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ilovedainironfoot · 2 years

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MINASEL AND THE FATHERS OF DWARVES PART 5

Minasel belongs to @deathlikessodaandpizza !!! Daughter of Kili and Tauriel !

@deathlikessodaandpizza has an amazing story about their Oc so I put the link here if you want to know more about Minasel : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721435/chapters/59756545

Summary : Minasel, daughter of Kili and Tauriel, is searching for all the Seven Fathers and Seven Mothers of the Dwarves ( all my Os ) in order to be accepter by them.

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

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Minasel turned and her breathing stopped. That Aulë created the couple of the Third Born at the opposite of each others was by no means an understatement.

The dwarf watching her was as thin and frail as Parar was giant and wide. If she were to compare them, then Jrie was more like the ashes of an extinguished fire and Parar was the barely born fire of fiery creation. In truth she understood everything that the old book summarised in three lines about the Firebeards' couple :

Jrié, Protector of the Caverns, Tunnels and all things existing underground in his Kingdom. Soft, dreamy, deer-black eyes ate his sooty black face in half. His hands so full of dust were black to the elbows as were his clothes. A pickaxe as old as the world rested on his shoulder while on the other he held up a lantern shattered by the years. On the other hand, Parar, mistress of all lava streams, Queen of their kindgom above.

Splitting their Kingdom in half, complementary to each other, Jrie digging, Parar creating.

As he met her gaze, the frail dwarf took an imperceptible step back :

“Oh...you're not...really a stranger, right ?"

Minasel stood up hurriedly, dusted off her clothes, a little to give herself time, a little to feel correct in front of the Father of the Firebeards, then greeted him :

“I greet you, Lord Jrié. My name is Minasel, daughter of Tauriel and Kili, himself a son of Frerin, heir to the throne of Erebor."

Jrié squinted. The only information he had from the surface was from his wife, his apprentices, the other workers. He had little interest in what was happening outside his borders. However, it didn't take a mind reader to realise that something was wrong with the newcomer.

“From Erebor ?” he repeated

Minasel sensed the doubt, which she had anticipated : “I know very well what you think. You must have guessed already !"

She wanted to confidently remove her hood to reveal her elf ears, but her hands were shaking and her belly was knotting with fear as she pulled her cloak down.

“"I'm...I'm half Elf. My mother, Tauriel, is an elf from Mirkwood. I am the heir of Erebor and...and...the descendant of Durin."

A silence passed during which Jrié did not move and Minasel did not dare raise her eyes towards him.

“Well....As you said, I had guessed that you were...strange. But not that strange.” he finally admitted

Minasel frowned: "What? I thought...I mean Lord Haar and Lord Errob guessed...so I..."

Jrié put down his lamp and approached her, raising his hands in a gesture of appeasement: "Wow wow calm down! I don't understand ! Haar and Errob? You said you were from Erebor !”

Kili's daughter took a deep breath and told her story and especially her purpose, how she wanted to finally be accepted by the dwarves. And the more she spoke, the closer Jrié came to her and finally sat down cautiously at a distance, staring at her with curiosity and especially hesitation.

"How can I believe you?" he asked when she had finally finished her story

“I'm not lying!" cried Minasel

Yes, she expected to be called a liar, but even so she couldn't stand it. Jrié shrugged: "What do you want me to say? Your story is very sad and I would love to believe you but what do you have to prove it to me?"

“My word ! My word as a Dwarf !”

Dwarfs do not lie. Dwarves keep their promises and are loyal to death. A dwarf's words are like promises. Jrié tilted his head with an uncertain smile : "Half Dwarf."

Minasel felt the anger rising. Behind those two words there was a lot implied : "You are not a dwarf. "The words of elves have no weight," "Elves are liars," "You can't prove anything." Her parents are dead, she never knew them, King Dain and Dis had hidden her, how can she prove ? But Minasel has several advantages: she is stubborn and she is intelligent.

"If my words have no value to you, perhaps these will !” and without stopping she spoke of Dwarven customs, traditions, secrets that are not taught to Non-Dwarves, all in Khuzdul, the sacred language offered by Aulë their Creator, and in view of Jrié's aghast expression, this was good evidence. Ten minutes. Ten minutes she spat out everything she knew about her father's People. At the end, Parar's husband ran his hand over the back of his neck, took off his boots and dipped his dirt-black feet in the clear water.

"I admit, daughter of Kili, son of Frerin, son of Thrain , that you have just proved to me that you have been raised as a dwarf.”

“Raised ? Only raised ?”

“I still have no proof that you were born to a child of Durin. You are tall and your ears are elvish, there is no doubt about that. You have many dwarf aspects in your physique, that too I cannot deny. But child of Durin ?”

“I told you! I explained it to you! I'm a bastard! My father died without knowing that my mother was carrying me !”

“I need proof.” he answered calmly

“And what do you want? The placenta ???”

Not expecting such an answer, the third son of Aulë burst out laughing :”Haha ! Of course not, my dear ! But a letter confirming what you said will probably be enough for me.“

“A letter ?” grimaced the half-Elf

“Yes. From Lady Dis, sister of Thorin, mother of Kili your father, if my memory does not fail me.”

Minasel made an embarrassed pout. She hadn't told her grandmother, or anyone else, and she really wished it had stayed that way. How was she to know the reaction of Lady Dis, who had kept her hidden all her years? How would she react to Minasel showing up at the Fathers and Mothers of Dwarves ? Except that she couldn't refuse, if that was the only real way to prove her point to the Shellfish King.

“Okay, do it. Write this letter, send it to Erebor but...”

Jrié raised an eyebrow.

“Send it to Dain Ironfoot, son of Nain, King of Erebor. “

At least he wouldn't go looking for her to bring her back by the scruff of the neck. Not like Lady Dis, who could lock her up for hundreds of years. Probably even more.

@drippingmoon @shrimpsthings @flowerieta

#the hobbit #tolkien dwarves #silmarillion #tauriel #kili #oc tolkien

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson.

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me.

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments.

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me.

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch.

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination.

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal.

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #bun writes #party favours #author doesn't advocate for small dick jokes but tbh the abusive fucker deserves it

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cecesaurus · 4 years

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It's Our Secret part 2

A/N: Oof, I forgot that taglists were a thing, so uh, if you wanna be added to the taglist for this imagine/fanfic/mini series thing, just reply to the first part to It's Our Secret or this one. I'm still pretty new to this so thanks again for all the likes, reblogs, and comments.

Description: modern!Ivar is a manipulative cunt to his half sister.

Warnings: incest, gaslighting, sexual abuse, manipulation.

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It was morning and Ubbe was in the kitchen with Torvi. The two were slaving away preparing breakfast. It was his way of making up for not having a home cooked meal for his siblings the day before. He grinned at her and bumped his hip into hers playfully. She returned his grin and gave his ass a quick slap and chuckled. Hvitserk cleared his throat to get their attention and raised his eyebrows up and down in unison.

"Ahuh. What's going on in here, hmm? Smells great, guys!" Hvitserk rubbed his hands together and eyed everything that was being cooked. There were freshly cooked scrambled eggs on one huge plate and bacon on another. There was a bowl of freshly washed berries and grapes sitting in between the plates.

"Ubbe is making pancakes and I'm getting hash browns together. We're almost finished. You should tell [Y/N] to wash up for breakfast." Torvi's smile never left her lips. He saluted his brother's lover and headed down the hall. He wore a loose undershirt and basket ball shorts. He knocked on the door and heard his sister's gentle voice giving him the okay to come into her room.

"Morning, starshine. I was told by Torvi to tell you that you should wash up for breakfast. Seems like you're already one step ahead, though." He walked into her room and gently put his hand on the top of her head, tossling her bedhead. She rolled her eyes and smirked at him, carefully pushing his hands off of her.

"Oh, Torvi is here? That's so exciting. There's too much testosterone in this household!" [Y/N] joked. He chuckled and folded his arms. He should probably inform Ivar that food was almost ready as well. He hated dealing with a grumpy Ivar and pondered.

"Hey, can you do me a favor??" He asked, knowing that she probably wouldn't mind.

"That depends."

"Go tell Ivar food's almost finished. He's less likely to snap at you if you wake him up." Before he could even get an answer from her, he waved his hand as if to thank her and left her room. She didn't want to get him up. He was very unpredictable. What would happen if she absolutely refused to wake him? Would the boys get suspicious? She didn't want her shameful secret being exposed. [Y/N] inhaled deeply before exhaling. She needed to prepare herself.

[Y/N] was in Ivar's room. She was paranoid and kept looking over her shoulder at his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. Anyone could pass by and take a glimpse inside. What if they got caught? The curtains were closed and the only light source emitting from his room was a blue lava lamp. She sucked in a breath when he grabbed the hem of her gown and forced her to sit in his lap.

"What are you looking at, hm?" He questioned, trying to get her attention. He too eyed the door and made her look at him. He gave her a small smile before stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. Every movement she heard from outside the room caused her to flinch and stare at the door. It was beginning to aggravate him.

"Stop it. Focus on me. You'd never leave your big brother, right?" He asked, poking out his bottom lip as if he were going to pout.

"....I wouldn't dream of abandoning any of you." She replied. Ivar didn't like her answer. He wrapped his hands around her wrists and squeezed.

"That's not what I asked," he said through gritted teeth. His jaw tightened and he applied more pressure to her wrists, "you would never leave me, would you, [Y/N]?" He reiterated.

"I-Ivar--it hurts. I wouldn't leave you. I wouldn't, I wouldn't." She shook her head violently and the pressure finally vanished. He smirked and leaned forward to pepper her neck with kisses.

"Hey, Ivar! It's time for brea--" Ubbe peeked inside the youngest brother's room and saw their little sister on the floor. She had pushed her way there when she heard his foot steps. He didn't find it odd and just figured that she was trying to wake him first.

"Ah, she woke you up first. You spoil him, Spider Monkey. Come on. Time for breakfast. And turn on some lights in here. You're going to ruin your eyes by sitting around in the dark, Ivar." Without his say so, he turned on the light switch and [Y/N] dashed out into the hallway as fast as she could. A scowl was left on his face as he glared at Ubbe. He interrupted his fun.

Everyone gathered around the dining room table and began eating. [Y/N] sat in between Torvi and Ubbe while Hvitserk sat beside Ivar. She ate quietly and refused to look at anyone. The three of them could sense the tension, but didn't mention it. Torvi was the first to finally speak. The silence was unnerving.

"So you're out of school, hmm? Are you thinking about college, love?" She asked sweetly. She shrugged her shoulders and pushed the eggs around on her plate.

"I thought about attending community college, something local." She replied. Ubbe let out a belly laugh and shook his head. She was a Lothbrok. She could attend anywhere she wanted. His sister didn't have to stay in their home town for their sake.

"Nonsense! You can go where ever you want! You should study abroad and see what the world has to offer! Do it for the experience." Ubbe encouraged. Hvitserk nodded his head in agreement and smiled.

"Yeah. Follow your dreams! Sigurd went to school for music production and now he's a famous EDM artist whose always touring. His music is phenomenal." He added.

A scowl was left on Ivar's face and he impulsively slammed his fists on the table. It startled everyone, but his childish behavior was normal.

"No! She should stay here and attend a school where we can keep an eye on her! We can't protect her if she's in another country!" He did have a point and they were protective of their sister. Ivar just took protecting her to the extreme.

"We understand that, but she's a big kid. We can't keep her in a safety bubble forever. She'll eventually meet a nice guy and-" Hvitserk was cut off by the youngest brother's tantrum.

"Absolutely not! No one is good enough for her!" He grunted, eyeing his brother intently. Hvitserk rolled his green eyes and dropped the subject.

"Stop talking as if I'm not in the room! I can make my own decisions, Ivar. You can't keep me caged up forever." The two were bickering back and forth and Ubbe just let it happen. It was about time she stood up for herself.

"We'll see....." he grumbled, turning his attention toward her. She gripped the fork in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were discolored.

"Honestly, I'm not sure a guy would wanna fuck such a bratty girl such as yourself anyway." He grinned mischievously and licked his bottom lip. Her eyes widened and she blushed. She stood up and pushed in her chair, putting her fork down.

"I'm going back into my room. Thank you for breakfast Ubbe, Torvi. And you, you never acted like this when your mother was still alive!" [Y/N] hollered at the youngest brother before storming off toward her room.

Ubbe sighed and rubbed his temples. He eyed Ivar and shook his head in disappointment.

"Keep your distance from her until she calms down. You should have kept your mouth shut." It was true that the two started arguing a lot more after Aslaug's death. It perplexed him, but he would get to the bottom of it on another day.

Taglist: @eleventhdoctorsangel

#ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #vikings imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarson x reader

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

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Nightmares to New Normals

About: After half of the universe returns following Thanos’s defeat, Steve Rogers and a first person pov narrator struggle to find their sense of normalcy again. Five years apart, her nightmares, his hero complex, and their lack of communication create quite the angst. But that always makes the happy endings better, right?

Word Count: 4,546

Warning: There’s some talk about the loss of loved ones and post-trauma stress. Speaking from experience, I wouldn’t go as far as calling it a capital P panic attack, but be aware it gets little intense imo and I wouldn’t want to accidentally unearth any unwelcome feelings or reminders for anyone

Requested By: @rororo06 - I thought this was a great idea which ended up turning into a story I wouldn’t have come up with on my own so thanks for sending the inspiration my way :)

Snap.

I shot up in bed, throwing the suffocating blankets off of me as I tried to find my breath again. My heart pounded so hard I thought it made my rib cage rattle, or maybe it was that special brand of post-nightmare fear that made your bones shake. I sprung up from the mattress like it was an ejection seat in this plane crash of a panic attack. Nervous energy propelled my paces along my side of the bed as I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples vigorously, hoping to erase the memories my subconscious evoked.

The flicker of a light switch turned the inside of my eyelids orange as my heart sank to my stomach with the guilty realization that I’d managed to wake Steve up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still groggy with sleep. I paused like a deer in his headlights, staring with wide eyes as I tried to decipher between fight or flight. Steve looked like an old oil painting, his strong shirtless form draped in cream sheets as he supported himself on an elbow. His eyebrows were furrowed, tugged down by the weight of concern, as he rubbed at a tired eye to adjust to the light. Steve’s blue eyes bore into me, but I felt like a ghost he was looking right through. Like we weren’t seeing each other, not really. We hadn’t in a while. “Well?” he prodded with the unique impatience of being startled awake in the middle of the night.

“I...” My voice came out hoarse, even though the noise hit my ears like it was someone else speaking, and I realized for the first time how badly my throat hurt. It wouldn’t have been uncharacteristic for the soreness to come from screams, but then I thought maybe I’d been crying. My hand rose to my cheek like it was moving through molasses. I stared at my fingertips which were shiny with tears, though they didn’t feel wet. I couldn’t hide it, let alone from the person who’d been sleeping next to me.

I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Steve usually helped. He’d hold me, calm me down, tell me to breathe with him until our inhales were synced and so were our heartbeats. But this time, even just the way he was looking at me with this caution in his eyes was anything but benevolent. I knew he was running out of patience. You could only wake somebody up so many times so early in the morning, recoiling from their extended helpful hand, before they lose it. I swallowed hard, trying to shove the lump in my throat to the side so I could get some words out. “I just need some air,” I whispered, afraid my voice would quiver as violently as my chest was shaking if I spoke any louder. Either way, it wasn’t a convincing lie.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to decide if he’d rather except me at face value and get back to his beauty sleep or call me out on the lie and start a fight at 3 o’clock in the morning. He dropped his hand and sighed as he said, “Let’s go on a walk then. Central Park isn’t far and it’s not too cold.”

I appreciated Steve trying to support me, honestly. It meant a lot to me that he was putting me first. He wouldn’t know it by the way I shifted uncomfortably in my fight or flight, looking for any way out of spending time with anyone. I wasn’t in the place for performative emotions, to pretend like I was keeping myself afloat for the sake of his sanity when I felt like I was drowning in my own lungs.

“Actually,” I paused for a beat too long, running my fingers through my damp hair, trying to find a good cover. Something that’ll get me a minute alone to collect myself. Something that wouldn’t worry him any more than I already had. “I’m gonna take a shower instead.”

I bolted out of the room before Steve could question me again. It still wasn’t fast enough to hear his disappointed, impatient sigh. He sounded like a deflated balloon, but I couldn’t worry about that right now when I’d just popped. I kept the lights off, finding some comfort in the dark without Steve’s eyes burning holes through me, as I peeled my shirt off, sticky with a layer of cold sweat.

With years of experience with trauma of his own and always being the strong rock others felt they could go to, Steve learned a thing or two about dealing with panic like this. He’d told me to ground myself in the moment, take in the things around me with a deep breath in between. Like the smooth curve of the porcelain tub beneath my feet. Inhale. The way the hot water pelted my back, running down my body soothingly. Exhale. The trickling sound it made when it hit the bottom of the tub and the sucking sound of the drain taking it all away. Inhale again.

I was cold, inside and out, when I stepped back into our bedroom with only a towel around me. I’d left in such a rush I neglected to grab clothes and, thankfully, Steve fell back asleep. He was still sitting up and he’d left the light on like he’d been waiting up for me. I wondered how long I’d been gone. His sleep couldn’t have been that deep since he woke, startled again, by the sound of my drawer slamming shut. It was an accident, pushing it way harder than I meant to, but I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t feel guilty for something like this. A stranger in my own home.

“We need to talk,” Steve said with a father’s sternness. I didn’t want to talk, though. I wanted to sleep. Even my bones felt tired of supporting me. But if I slept, there wasn’t a guarantee I wouldn’t have the same nightmare. The same scenes played in my subconscious constantly, whether I was asleep or not, but eyes strained from a lack of sleep watching tv or reading a book was better than when they’re shut.

I crept into bed next to Steve, feeling even more foreign now that I was clean and my sheets were still damp. My pillow still tear-stained. I curled up into his side with my head on his chest, mostly so I didn’t have to see the disappointed droop in his brow and exhausted bags under his eyes and so he couldn’t see mine either. I took a hand to his stomach and rubbed slow, soft circles just below his belly button in a way I knew eased Steve into a dream. “I think it’d be better if we just went back to bed,” I said with a voice steady enough to convince myself. It was another lie, but maybe one tempting enough for a super soldier with as little sleep as Steve. Once he’d drifted off, I could untangle myself from him and the sheets. Go run a few miles. Read a couple books. Anything to keep me busy until the sun came up.

Steve dropped a heavy hand over mine on his stomach so I’d stop. “We have to talk about it,” he repeated. “It won’t stop bothering you unless you deal with it and, quite frankly, neither will I.” Steve had that resolute tone in his voice that made him such a good leader. It was a great motivation in the field, to have someone so sturdy and sure of success, but right now it got under my skin in a way I couldn’t entirely explain. He didn’t know what was best for me. He didn’t know that even just thinking about it made me bite my cheek so I wouldn’t cry. He didn’t know how impossible it was to put words to the way everything inside me felt like I was put together wrong.

“Steve, you really need to learn when to stop,” I growled, every bit of the cornered animal I felt. Steve didn’t seem to be intimidated by the idea of getting snapped at. He sat up straight so I couldn’t bury my head in his chest anymore. I couldn’t stand that insufferable look in his eye, it was a feeling I couldn’t place. Annoyance? Disappointment? Pity, maybe?

“I only want to help-“ Steve reached to squeeze my shoulder, only to be met with me shoving his hand away. His face contorted with hurt I’d caused. In that instant, with his glassy, kicked-puppy eyes and fallen smile, something inside me broke.

I felt like a volcano, all of this magma inside of me boiling my insides and looking for an escape. Something else to take down with me. He couldn’t help. It pushed up past the lump in my throat until dirty smoke was shooting out of my ears, the rattling that still hadn’t stopped in my bones turned into a rumble. I couldn’t be helped. Like a tectonic plate buried deep in the earth, something inside of me shifted with a devastating crack, the kind that only comes with calamity.

“You can’t save me, Rogers,” I spit out some lava. There was suddenly an unstoppable rush of liquid fire pouring out of me in angry words. “That’s your issue, you’ve always got to be the man of the hour. Always treating everyone like a charity case, like we should be so grateful for your never-ending help. Like I even need your help,” my voice grew louder, booming with my explosion. Tears were pouring out of me too as I shook with the earthquake I caused. Steve tried to brave my barrage, a stoic look on face chiseled in igneous rock. But his blue eyes always gave him away, the intensity lit by the lamp’s glow made them look on fire. Like he was staring at my eruption, finally seeing every ugly bit of myself I kept bottled up and buried. “You had five years to grow up, time I lost and I’ll never get back, but you seem to have wasted it since you’re still just a man with a shot and the very same hero complex.”

“I didn’t waste shit!” Steve snapped, stooping down to a level I didn’t realize I was on until he became my mirror. His hands tore at his blonde hair as he growled, “Instead I went through all the shit trying to get you and the rest of half of the universe back and you’ve been nothing if not unappreciative.” He threw his hands back on the mattress, thumping harder than my heart. It was rare Steve ever reached this point of anger, but when he did it was like a bomb went off. Everything, including him, is decimated on impact, reduced to mere atoms of what he used to be.

If you’ve ever seen pictures of Mount St. Helens after its eruption, you’d know the crater in the middle and the kind of cavity made by a bomb look strikingly similar.

Steve jumped from the bed like just sharing it with me burned and faced the wall, running his hands through his hair like his mind couldn’t catch up. His back was taught with tension as I watched his shoulders expand and deflate with deep breaths that didn’t calm him. “I just wanted you back. That’s why I did it, all of it, so I could be with you again. Hear your laugh, see your smile, hold your hand,” he said, broken like a dud firework. I didn’t realize it was really the ticking of another timer before he’d turned around with a fit of newfound anger. I realized how long it’d been since I’d done any of those things as of late.

“Instead I got someone I barely even know. You never used to keep things from me or go off and hide like being alone was better. Every time you flinch when I try to touch you, hell you even wince when I try to talk to you, it hurts. Sometimes I wonder if you even wanted to come back to me, if you want to be here at all.”

This explosion was quieter, like if atomic bombs had silencers like guns. Or maybe they sort of do with the way no one’s left to really hear anything other than a constant high-pitched ring in their ears. Steve’s words were like that, barely above silent and even more potently lethal than before.

I didn’t know how to react to that kind of anger, the quiet kind that crept into your heart and didn’t leave if you weren’t careful. The hurt that angers causes, the hole in my chest I was feeling now, behaved in the same way. Instead of making a home there, the pain turned to more wrath which escaped out of my mouth instead. “Don’t sit there and act like I’m oh so ungrateful, Rogers, because being snapped into oblivion and dropped in a world that went on for years without you is a walk in the fucking park, right?”

Steve had a timer, a hell of a lot of patience, and he needed something to ignite him, someone to push him hard and just right. I exploded in seconds without a warning other than a low rumble deep inside, something hot and deadly bubbling internally until I was shook and it all came spewing out. His anger dissipated with the short length of his fuse, a ball of combustible energy that was over just as suddenly as it started, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. Mine stuck around longer. Eruptions could last for centuries, you know.

In short, Steve was done fighting. He was tired and out of breath having exerted his anger with just a few shouted words and a couple wrung hands. I, on the other hand, was just getting started. I stood up to meet him with balled fists, trying to challenge a fighter who was ready to leave the ring. “Come on, Rogers, you wanted to talk, huh?” I shouted, begging for another brawl. Anything to make him the bad guy, to take Steve off of his pedestal. But he stayed standing straight with the resolve of a statue, like one of those people in Pompeii. He looked more worn though, with this tiredness seeping from inside of him I don’t think anyone could capture in marble.

Though I was taken aback by his inaction, I kept shouting, “Or maybe we could go back to that walk since that’s just what’s supposed to make it better? Your easy fix for solving all the nightmares, all the heartache, all the disassociation? To take a fucking walk?” If the king-size mattress wasn’t separating us, I’d be worried what I would do to him. His silent throat looked good to throttle.

“You know what?” Steve shouted again, throwing his hands up as if to ask what else he had to lose. His mouth crinkled before his face fell to the floor as he second-guessed himself. I was grateful he finally contributed to filling the thick air between us, even if it was with more harsh words. I braced myself for another impact, feeling like sirens were screaming in warning around me, but all Steve did was snatch an old t-shirt off of the floor. He stormed toward me with that fire still in his eye, though now I had the impression it was coming from inside of him. “Yeah, I want to take a fucking walk and I’d appreciate some company.” Steve snatched my hand and pulled me along with him.

I stumbled along without protest. As much as I wanted to, curiosity and surprise had gotten the better of me. So I trailed behind Steve, who tore through the New York City streets like he owned them in nothing but his pajama bottoms and the same shirt he wore yesterday. I didn’t look any better, red from anger and clad in one of Steve’s hoodies and old smiley face-patterned shorts that barely fit anymore. The two of us together, Steve pulling me with a purpose behind him without saying a word to one another all the way to Central Park, must’ve been a scene.

He didn’t stop until we were at a bench facing Turtle Pond. The sun had just barely started to peak over the dark blanket of night’s sky, turning the cloudy scape a periwinkle blue in its wake. For the city that never sleeps, the park was unusually quiet. The only people other than Steve and me included the occasional early-morning jogger and tired dog-walker, all too bleary-eyed to notice and bother the superheroes sitting on their trail’s sideline. It was a welcome change of scenery, to be so out in the open with Steve, ready to air everything out with him.

“When I used to come to the park, none of this was here,” Steve said with that wistful voice he had when he was lost in a memory. He pointed to the baseball fields that stretched as far as the eye could see before his arm swept to include the entire pond. “It used to be this huge field where my mom, Buck, and I would go picnicking on occasion. Sometimes I’d draw the landscape,” he reminisced with glossy eyes. “It was beautiful with a view of the pond, the water wasn’t as green then.” Steve looked over the horizon like he was really seeing it and I could, too. The fathers playing catch with their sons, mothers in swing dresses with full skirts pulling lunch out of wicker baskets, little girls running like they’d just entered the atmosphere as they tried to make their kites fly.

“I came back to find fake turf and invasive turtles all over the place,” he huffed like it was half funny. One of those simple pleasures you don’t realize you’d miss until it’s gone. He’d lost so much even before the snap. It was something I’d always known about Steve, of course, but I didn’t realize how impressive it was that he’d remained so whole until I was the one falling apart. Steve turned to me with a sincerity in his blue eyes I hadn’t expected. “If anyone else understands feeling out of place in their time, it’s me.”

I extended my hand as an olive branch and squeezed his knee, hoping it could offer even a fraction of the support I wanted to. Steve was right to say that he, of all people, had an intimate relationship with the feeling I was struggling to connect with now. In the smog of my erupting emotions, I’d lost sight of his. “I keep having this nightmare,” I began even though it was hard, trying to offer the same vulnerability Steve had. To let him know I saw him, too. He recognized my effort and reached out with a hand of his own until it reached mine. We intertwined our fingers “We’re back fighting in Wakanda and he snaps, except this time...” I choked up. I couldn’t get the words out, but I don’t think there were any for the way watching the one you love the most disintegrate into dust, watching as they blew away in the wind, knowing it was because you failed to save them.

There weren’t words for how Steve’s last scream echoed in my ears. It was always my name, just like he yelled when it was me who was reduced to ashes. Only it was so much more heartbreaking to watch him blow away. I’d take my brief bit of nothingness over the defeat of being knocked to my knees, Steve’s disappearance hitting me worse than any blow I’d been dealt before. “It’s the other way around?” Steve said it without really having to. He must’ve recognized the loss in my eyes, it’d been staring back at him in the mirror for the last five years. His voice heaved with the same heavy sadness in my chest and I realized that, as many terrible thoughts my nightmare trudged up, it’d been his reality. Steve didn’t have the luxury of opening his eyes to see me laying beside him for a long time. In the five years I lost from my life, he’d been living with my death and then some.

I realized that I lost my anger along the way to the park as it was replaced by a flood of guilt and sympathy that put out our fires. I pressed my forehead into Steve’s shoulder as I said, for the first of many times, “I’m sorry.” I didn’t bother to stop the tears this time, comfortable with Steve again. So I stained his grey t-shirt as I cried and kept going. “God, I’ve been such a brat. I’ve been swamped in so much of my own suffering I just... I didn’t want to be alone in it anymore,” I confessed, my voice strained with tears, though I knew it was no excuse. “And I completely disregarded your feelings, everything you’ve been through, in the process. I’m so sorry.”

Steve stretched his strong arm to wrap around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest without letting go of my hand. He kissed the top of my head and I knew he accepted my apology, finding our common ground again amidst our personal ground zero.

“It isn’t a contest, doll, pain isn’t comparable,” he said softly. “But I’d totally win if it was,” Steve smirked as he tried to lighten the mood, my head vibrating against his chest as he laughed at his own joke before growing serious again. “And even if that were true, there’s a lot of people who have it worse than me so don’t ever feel like you aren’t allowed to hurt.” His thumb massaged circled into the back of my hand absentmindedly as I nuzzled deeper into him, surrounding myself with his scent. Even after all this time, Steve still smelled of soap and the crisp, clean air of the Adirondacks.

“If anything,” he breathed heavily like the air in his chest was turning to lead. “I should be apologizing. I should’ve realized how much you were struggling, I’m sorry I didn’t sooner.” Steve dropped his chin to rest on top of my head. Slowly but surely, we were losing ourselves in each other just like we used to. “I was so relieved to have you back again, I just wanted everything to go back to normal. But I have to come to terms with the fact that neither of us are who we were five years ago.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I insisted, hating the thought of Steve blaming himself for any of this. Without undoing the knot our fingers made, I wiped my tears on the back of Steve’s hand. “You couldn’t help me, I didn’t think anyone could. But I wasn’t giving you a chance to either.” Steve hummed in acknowledgment but offered no other response, looking out over the lush trees around Turtle Pond to the skyscrapers that peaked out overhead. A reminder that, as the rest of the city woke up, we would have to abandon our personal paradise for our harsh reality soon.

“You help me,” Steve said so quietly I wasn’t even sure if I heard him until he repeated himself with more fervor. “You help me get through all of it. I didn’t realize how much until you were-” he cleared his throat. “Until you weren’t there. Sometimes even just being with you makes the world feel… Right again. I want to do that for you too.” Although the words tumbled out awkwardly as he tried to make sense of them, Steve spoke with a confidence that made my chest lurch for him.

“I want that too,” I reassured him, grinning so wide my cheeks ached from being out of practice. “You’re right that we aren’t going to go back to the way we were,” I admitted, chewing on my bottom lip. I felt Steve’s neck contract, stretching to look down at me incredulously. It wasn’t often I professed his correctness, especially not when it was about something he feared so deeply. I couldn’t write this off though, lie to him and tell him we could get back to the way we were. It just simply wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t that me, but neither was Steve. “I think we’ll be better. Grow from all of this, you know? We’ll find a new normal,” I asserted with a conviction that comforted him.

“A new normal,” Steve repeated, testing the words on his lips. I picked my head up so I could see him properly, though he didn’t take his eyes off of the horizon. Still looking ahead, a lazy smile of satisfaction tugged at the corner of his rosy lips. Steve’s cheeks were tinged with pink from the cold, early morning air and his hair was still sticking up in almost every direction except the same one, but he still looked at peace. “I like the sound of that.”

“You know what I like the sound of?” I asked, prompting another quiet murmur from Steve. He turned to me with heavy eyes that drooped with a lack of sleep as I pressed tiny kisses to the side of his thumb. “Breakfast.” Steve laughed and agreed, punctuated by a yawn. “And a nap after?” he suggested as he stood from the bench. There was a twinkle in his blue eyes, more familiar and comforting than the fire it replaced, as he extended his hand to me. The rising sun surrounded Steve like a halo.

I allowed him to tug me off of the bench and agreed that catching up on sleep was tempting. Our hips bumped together as we walked around Central Park, trying to find an exit without much of an aim. Steve slipped his hand into my back pocket since our conjoined ones kept bumping into our hips.

“Is that little waffle place still on the corner?” I inquired. So much other than us changed in the last five years. There were new logos on every corner and foreclosed businesses I’d frequented next to them and an unfamiliar culture we were all trying to navigate in between.

“The one we always used to go to on our way home from the compound?” he specified as if there was another. I nodded tentatively as I realized Steve was stalling as his head bobbed up and down, maybe more hesitantly than I did. “There’s this little mom-and-pop diner we’ll pass I’ve been meaning to take you to. You know,” he shrugged shyly. “Since we’re trying new things.”

I laughed at Steve without really meaning to as I wrapped my arm around the small of his back. “I’d really like that,” I said, brimming with appreciation. He was stubborn, citing that adage about how you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, so it meant even more that he was making an effort. “As long as I still get your hashbrowns.” Steve laughed from his belly and agreed with, “I guess some things never change.”

Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy

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broadcastappear · 4 years

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broadcast #17.

i hope you are well too.

things are better, i presume? food in your belly and all.

it is not your fault, listeners. don’t be sorry.

i know she doesn’t mean it. i have nothing against her.

i am just sensitive to her light.

the lights are dim wherever i go, if i am able to control it.

fairy lights. lava lamps. the like.

i am sorry, i’m rambling again. i just enjoy speaking to you, listeners.

thank you. i’d like to look someday, purely because of how highly to talk of her.

it’s almost sweet in a way. lovely.

#mic check (ic)#nightly chats (broadcasts)#personal message (just for you)

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ain-t-bovvered · 5 years

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Bumpy road to Love 8

EDITED & COLLABORATED with @waywardbaby

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Genre: 40s-50s Au. Singer/ young Reader x veteran WWII/ young Dean.

Warning: the story keep going back and forth in the reader’s present and her past, and from joy and carefree to angst and angst and also angst

Disclaimer: the story takes place in the first years of WWII to the years right after, but I love the style and fashion of the 50s so some of the visuals and lifestyle will be not super time accurate, especially during the flashbacks, bear with it.

Summary:People use to say that bad memories stay with us forever, lurking in the darkest corners of our heart, but they are wrong. You can always escape bad memories , you don’t want them, your mind protects you from them, but, good memories…..the good memories are the ones that your heart wants to indulge in, a way to hold on to the things you love, the things that made you happy…and the things you never thought you’d lose .Good memories are the ones that drive you insane.

Catch up here : Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

flashbacks are in italics

It's already dark outside when I slip my key in the lock. I feel so tired.

No. Tired doesn't even begin to describe it. This feeling of complete and utter draining both of the body but mostly of the soul. I can still feel that cold grip of sadness that washed over me the minute I had walked in there. All the memories. All the could haves that went through my head and scratched more wounds to my already broken soul.

The click of the lock releases the door and I slowly push it open. The creaking of the hinges reminding me again that I have to take care of that. I enter and the minute the door closes, I lean against it, close my eyes and try to take a deep breath. My purse hits the ground, my shoes are kicked in a dark corner and my gloves are thrown on the table near the door.

As my eyes slowly open I try to adjust to the lack of light in the room. What I do hear though is the static sound of the gramophone’s needle coming from Chuck’s room. That man, I swear. He'd forget his head if it weren't attached to his shoulders. He must have left without taking the record off.

I drag my feet towards his room and push the door open. And I'm greeted with an image that shows me exactly what he has been doing all those hours I was out. The window is open, curtains floating inside the room by the cold, night breeze. Taking the shapes of ghosts that we both know will always linger in our hearts and minds. The needle is indeed scraping at the old record the way this day is scraping at my heart. A small lamp, barely sheds light in the room allows me to see Chuck slumped in his armchair, still wrapped in the same blanket I had left him this morning, his head tilted to the side as if he were sleeping.

I make my way to the gramophone and lift the arm. Placing it back to the armrest I sink the entire room in complete silence.

Next, the window. I rush to close it in a desperate attempt to lock out the chill of the night.

“Weeelll, if it isn't my girl!”, I hear a slurred voice and turning my head I notice that Chuck isn't sleeping. I move closer to him and sit on the floor, right next to his legs. The cup of cold, half drunk coffee that was in his hand this morning is replaced by an empty whiskey bottle. As I look carefully I see another bottle on the floor, that too almost empty.

Reaching my hand up, I caress his cheek, his beard scraping against my palm. He leans into my hand, his eyes squeeze shut and I see tears escaping from their corners. Placing his hand on mine, he removes it from his cheek and kisses my knuckles.

“Why are we like this, Y/N?” he manages to ask in a slow, quiet voice. “What happened to us? To our dreams? To our needs? To our lives? Look at you! A beautiful, well brought up young woman being stuck in a bar. Singing to desperate and desolate people trying to drown their pathetic existence in booze.”

Touching my wrist, feeling his watch on it, he lets out a small, bitter chuckle. “Waiting for something that will never happen. Holding on to a moment in the past. Searching for a pair of eyes that you will probably never see again!”

I know he's hurting. I can feel it pouring out from every pore of his body. I know he doesn't want to hurt me and I also know that he's not wrong. I can't be mad at him. But his words sting.

“And then, there's me!!”

Another chuckle that makes his chest rise and fall.

“The once great and much promising piano player. With the much esteemed scholarship to the country’s best music school. Now, a washed out, scarred for life, cheap ass musician. Trying to entertain the people who stumble in the bar. Trying to feel better for myself by comparing their misery to mine. Trying and failing”

“Chuck, baby”, I say and I get up from my spot on the floor, trying to make him stand too. “Don't say such things. You are not washed up. It's just the booze talking right now. Yes, we've had it rough. Yes, we've suffered and hurt. But we have come through the other side with our heads held high. We wear our scars with pride, my friend. So, no more talking like that. Now, get yourself in bed before I have to throw a bucket of water on your head in order to sober you up”.

Incoherent words slurred out Chuck’s mouth as he leaned on me, the man was heavy but in that moment it felt like he weighed nothing. Shuffling toward the bed, he lets himself fall heavily on the mattress.

“Did you eat something? Anything? “

“I don’t know” I struggle to understand what his drunk words were saying.

“I’ll make some sandwiches alright?” I move away but his hand blocks me, gripping my wrist.

“Stay...for a bit, will ya?”

I sigh,smile a little and softly sit down, his hand sliding to grip mine as he lay exhaling against the headstand. His forehead is furrowed, deep lines adding years on that juvenile face, his usual bright blue eyes looking muddy and grey. I comb some curls out of the way and smooth down worry and stress.

“Where?”

“Bastogne”

Shivers creep down my spine. I know every battle Chuck fought in, in raw and vivid details. I didn’t need him to explain or give me anything else.

“Merry Christmas”

He chuckled, a sound that got warped unpleasantly by his own shivers and rattling teeth. It wasn’t that cold in the room, but what Chuck was feeling was an old kind of cold, one that had seeped deep within his bones and memories a long time ago. One that he was never able to melt and he probably never will .

I get up, ignoring his whimper, and grabbed another blanket, wrapping him in it. If I could just give him the illusion of being extra warm and safe by burying him under layers and layers of blankets , well that’s what I’ll do.

“Want me to get you some hot chocolate ?” I whisper and he nods softly. Before walking out the room I hear him shift a bit under the covers.

“Extra marshmallows” his tiny voice reaches me.

“All the marshmallows” I say just as softly.

Making my way to the kitchen, my eyes catch the purse I left on the floor beside the door. My mind goes to that old box I had found that afternoon in the attic of my old house, still sitting in the trunk of the car.

I can think about that later.

I should keep these journeys to the past in check.

“Hey kitten! What are you doing here on your free night? Chuck’s here?”

“Mr.Crowley...” I nod softly at the owner and partner of my friend. A Brit of Scotts roots, jumped out of nowhere with money and a taste for lost souls to save or own, Fergus MacLeod -never call him that- was still a mystery to me. He expects all the reverence and gives nothing but familiarity in return. Do your job well and give him all the respect he craves and he’ll be the best boss you could ever wish for. And maybe the feeling of having sold your soul to the devil will fade. Eventually.

Like a perfect gentleman, he opens the club’s door for me and helps me out my coat, draping it across his arm, offering the other one as he escorts me down the dark stairs. Again he lifts the heavy red curtains and follows me in the warm illuminated room.

“Chuck’s not feeling well tonight. I figured I’ll give him some space. So since I have nowhere else to be - thanks”, he offers me the bar stool and walks behind the counter, “- since I have nowhere else to be, I thought of dropping by for some extra cash. That is if there’s room for me, of course”

“Darling, if there’s no room, I’ll make it happen anyway. Hard days?” he said, his scheming eyes reading me like an open book, it seems.

“...restless nights.”

He clicks his tongue and places two glasses in front of us, filling them with the ambery content of his own personal silver flask. I smack my lips, eagerly pouring the high quality scotch whiskey down my throat and feeling it pool heavy and hot like lava in my belly.

“Thanks. What’s the lineup tonight?”

“Swing”

“Great”

“You know I would change it in a heartbeat for you, but we are fully booked tonight.”

“It’s alright boss, it’s a good distraction”

I swirl the liquid in the glass, the ice cubes clicking, “When should I come up?”

“Whenever you want. Just talk to the band, it’s still early for now.”

“Sure”

I can feel him studying me.

“Come on lass”, he says finishing his drink and scribbling something on the napkin. I raise my eyes, looking at him confused.

“Dinner, my treat. How does italian sounds?”

“I’m not really hungry…” I say, despite my stomach which can be heard protesting.

Crowley just stares, hand steady and unmoving, lifted midair, waiting for me. With a sigh I reach for it and jump off the stool. As he helps me with my coat again, we step into the early evening.

“You … you signed up for the army?”

We are walking down the stone path that leads to the gates, where his car is parked. My voice comes out high and unsteady.

“I did. Well not right away. I still had Sam to take care of , but….” he looks at me and there is a sort of concealed pride in his demeanor. “I did it not long ago, but it was before … before meeting you, actually.”

I stay silent, my steps slow and heavy.

“I did it for my country Y/N, it’s m-” “Oh, say ‘it’s my duty’ and I’ll throw you one”, I snap.

We fall silent again.

“If I have to go to war I’d prefer to be fully and properly trained, not shipped out to the enemy after barely having learned how to hold a rifle.” I hum, softly kicking a stray pebble, sending it bouncing ahead of us. “...So, now what?”

“Now … I just wait to be called to get poked by some doctors to see if I’m fit for duty”

“I don’t - … ”

I stop but he doesn’t notice nor hear me. I stare at his back. He has shed his jacket, now thrown on his shoulder and loosened his tie, unbuttoning a few buttons, the lapels of his white pressed shirt swaying a little with the summer breeze. I can’t hear the gravel crunching under his shoes nor the crickets that are loud in our silence. I can only hear my heart beating in my head, loud and erratic. I bit the inside of my cheek and stare at my feet. They feel like stone.

“ … Y/N?”

He’s turned to face me now, and I see his shiny new shoes close to mine, the scent of a more grown up man’s cologne not matching his young face.

“Y/N…” a whisper.

Stubbornly, I don’t lift my eyes.

A warm hand cups my face. I don’t want to but my head leans on it and I feel the first tear rolling down, hot and heavy. The sound of fabric brushing over fabric and I see the jacket on the dusty gravel as I get wrapped into a warm embrace … and I just … let go.

“And whatever red wine is the most expensive, the bottle from the back not the first one, thank you, love”. Crowley hands back the menù to the waitress, slipping a huge tip in her hand. Her eyebrows barely twitch and her smile suddenly looks actually real. We are indeed going to have the best service tonight.

“Aaaah… “ he exhales leaning in his chair, “... what a world, eh? Just wave some green papers and suddenly you are treated like the Pope.”

“It’s how it has always been”

“Your refreshing cynicism is what keeps me going ”

Whatever my mood is, Crowley always manages to steal a smile from me. I like him but, God, I don’t trust him at all.

“So what happened to Chucky boy?” he inquires as he is buttering his bread, looking uninterested. “Last night’s storm was pretty strong. It …brought back things” I say as I snap a breadstick in half.

“Yes … of course it did”

I peek at him fast enough to see a distant look in his eyes, quickly replaced by understanding. I don’t know a thing of his role or what impact the war had on Crowley, or even if it touched him at all. Now that I think about it, none of us know a thing about his past. Just that he has an English accent and money to spend.

I’m tempted to ask but the waitress comes back with the wine. He tastes it and with a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes ,but that hardly happens anyway, he gives her another generous tip, and I know he’s satisfied.

“Never fully tip at first. Wait until they actually do their job well and then give them the rest” “Mr. Crowley, not to sound disrespectful, but it’s not like I can ever afford to tip people in places like this”

“Never say never, kitten.”, he says with a cryptic look on his face before getting distracted as our food gets placed in front of us. I’m suddenly very hungry. “Νow, eat lass. Tonight I want you radiant”.

And indeed radiant I had been.

Incredible what a full stomach and expensive alcohol can do to one’s mood. I swayed, danced on stage, smiled, flirted and laughed with the audience and the couples dancing.

“What did you take tonight and where can I get some?” even Benny couldn’t get under my skin tonight. I just giggled, happily tipsy and kissed his cheek when I finished, my draping lusciously over the bar counter number, the one that I hated the most because of the proximity to the lonely souls that couldn’t get a double table. But tonight I couldn’t get bothered. Tonight, life felt great for some reason.

I shouldn’t be here.

Son of a bitch! The fuck am I here again? Jesus, Winchester, really?.

“Hey man, are you going in or not? You are blocking the way”.

I apologies and step aside. The man with an arm draped over the shoulders of a blonde girl with big doe eyes, throws me a side glance as I tip my hat to them. Guess someone left their manners at home.

I stay on the sidelines of the crowd that seem to flood the place. The club didn't look that famous the night I stumbled in here by chance. I look at the playbill for tonight’s schedule and I don’t recognize the swing band’s name.

“I heard that tonight that babe is gonna sing us some with the band”

My eyes follow the man who said that with too much enthusiasm and a leery expression.

“Y/N always makes the swing nights so worth the price of staying till closing time. Mr.Crowley always raises the prices when she’s here”. I hear a young man, barely legal, commenting to his friends.

“Yeah, well don’t get your hopes up, loverboy.” Another one comments overhearing the young group, “Bet down there, she’s as cold as her stare when you try to buy her a drink”

I feel the leather of my gloves squeak under my grip as I squeeze my fist.

“Riiiight, I bet you were a complete gentleman about it. Gave her the right compliments and all” one barks a laughter.

“Well, my hand surely complimented her ass, that’s for sure”

The whole group and a few people close enough to hear, erupted in a gross laughter as they squeezed to get inside.

I begin to regret even more coming here tonight, I could have just got drunk somewhere else. I make to leave when-

“Maggie!” a loud blonde woman bumps into me as I turn around. I steady her.

“ Oofta...oh I’m sorry, sir”

“No problem ma’am” I say bending down to retrieve her purse, “Here you go”.

“Thanks” she smiles so big that it almost blinds me. Her eyes, that scream trouble, look behind me.

“Donna, are you causing trouble again?” “You betcha”, she steps away from me to greet her friend, linking their arms together. She addresses me again, “Thank you again sir, enjoy the show!”, her friend just nodding at me coldly.

I’m still close enough to hear them talking excited.

“So Y/N is finally gracing us with some swing?”

“So she has said”

“Looking forward to that”

“Me too, I love her, but I swear it’s nice to hear her singing something cheerful for once”

“Oh stuff it Maggie! Don’t be nasty”

“What?...it’s true”

Their voices get lost in the excited crowd.

I bite my tongue, curiosity creeping down my legs as I take the first steps inside.

The room is hot and full of people. I see all the tables are booked or already full. Most of the couples and crowd fighting to stand at the sides of the dancefloor, waiting eagerly as the band starts to get their instruments ready. I look at the bar counter. That too is full, half with giggling girls trying to get some of the other half, of single men, to buy them a drink. The bartender is a stoic man with kind eyes, masterfully handling all that crowd by himself, juggling and sending waitresses up and down the tables. I stand aside, feeling in the way of everyone once again, my back pressing against the brick wall near the public telephone hiding in the shadows.

From here I have a good view of the whole room, and being in a higher position, the black mirror stage is clearly visible.

At the roll of the drum, the band announces the start of their session and the first eager couples shuffle in the middle of the dance space. The music is pleasant , the band is good and I find myself tapping my foot in rhythm.

“Sir, would you like a drink?” a chirpy waitress asks me in a high voice, easily heard over the music.

“Yes … yes, thank you”

She blinks at me before smiling nervously, “Would you like a drink list?”

I realize that she is waiting for my order, hoping the dark spot would hide my slight blush I blurt out the first brand of Scotch Whiskey that I could remember. I’m not a fussy drinker anyway, as long as it burns.

My gaze follows her as she bends down to shout the order, the scruffy bartender’s eyes catch mine and I feel like he’s sizing me up. He nods slightly and I do the same.

Later when the girl comes back with my drink I see she’s struggling with a stool. I quickly grab it from her.

“Figured you’ll be more comfortable like this.”

She waits for me to sit down, “Here you go”, she hands me the glass.

“Thank you swe -, thank you”. She blushes slightly as I hand her the money.

“Keep the change”.

“Thank you sir, enjoy your night”

I almost snort before taking the first sip. Oh damn, that’s good! I roll the whiskey on my tongue, actually enjoying the smoothness and rich flavor.

I look up and I again cross eyes with the bartender, smiling satisfied. I guess my face says it all. I tip the glass in his direction and he chuckles before going back to his job.

This place is not that bad afterall. Warm room, decently illuminated, comfy seats, nice service, a damn good whiskey, mixed crowd, great band and-

The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles and a punch in the stomach catches me by surprise as my eyes get drawn to the centre of the stage.

She waits for the crowd to fall silent and with an imperceptible hand gesture, the bright lights in her face lower to a soft glow.

I can see her clearly now .

Her lips are full and a deeper red than that night, her eyes seem more defined and bigger, the artificial blush that covers her cheeks is a completely different shade than her real one. Somewhere deep down, my naive self still hopes to be the only one to have seen that.

Her hair is curled and styled rigidly, they almost don’t move with her head.

“Good evening ladies and gents. A big applause for the -”

It’s the first time I hear her voice again. Even if it’s her stage one. Overconfident, husky, her accent different, modern. Even her lilt is different. She looks and sounds like someone else. I don’t know this woman.

This was a mistake.

I throw down the whole drink, set on leaving , but the first singing words out of that stranger steal my breath away and wrap around my heart for the second time.

When she sings, that stage mask falls. She sounds like a summer breeze, toffee apples, laughs and kisses on dusty cliffs and sunsets.

Everything is too much.

I stumble back , my hand blindly searching for the stool, my suit jacket scrapes unpleasantly on the raw wall behind me.

I manage to sit down without embarrassing myself too much. Everybody’s eyes are busy elsewhere. My palms are clammy and cold, there’s a lump in my throat that just won’t go down, no matter how many times I swallow.

“Smokes, pal?”

“Huh?” I barely register the stranger who is handing me his packs of cigarettes.

“Sorry … you looked like you needed one”, the stranger starts to slowly retreat his hand. I stop him, eyes still fixed on her.

“Ah … yes thank you”, I said grabbing the one that is sticking out. Patting the sides of my coat I remember I don’t have my lighter with me. The metallic clicks near me tell me I don’t need mine after all.

I turn my head toward the flame, my eyes still trapped by her.

“She’s good, right?”

This is the last thing I want to talk about right now.

“Yes”, I exhale the smoke, slowly. “Yes, she is”

The stranger is playing with his lighter, like it's his nervous tick. He keeps flicking the cap open and snapping it close. My eyes are drawn to its silver shine, and the screaming eagle badge engraved on it.

“...Rendezvous….”

The stranger’s head turns sharply at me, “...with destiny” he says, almost whispering. “Where you...?”

“Nah … 90th Infantry”

He chuckles, “Tough hombres. You guys, were indeed tough sons of bitches”.

“I could say the same”

A burst of applause erupts in the room, diverting our attention to the stage again. She has announced a break with promises of returning with a surprise. Her descent from the stage is accompanied by whistles and cheers as the music covers them up.

“Well, that’s my cue”

The stranger pats my shoulder, cigarette butt pinched between his teeth. “Don’t run away man, I’ll catch up with you later”

He moves quickly and nervously through the crowd before turning back to me again. “Name’s Chuck by the way. Chuck Shurley”

He waved, voice strained over the noise. I nod at him chuckling, only for my smile to die on my throat as I catch him walk up to Y/N, pick her up and swirl her around, as she laughs delighted.

Now I remember who that is.

Well, I guess that’s my cue to get the fuck out this place.

That has been a big mistake indeed, Winchester.

A big, fucking mistake.

@dean-winchesters-bacon @curly-haired-disaster @babyimp1967 @emoryhemsworth @wingedcatninja @imma-winchester-addict @southbreak @maimalfoi @missjenniferb @purpleskiesandcherrypies @hannahindie @marilynnlew @mariekoukie6661 @wayward-and-worn @thewinchestertales @raelady1184 @mah1c @spnskinnyballs @starfirerules @hunterswearingplaid @sculptorofbeginnings @younoeatcheeseyounobefat @icequeen6666 @brokenhearted-littlegirl @theangelwinchester @missihart23 @weathergirl83 @ravenhg @thisismysecrethappyplace @yllwtaxi @soloarcana @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @sexykitten253 @ackleholicwinchester @clarinette07 @biawol @snffbeebee @daskleinevolk @oldfreakything @energizerbunnay @hobby27 @cloverhighfive @theroleplayer-gameaddiction @silent-loucidity @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @dammitsammy @mirandaaustin93 @srsllydunnodoncare @flipperjanga11

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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418

Girly Do you like the color pink? It’s my favorite color. My phone case, wallet, purse, expander, water jug, two notebooks, backpack, pencilcase, clipboard, and paper clips are all pink. What have you spent more money on: a purse or a pair of shoes? Definitely shoes. I have one purse but I didn’t even spend on it, as it was a gift from my tita who was coming over to the Philippines. Do you ever wear heels? I have pairs of heels but people in the PH are so conservative and judgy that you can’t really dress up without them looking at you. As much as I want to wear my heels to places, I can only do so when I go to parties or other special occasions. What are the most stylish but uncomfortable shoes you own? I dunno, I find all of them pretty comfortable. Do you have any shoes you mostly only wear for photo shoots? No...I never have any photoshoots.

What's your all-time favorite lipstick (brand and color)? I don’t do makeup. Do you buy drugstore make-up or high-end make-up? What dog breed do you think you look the most like? Hahahahahahaha what omg

Do you like light blue jeans or dark blue jeans better? Light blue. I think they’re more trendy at the moment. What are your favorite type of pants to wear? I like my high-waisted ripped jeans! They’re super casual and can match any top. I wear it if I just want a chill day. What's the last good love story you read? I haven’t read those in a hot minute. Who is/was the most romantic of your friends? Jo I think, but I’m pretty sure it would be JM if he finally finds someone. Have you ever had a magical kiss? Always. Do you like kissing or hugs better? Hugs!!! Retro Do you own any records? No. I don’t have a turntable to play them on. Do you own a pair of bell-bottoms? Also no. I was never a fan. Have you ever tie-dyed anything? We had to tie-dye a shirt for a project in like sixth grade, but I’ve never done it just because I felt like it. What's one oldies song you like? We Didn’t Start the Fire. Do you think Disco is a cute name for a boy? Not at all. Poor kid. Do you own a lava lamp or disco ball? I own neither, but I wanted my own lava lamp really bad when I was like 14. Did you own a disco light when you were younger? I don’t think I did. Have you ever put a dime in a jukebox? Haven’t. The few times I ate at Johnny Rockets they had a jukebox, but I didn’t go near it because I was shy. When was the last time you went to the roller rink? We don’t have any here. Do you wear hoop earrings ever? I have a pair of clip-on hoop earrings I wear at least once a week. Do you own a kaleidoscope? No. I probably did when I was younger. Have you ever done hard drugs? No. Tumblr What are three of your favorite Starbucks drinks? Java chip frappe, caramel macchiato (iced or warm is fine), and peppermint mocha are my go-tos. Do you have photos on the wall in your room? Yeah but they’re nothing like the Tumblr aesthetic you’re probably asking for. I have frames of Audrey Hepburn on one wall and a poster of a Korean actor that I love, but that’s about it. If you own/owned a Polaroid camera, which color would/do you have? I’ve never had one but my sister just bought her own Instax the other week that I plan to borrow. It’s brown if I remember correctly. Have you ever done a craft with a record? if so, what? No. I don’t think I’d want to put my hands on a record like that either. What's one of the best Tumblr-inspired craft projects you've seen? Meh. I haven’t seen the crafty side of Tumblr since 2010. Do you have a Tumblr account? I wonder. Which do you like better: Tumblr or Pinterest? Tumblr for surveys and memes, Pinterest for ideas. Do you have a mandala tapestry hanging in your home? No...that screams 2014 to me. Do you own any succulents? I never got into plants. Fake succulents or real succulents? Do you doodle on your notebook paper? When I get bored in class, yes. Do you own Sharpies? Mmmm no, I don’t really need them for anything. What's your favorite Sharpie color? What color are your Converse shoes? White. I used to have a pair of red high-top Chucks as tribute to AJ, but I think my mom threw them out already because I stopped wearing them. Have you ever made an inspiration board for your room? No. Who is the best-looking male celebrity? Gregory Peck. Boho Where would you like to travel to next? Thailand or Vietnam, hopefully! List three more vacations you would like to go on. I want to go back to Singapore, then go to those two I mentioned above. Where are three places you go to relax? My room, the beach, a cafe. Are you a musician, artist, or writer? None of these, but writer speaks to me the most. Do you believe in truth, freedom, and love? ...Sure. What is your favorite store at the mall? I don’t have one I normally go to. Would you hitchhike if people were generally trustworthy? If I had the time, yep. What's the most daring thing you've ever done? Every time I overtake or be an ass on the road (because everyone else is) always feels daring lmao. Would you ever belly dance at a faire? No. If you became famous, would you change your name to something exotic? Idk, that’s kinda racist/appropriating. What are five exotic names that you like? What exactly are exotic names???? Do you own a dreamcatcher? Yeah, I have a large one above my bed. Do you feel closer to God in nature? No. Fashion What are five things that were in style when you were in high school? Roshes, ripped jeans, crop tops, statement shirts lmao, and hoodies. What does your favorite scarf that you've made look like? I don’t need scarves and more so have I not made my own. Do you wear scarves? No. It’s too hot for scarves. List the different colors of jeggings and/or skinny jeans that you have. White, black, dark blue, light blue, khaki. What color is your favorite pair of shorts? Black. What color is your favorite sweater? The XXL one Gabie gave me to use whenever I miss her is gray. List five people whom you think have great style. Audrey Hepburn, one of the profs in my college that has an impeccable wardrobe, Kate, Sophia, and tbh my aunts.

List five of some of the worst trends you've seen. I don’t feel like it. List five items on your current wardrobe wish list. More heels, high-waisted shorts, a new jumpsuit, a party dress for the year-end college party in May, and tube tops. Where do you shop the most for clothes? H&M. Do you own anything leopard print? No. Never. Do you wear earmuffs? I don’t need them. What color are your favorite pair of boots? I don’t really wear boots. Music What song makes you cry? Recently, it’s Louis Tomlinson’s singles- at least the ones dedicated to his mom. What could be the theme song to your life? That’s a pretty bold claim...but uhhh probably Misguided Ghosts by Paramore. What is a good break-up song? Walking in the Wind, One Direction. What song makes you want to dance? Any high-energy Beyonce song tbh. What is one of your all-time favorite songs? From Eden, Hozier. What is your current favorite song? Three straight surveys that this was asked. Talk, by Khalid. Which show has a great theme song? I don’t watch a lot of shows, so I wouldn’t know. Which song is so catchy it's easy to get stuck in your head? Depends on my mood and what my head prefers to play at the moment. Which song is used in a lot of youtube videos? Royalty-free ones? Idk. Which song is sad? The entire soundtrack of New Moon lmao. Who makes great song covers on YouTube? I don’t like covers. Who is one of the best songwriters? HOZIER Who has a beautiful voice? Also Hozier. Who made it big fast? Idk, it’s pretty easy to make it big fast nowadays thanks to social media. Arts and Crafts List five DIY youtubers you love to watch. I hate DIY YouTube. Who makes the best craft videos? Have you ever painted rocks and hid them in your town? No. Even if I had the time to, the idea doesn’t sound exciting. What craft project is harder than it looks? All of them, I would guess. Have you ever got hot glue stuck to your hands? Nooooo no no, that’s one of my biggest fears. Are you messy when it comes to painting? I’m messy in and out of painting. What color is your cutting board? Would you rather build something or decorate something? I’d rather buy something that’s already built and decorated. Just really not an artsy person so this category is not for me haha. Have you ever painted something on canvas? Never. I couldn’t, even if I tried. List a few of your favorite painters. Monet. Do you love the brand Natural Life? I don’t think I recognize the name. Do you love the brand Lisa Frank? Yessssss my girl Lisa used to be the bomb dot com. Oil pastels or chalk pastels? Which do you prefer, and why? Oil...they look nicer for me? And I’ve never heard of chalk pastels until now. Glitter gel pens or regular gel pens? Glitter. Colored pencil or regular pencil? Colored pencils, because I love coloring books. Charcoal or colored chalk? Chalk. Charcoal is messy. Painting or drawing? I hate both. Painting that shows brushstrokes or painting that looks like a photograph? I’d rather see the brushstrokes. Knitting or crocheting? I hate them both too. Sewing on a machine or doing embroidery by hand? Color or black-and-white? Color. Digital photography or film photography? Classic film.

#survey #surveys

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