Pj pants and a t shirthave you ever won a spelling bee?No Im a horrible spellerwhat are your hobbies?Video games and the internet can you draw? I used to be ok at it but its been a while do you play an instrument? Lol nowhat was the last concert you saw? 21 pilots tea or coffee?Tea if its cold out and coffee when i have shit to get doneStarbucks or Dunkin Donuts?Bothdo you want to get married?Perhaps one daywhat is your crush’s first and last initial?I dont have one atmare you going to change your last name when you get married? Nah i've had this last name too long to give it up nowwhat color looks best on you? Idk do you miss anyone right now? Nopedo you sleep with your door open or closed?Closed holy shit im not insane do you believe in ghosts?A lil bitwhat is your biggest pet peeve? People who eat my food without askinglast person you called?My house phonefavorite ice cream flavor? Cake batterregular oreos or golden oreos? GOLDENchocolate or rainbow sprinkles? RAinbowwhat shirt are you wearing? A t shirt i got at a track invitationalwhat is your phone background?Spaceare you outgoing or shy?It depends on who I am withdo you like it when people play with your hair?Not really, it gets tangled easily so when people play with it it just fucks it up even moredo you like your neighbors? I would like them better if they kept normal hoursdo you wash your face? at night? in the morning?At nigjthave you ever been high? Nopehave you ever been drunk? A couple of timeslast thing you ate? A brownie and milk which my lactose intolerant ass is regretting atm favorite lyrics right nowI'll be right outside your front door on my 12 speedsummer or winter? Summer because the nightime is the bestday or night? The nightdark, milk, or white chocolate? Milkfavorite month? Octoberwhat is your zodiac signArieswho was the last person you cried in front of? My mom

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