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starfallen-tears · 2 years

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i have this character i named after a song i originally heard in 2019. they were made for fun, but ended up emotionally tied to a persona i created. as someone to always be there.

the song has always let me reflect on life and the ending of it. on relationships and loving other beings in this world. it’s my own private little memorial. a beautiful landscape full of flowers and waterfalls and stars.

there’s a beautiful ginger tabby cat sitting in the dew laden grass, looking at me with his perfect little eyes. he’s surrounded by other figures. some are people. there are other cats. there’s a big, old dog with dandelion puffs all around him. there’s some guinea pigs, too.

sometimes i’m myself as i am now - a full 5′7′’, clad in a hoodie and pajama pants. sometimes i have bracelets on that have been broken for years. sometimes i’m wearing a flower crown from a fair i haven’t been to in 5 years. sometimes i’m ten again, in a blue jacket with bitten strings. sometimes i’m four, hair in braids with click-clacky hair ties on the ends in purples and blues.

i walk with that tabby cat. i play with him and sing to him. i can forget having to watch him die in my mother’s arms. we can play together, like we did when i was young. i tease him about the hole in his sock - the orange toe of his otherwise white paw. he sniffs a flower and sneezes. he still has allergies.

he sits in my lap and i watch a kitten and guinea pig play together. they both think they’re the same animal as the other. the kitten has the most beautiful blue eyes. the guinea pig is small, but mighty. and they play for hours and hours.

a great big grey cat comes to my side, his ears shredded by battles both won and lost. he is quiet, but i run my hand over his head, watching his eyes squint shut. a black cat joins him not long after, lanky and smooth, his grey-streaked fur no longer rumpled. his eyes are both golden once again. and he meows - a cutting sound that my family always disliked, but that i loved. i raise my hand and he rubs against it.

there’s a little calico cat, too. she’s following a white and grey cat, looking curious. she’s so small compared to him, a big long beast of a kitty. and then he sees me. he yams. and i think of feeding him in the evening when he was getting a little too loud. i could laugh about it now. the little calico looks at me curiously, with her gorgeous eyes.

sometimes someone will come up to me and all the animals will scurry away - except for the ginger tabby. he’s always there, always beside me.

sometimes it’s a little girl, with skin a few shades lighter than mine. her glasses are chocolate brown and aqua blue, and i love them. she’s wearing the achromatic patterned hat with that purple flower i’ll never forget. we talk, loud and boisterous, about tv shows i haven't watched since i was eight and nine, about toys i haven’t been able to play with in a good handful of years. she makes me smile, just like she always did. i’ll always wish i could find her again.

sometimes it’s an old grizzled biker, skin reddened and patchy by hours and hours on the open road. his hair and beard are the dirtiest of dirty blonde, but his voice is kind. i sit and listen as he stands beside me. occasionally he’ll ask me if i ever managed to put a toy car down the drain again. for the record, the answer is no.

sometimes it’s a much younger black man. rectangle framed glasses and a hat on his head. he smiles big each time. he sits with me and if i can, i play with my necklace. he has the same one, to match my father. he always asks me how i’m doing, popping open a container of orange tic-tacs. and i tell him that i’ll be alright.

and sometimes that person is a tall as hell white boy with bleached blonde hair and a wild look in his eyes. he takes me for a walk- or a run, if we’re being literal. we chat, we shout, and we sing. he makes me laugh. i tell him that i miss him. i wonder if he misses me too, but he never says. what matters is that he is there, and i can listen to him again. he’s still a legend in my eyes.

occasionally that person is someone else. people i care for with my whole heart, friends i left behind, friends who left me behind, too. and i love them all.

but at the end, it’s always me and that ginger tabby. he wipes the tears from my face with his fur that smells of sunlight and fabric softener. there will never, ever be another like him, but that’s okay. i am loved. and those who live on in my memory are too.

#wil writes #... i don't know what this is #i am sad.#tw animal death #tw death #tw suicide #all are mentioned or implied #the ginger tabby's name is samwise #the other cats are tyrion (tabby kitten); meko (grey cat); loca (black cat); chase (white and grey); and sap (calico)#the guinea pig is named bandit #there are... many others #the humans names i must keep to myself. but they were a childhood friend; an uncle; a godfather; and a friend i miss every day

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blackspoon99 · 2 years

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His Last Vow Pt.1

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drug Use, Strong Language, Mild Violence

This is a continuation of my BBC Sherlock Season 3 reader insert work. I previously wrote one for The Empty Hearse and one for The Sign of Three. You don’t have to read them to understand this fic, but it would definitely help with the details! Both are linked below if you’re interested in reading them as well!

The Empty Hearse Pt. 1

The Sign of Three Pt. 1

5:47 am

You were harshly torn from your last 2 hours of sleep by the familiar sound of your ringtone. You tore off your eye mask and looked at the caller ID. The flash of light momentarily blinded you as you tried to make out the name.

John. He wouldn’t be calling so early if it weren’t important. You lifted the phone to your ear and answered.

“Hello…” your voice came out scratchy and uneven.

“Y/n? Yeah, hello it’s John”

“I can see that John,” you groaned. “I have caller ID.”

“Right, ‘course. Well, I think you should come meet me at St. Bart’s.”

“St. Bart’s? Is everything alright? It isn’t Mary, is it?” You threw the covers off you and swung your legs over the edge of your bed. It had been a few weeks after John and Mary got married and John and Mary were expecting a daughter.

“No no, Mary’s just fine,”

“Hello, Y/n! I’m here,” Mary interjected.

“Uh actually, it’s Sherlock.” Your stomach sank. “Before you worry, he’s alright, just a twat.”

“What’s that wanker got up to now? He’d better bloody be okay with the way he’s been acting.” Ever since the wedding, you hadn’t seen much of Sherlock. He’d recently shut out nearly everyone. You’d even dropped by, but Mrs. Hudson said he hadn’t been home much lately. You had even mentioned it to John, but he was too busy with his own life to be worrying constantly about Sherlock.

Sherlock’s voice came over the phone. “I can hear you, you know.”

“Sherlock, what have you done?”

“Y/n—” John cut you off. “I think you’d better just meet us there.” John then hung up on you. You took a deep breath and placed your feet on the cold floor. Of course, St. Bart’s would be the first place you’d seen Sherlock since the wedding. Even though John assured you Sherlock was alright, you were still worried. He’d been noticeably absent the past few weeks. In all the time you’d known him, you’d never gone this long without seeing him. Even if you didn’t stop by Baker Street, he’d just appear at your work or even in your flat on occasion. The first week, you assumed he was still moping after the wedding, but it had been nearly a month now.

You walked over to the bathroom mirror. You brushed your teeth and washed your face. You decided it wasn’t worth attempting to deal with your hair. You also didn’t bother getting dressed. You walked over to your dresser and rummaged around for your thick wool socks. You then pulled the nearest available shoes over them and grabbed a jacket. Then you were out the door.

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As soon as you walked into St. Bart’s the first thing you noticed was the smell. Horrifically, the smell was coming from Sherlock. He looked like a wreck. He was wearing a dirty sweatsuit and soiled trainers. His facial hair was patchy and overgrown, and his skin looked sickly and yellow. John, Molly, and Sherlock were bickering when you walked in.

“Ah, Y/n’s here! Just lovely.” Sherlock said, sarcastically.

“John?” you asked, “What’s happened?”

“What’s happened is we’ve just discovered Sherlock in an active crack den.” He snapped, pointing over at Sherlock.

You stormed over to Sherlock, prepared to do or say…something, but Sherlock interjected before you could speak.

“Y/n! You look tired. Clearly, I’ve disrupted your beauty sleep. Or maybe you look tired because you’ve had not one, but two unsuccessful first dates in the last 2 weeks.”

You bit your lip and swallowed your anger. You didn’t want to hear the bullshit about how he knew that just from looking at you. You turned to Molly. “He’s high, isn’t he? He’s always mean when he’s high.” You shifted your gaze back to Sherlock.

Molly handed you her clipboard. You skimmed his lab results but stopped reading after the third narcotic on the list. Your lower lip trembled in rage. You calmly handed the clipboard back to Molly. Then in one, quick, impulsive motion, you delivered a back-handed slap to the right side of Sherlock’s face. His face jerked to the side from the force, and he brought one hand to his cheekbone. He scoffed.

“Molly already slapped me.”

“Clearly it wasn’t enough. What were you thinking Sherlock? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks; Mrs. Hudson says you haven’t been ‘round the flat much.” A man playing around with the glassware caught your eye. The goofy-looking man looked almost as bad as Sherlock. He appeared to be playing with a graduated cylinder as if it were an airplane. “Okay, who the fuck is that?” you asked no one in particular.

“They call me the wig,” the man replied.

“No, they don’t” replied Sherlock. How did Sherlock know this man?

“Well, they-they call me Wiggy.”

“Nope.”

“Fine. It’s Bill. Bill Wiggins.”

“Right,” you started. “So, where’d you find him?”

“Me and Shezza go way back,” Wiggins replied.

You looked to Sherlock. “Shezza?” you asked in complete disbelief.

“I was undercover,” mumbled Sherlock.

“Yeah, Sherlock Holmes was undercover in a crack den,” John snapped. “And for some unknown reason, we’re giving everyone a ride home.” He then looked to Mary who shrugged.

Wiggins pointed to John. “He broke my arm.”

“Sprained it,” clarified John.

“You did what?” interjected Mary.

“Lovely, just lovely,” you interrupted. “How could you do this, Sherlock? You promised it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Oh, relax it’s for a case.”

“Oh! It’s for a case!” you exclaimed sarcastically, “It’s alright everyone. Sherlock’s just done this for a case, so everything’s just fine.”

“A ca... What kind of case would need you doing this?” John interjected.

“I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work,” said Sherlock.

“No. We’re not playing this game,” John said sternly.

“Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it.”

“That’s enough, Sherlock,” you scolded. “No one wants to hear it. Can’t you see we care about you?”

The brief moment of silence that followed was interrupted by a text alert from Sherlock’s phone.

“Ah! Finally,” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Finally? What?” asked Molly.

“Good news, excellent news!”

“Pardon?” you asked.

“There’s every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on.” Sherlock began to leave the room, typing on his phone. “Excuse me for a moment.”

You turned to John but elected not to speak. Everyone in the room exchanged a few glances before turning to follow him.

“Thank you, Molly. I’m sorry for all the trouble,” you said on the way out.

“I’m sorry too, Y/n,” she replied.

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John and Mary had decided you and John ought to sober him up and keep watch over the next few hours. Mary decided to drive home separately while you and John dragged Sherlock into a cab to Baker Street.

The three of you were squished in the back of the cab and you were snug between John and Sherlock. You were still seething. You stared straight ahead, trying not to look at him. Embarrassingly, you couldn’t figure out if you were angry at Sherlock more for the drugs or for the weeks of avoiding you. It was somewhat humiliating how much of your time and energy went into thinking about Sherlock Holmes. You were even more ashamed that you were obviously in love with someone who was currently high on narcotics and smelled like piss. Eventually, Sherlock broke the silence.

“You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course.”

“Yeah. Owns some newspapers – ones I don’t read,” replied John.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sherlock looking down at you, waiting for your response.

“You reek, Sherlock, you know that?” you said bitterly, ignoring his question.

He rolled his eyes. “Hang on, weren’t there other people?” Sherlock asked, looking confused.

“Mary’s taking the boys home; Y/n and I are taking you home. We did discuss it.”

“People were talking, none of them me. I must have filtered.”

“Not surprised,” you mumbled.

The cab slowly pulled over in front of the flat.

“What is my brother doing here?” Sherlock leaped out of the cab and stormed to the front door. You climbed out onto the curb and went after him.

“I guess I’ll just pay then,” said John.

You shot him a sympathetic look. “I’ll get the next one.”

Sherlock walked up to the door and pointed angrily at the door. “He’s straightened the knocker. He always corrects it. He’s OCD. Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

Sherlock walked up to the door and paused before shifting the knocker back to its usual crooked orientation.

“Why’d you do that?” asked John

“Do what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

You followed John and Sherlock through the door. Sure enough, Mycroft was waiting for the three of you in the foyer. He stood there dressed to the nines in his usual stiff suit, despite the early hour. He leaned casually against the banister with a smug look plastered across his face. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. Your relationship with Mycroft was… complicated. Pleasant and warm were certainly not the first words that came to mind. Civil maybe?

“Well, then Sherlock, back on the sauce?” He asked.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock spat.

“I phoned him,” John clarified.

“The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy – though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you,” Mycroft jeered.

“You phoned him?” Sherlock asked with a look of betrayal.

“Of course, he phoned him,” you interjected.

“Ah, hello there Y/n. You look well.” Mycroft said with a hint of amusement. A clear and cheap jab at your disheveled appearance.

“I did leave in a bit of a hurry. Sorry, I didn’t dress for the occasion,” you replied sarcastically.

“Yes, of course not,” he replied snidely. Mycroft then turned to Sherlock. “Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?”

“We?” Sherlock asked.

With nearly perfect comedic timing you heard a familiar voice ring down from upstairs.

“Mr. Holmes?” Anderson. You thought it was rather funny how the once shrewd critic of Sherlock and overall thorn in your side now politely addressed him as “Mr. Holmes”.

“For GODS SAKE!” Sherlock yelled furiously. He shoved past Mycroft and stormed up the stairs.

You, Mycroft, and John followed him up the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Anderson.” Sherlock sneered. Anderson had two unfamiliar people with him: a woman helping Anderson and a man sitting in Sherlock’s chair. No doubt members of the odd Sherlock Holmes fan club he started after Sherlock’s “death”. Before Sherlock returned from beyond the grave, you had found Anderson’s little club to be unsettling and sad. Now it was rather amusing.

“Sorry, Sherlock but it’s for your own good.”

“So that’s him?” the woman asked, fascinated. “I thought he’d be taller.”

Sherlock sneered and slammed his keys on the table. He stormed over to his chair, frightening the meek man sitting in it enough to make him practically run away.

“Hello, Phillip,” you said kindly, walking into the kitchen.

“Hello, Y/n. Nice to see you.”

You smiled and gave a polite nod. Across the flat, Sherlock pulled his hood over his head and flopped into his chair sideways, laying in fetal position.

“Some members of your little fan club,” Started Mycroft. “Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat.” You let out a brief chuckle. Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes. “You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit.”

Sherlock reluctantly opened his eyes. “Well, I do not have a drug habit.”

“So, it would seem,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hey, what happened to my chair?” asked John. You then noticed the shockingly large gap between Sherlock’s chair and the kitchen. It was funny, the flat seemed empty without it. Was it possible Sherlock couldn’t bear to look at it in John’s absence?

“It was blocking my view to the kitchen,” Sherlock said plainly. Nevermind.

“Well, it’s good to be missed,” John said curtly.

“Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity.”

“Actually, you saw the kitchen,” you quipped. John shot you a look, indicating that he was not amused.

Mycroft turned to Anderson and his posse. “What have you found so far? Clearly nothing.”

“There’s nothing to find,” Sherlock insisted. Funnily enough, you weren’t convinced.

Mycroft suddenly raised an eyebrow and turned around towards the back of the flat. “Your bedroom door is shut. You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?”

At Mycroft’s words, Sherlock lifted his head from the arm of his chair. Mycroft walked over to Sherlock’s door and reached for the handle.

“Okay stop! Just stop.” You sensed desperation in his tone. What could he be hiding? “Point made.”

Mycroft reached for the handle, turned it, but did not open it. He slowly dropped his hand and returned to the living room.

“Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing.”

Sherlock finally stood up from his chair. “This is not what you think. This is for a case.”

“What case could possibly justify this?”

Sherlock’s face darkened as he spoke. “Magnussen.” With that single word, the smile dropped from Mycroft’s face. “Charles Augustus Magnussen.” Mycroft sighed briefly, then turned on his heel to address the people in the kitchen.

“That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle.”

Anderson and his group followed his instructions and swiftly left the flat. Mycroft turned back to face you and John. “I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well.”

You let out a curt laugh and looked over at John.

“Well, I think we’d all find that embarrassing.” John cracked. Sherlock let out a snort and a genuine laugh.

“Magnussen is not your business,” Mycroft said sternly.

“Oh, so he’s yours,” said Sherlock.

“You may consider him under my protection.”

“I consider you under his thumb.”

Mycroft shook his head sternly. “If you go against Magnussen, you will find yourself going against me.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice,” Sherlock said nonchalantly. He then strolled over to the kitchen, swinging his arms as he walked. “Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye.” Sherlock turned to open the door and pointed to the stairs. Mycroft slowly walked over to him.

“Unwise, brother mine,” he taunted.

Sherlock suddenly grabbed Mycroft’s wrist, pinned his arm behind his back, and slammed him face-first against the wall. Mycroft cried out in pain.

“Sherlock!” you yelled and rushed over.

“Brother mine,” Sherlock hissed, breathing heavily. “Don’t appall me when I’m high.”

“Mycroft,” John said softly behind you, “Don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might.”

Your eyes flickered over to Sherlock’s face. His face was contorted in anger and his breaths were ragged. Mycroft wrenched himself from Sherlock’s grip and Sherlock turned and walked back to the living room.

“Don’t speak, just leave,” John said, sternly.

Without a word, you reached down to hand Mycroft his umbrella. He snatched it from your hand and left, cradling his arm. You shook your head disapprovingly and walked back over to Sherlock. You supposed Mycroft did have it coming after all these years.

John cleared his throat. “Er, Magnussen?”

“What time is it?” asked Sherlock, ignoring the question.

“About eight,” you said. If it really was eight, you’d have to leave for work soon.

“I need a bath,” Sherlock said and began to head for the bathroom.

“Is this really for a case?” you asked him.

“Yes”

“Well, what sort of case?”

“One too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in,” Sherlock said over his shoulder.

“Are you trying to put us off?” asked John.

“No, I’m trying to recruit you.” Sherlock then disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. “And stay out of my bedroom!” he yelled from inside the bathroom. After he closed the door, you heard the sound of water running. You suddenly felt how exhausted you were. You flopped down in Sherlock’s chair and rested your head on your hand.

“This seems uncomfortably similar to the old days, doesn’t it John?” John scoffed, then smiled, nodding in agreement.

“What do you think, should we see what’s in Sherlock’s bedroom?” He asked.

You laughed. “I don’t think I would dare. Besides, after everything that’s happened this morning, I’m not sure I can handle anything else.”

“That I agree with, although I don’t know if I can resist the temptation”

“By the way, there’s something I don’t understand. When you found him, how did you know to look for him?”

“I didn’t actually. I was looking for someone else.”

“Do you know a lot of people with drug problems?”

“Neighbor’s son. His mother, Kate, came to our flat in bits. So, I went to go collect her son, and I found him there.”

“I see married life hasn’t changed you much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Most people would have called the police. Not John Watson, though. Storming into crack dens, spraining junkies’ arms.”

John chuckled and shook his head.

“John?”

“Hm?”

“How is married life? I feel like you’ve sort of been absent lately.”

“It’s been… different. Most of the time it’s wonderful. Slower, quieter, but wonderful.” He looked over to you. “Y/n, I’m sorry I haven’t called… in a while. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, it’s just been an adjustment since the honeymoon and—”

“It’s alright John. I just want to know you’re alright and happy, and it seems you are.” You smiled at him. “Speaking of the wedding, look. Sherlock’s got your wedding invitation on the mantel. Sort of sweet.”

You got up and walked over to the mantle to inspect it. As you walked closer, you noticed something peeking out from behind the invitation. It was a flower neatly pressed in a gold frame. To your shock, it appeared to be the yellow lily you gave him at the wedding. You smiled to yourself as you felt your heart rate pick up. Hold on a moment. He gave that to Janine, didn’t he? How did he get it back? Why was it framed now?

To your left, you heard a door open. Your heart dropped straight down to your stomach when you saw Janine emerging from Sherlock’s bedroom wearing nothing but one of his button-downs.

“Oh, John, Y/n, hi.”

“Janine?” John asked. In your shock, you were utterly speechless. All words were lost to you.

“Sorry, not dressed yet. Has everybody gone? I heard shouting.”

“Uh yeah.” John croaked out.

“Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?”

“Mike?” asked John in disbelief.

“Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike. They’re always fighting.”

“Mycroft?”

“Do people actually call him that?”

“They do,” John said awkwardly. Janine walked past him and into the kitchen. John turned his gaze to you with a concerned expression. Your feet were still rooted to the spot as you anxiously tugged on the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“Huh! Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?” asked Janine.

“Yeah okay,” said John without taking his eyes off you.

“Where’s Sherl?”

“Sherl…” John whispered under his breath in complete exasperation. “He’s just having a bath. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh, like he ever is,” said Janine. She then walked back towards Sherlock’s bedroom but instead went straight into the bathroom. “Morning! Room for a little one?”

You then heard Sherlock’s voice. “Morning” Followed by giggling. John was still starring at the bathroom door. You rushed out the door before he could see you. As you hurried down the stairs you felt a wave of nausea followed by light-headedness. You needed air quickly. As you stumbled through the foyer, Mrs. Hudson stepped in front of you and said something to you. Whatever it was, it didn’t process. You stepped around her and rushed out the door.

The sudden rush of cool air was sobering. The shock and disorientation then turned abruptly to heartbreak. Your stomach felt heavy as you felt tears begin to accumulate in your eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

“Y/n!” It was John. He followed you out onto the sidewalk and put his hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

You walked a few feet away, just out of reach, and turned to face him. “I think you know I’m not, John.” He paused, unsure of what to say to console you. “How could he let me find out this way?”

“He’s Sherlock, he doesn’t think. I don’t think he realizes—”

“That’s the problem, John! All this time, I assumed he didn’t want…that he wasn’t interested in…” You reached up and hurriedly wiped the stray tears spilling from your eyes away with your sleeve. “This just proves that he was always capable of being with someone else, just that he didn’t want that with me.”

“I know he cares about you, Y/n. I’m, frankly just as shocked as you. I’d always thought he…” John cleared his throat instead of finishing his sentence. You had a few guesses about what he could have meant to say.

You crossed your arms over your chest and took a few deep breaths. You looked up at the sky and blinked stray tears away. “It’s not enough John. Because… I love him.”

“I know.” He said quietly.

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A/N: Hello! So it’s been a while... sorry about that! I just graduated college and finally finished my thesis! I’ve got a lot more time on my hands now that I am applying for jobs, so hopefully I will be able to update more frequently! Thanks for sticking with this story and this blog! Much love!

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard @starryeddie @libsybum

#Sherlock #bbcsherlock #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock imagine #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #his last vow

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honey-harper-official · 3 years

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Hey umm so in light of NEVER having scene or read about a character with eczema (or skin problems at all for that matter) I'm going to go over how to write and draw eczema without being rude and making people self conscious about it.

Some general stuff:

This shit is PAINFUL! Like EXTREMELY PAINFUL sometimes

It may look red and swollen

It may look very dry and flaky

On darker skinned people it's not always going to look bright red. It's going to be patches of darker skin with more red undertones

It may look very rough skin and slab covered.

It can cause immense fatigue

It can make mobility hard

It may look bad but feel like nothing

It may look fine but feel painful

We can't stop itching. It's literally painful to not itch. It makes my thrash around if I can't itch

I have spent night being exhausted but unable to sleep bc of eczema and how painful it is

A flare up is caused by literally anything and often times we don't know the cause

It's usually on the back of the knees or the insides of the arms but can appear anywhere. Other popular spots invlude the neck, face, hands, and wrists

It causes hyper pigmentation but it's mostly notice in the summer or after summer since you're tan and the patch goes away, leaving untanned skin and the place where the patch was drained of a bit of color anyways

Nearly everyone who's had it has it on the inside of their arms and has had it there forever. I have hyper pigmentation there however it's in a patchy way. A lot of people have paler inside arms but mine isn't a smooth transition of color.

Hyper pigmentation does happen and it's not always permeant. It can just last until the summer tan is gone or it can take literal months to even years to fade which is what's happening to my arms at the moment

It will come in patches at random places at random times though usually stays forever on places like the inside of arms and legs

If it's on the inside of one arm then it's going to show up on the inside of the other arm. Same goes for the back of the knees however there might be one side that's typically worse then the other. It can switch back and forth but unless you're on medication one side will be noticslly worse then the other though both will not be looking good

It can stay one place for a few years and go away but then show up in a new place and stay there for years.

Medication and shots are a thing that we use

Steroid creams and prescription lotion are also things we use

No one is using scented bath and body works lotion. Scented stuff irritates it and makes it burn. Take your Bath and Body Works and leave.

I'm not just going to pick up any lotion or cream at the store either. I'm doing careful research on what will work best, finding what works best for me, and sticking with it

A lot of things will make it burn such as lotions, perfumes, and even water

A lot of people wear jackets and hoddies to cover it up

I also wear a special hoodie for flare ups bc the material feels nicest and I don't want to ruin my other clothes with all the lotions and stuff

Certain materials are itchy and irritating. (Looking at you wool I hate your guts) while others are soothing and comfortable (cotton and silk and bamboo fabric are life savors)

Random and obscure allergies that cause it to flare up

When a patch clears up and goes from rough to soft I will continue to touch it bc I'm excited and I forgot what it feels like to have my skin like that. I once had it on my eyelids and cheeks and once it cleared up I cried and wouldn't stop touching my face bc it didn't hurt to make facial expressions and it felt so nice to have my skin back

Speaking of which it can and will show up on your eyelids and make them swell up

It can get into your brows and you'll lose hair in your brows bc of it

I don't know one person with eczema who hasn't felt self conscious about it or try to hide it even if it's nothing to be ashamed for

Doctors will take one look at people with eczema (especially those who aren't skinny white boys) and pass it off as a rash. Dermatologists do this and actually allergists have been more helpful with clearing up my skin in my personal experience

You will get super greasy hair from all the lotion. If it's on the neck or face your hair will catch in the lotion and make it greasy. It doesn't help that it can be painful to shower and stuff with eczema

Baths >>>> showers. Especially since there's a lot of stuff people will soak in to help. Salt baths and bleach baths are a thing to help kill bacteria and things like putting in mint leaves and that sort of stuff help cool and soothe it

Ironically most of the lotions I've been given I ended up being allergic to. This is something some other people I know experienced. Lavender is supposed to help but it just makes things worse for a lot of people I know ironically believe it or not

Also it's an AUTO IMMUNE DISEASE! It's going to weaken the immune system and make it easier to get sick. The real kicker is when you get sick you get more prone to infections and your skin will get infected and it's a downward and very painful spiral

Writing:

Have your character have a flare up. Have their skin go from fine to red and itchy and dry and maybe a little bloody

Scabs. We've got them. I have scars from scratching at scabs from eczema bc they're itchy. Your character most likely will too and probably did so as a child as well bc it's a scab vs a kid

Have them go to bed early bc theyre tired

It makes sense for them to go to doctors appointments specifically for their eczema and to have it done often. Look into things like having your characters go to get shots often or doing light therapy

Have them feel under the weather bc of it. Make them take a benadryl and clock out in a blanket with a material they like

Silk pillowcases are great for skin. So are bamboo materials. I know a lot of people who've invested in these including myself to make sleeping and drying off more comfortable. Chances are your character and their family have invested in them too and a lot of household materials will be like that or they will have their own special towels and bed sheets that need to be washed separately from everyone else and need to be washed at the right time so your character has towels and bed sheets

Give them allergies. They're probably allergic to something that causes it and usually it's some chemical like fragrance jn perfume or over processed foods too. A lot cleaning supplies make me flare up and dust is a big one too. Lavender and chamomile are ones which is very ironic based on how people tell us to use those to help

Coconut oil and stuff like she's butter. I guarantee you that your character has or will use it at some point to help with eczema. They're honestly life savers

Have them keep a jacket and some prescribed lotion with them. At night have them put on a bunch of different lotions and skin care stuff and probably even gloves or socks over their hands to help lock in moisture. However they will also probably rub these things against their skin to scratch

Write a character with clear looking skin but hyper pigmentation and taking shots to keep a flare up at bay. Dupixent is a shot a lot of people are using and it works wonders

Gloves when sleeping. Put on lotion and then gloves and have them go to bed and then be frustrated when they can't swipe on their phone.

It's okay to have them feel gross about it just don't make it happen often. After I put on all my lotions I feel super greasy and gross because of it

Have other characters hype them up despite their eczema. It's not a bad thing. It doesn't make us ugly. Stop acting like non perfect skin is a terrible thing. When I'm down or upset about it my friends will hype me up about it

However while I can go out without hiding my eczema and still feel good about it that doesn't mean that myself or any character you're writing with it won't wish that their skin wasn't clear. More so bc it hurts and is uncomfortable then anything.

Clothes made from cotton and silk and that stuff are good for every day clothes but also fancy stuff if need be

Speaking of clothes do not put them in a wool sweater that shit sucks and so do a lot of mixed fibers. There's special clothes that are made without seams or with special materials for people who have textural issues and I have gotten stuff from those places. Always keep a few long sleeves in my closet for my worst days and have a long sleeve from my favorite brand in nearly every color and pattern. Your character will probably do the same the second they find a piece of clothing that feels good on their skin. However eventually all the lotions will make the insides knit and the clothing will be stained darker if you use them for flare ups after putting in lotion

My mom has come home and dropped a pile of new shirts on my bed because they were from the brand that makes clothes that are safe for my skin and she got them in every color or style. Your character will have parents that will do the same. I don't know if it's a universal eczema experience but if your character has parents who are really concerned about it and arw very involved and caring then it makes sense for something like that to happen

Designated flare up shirts are a thing. I will put it on and wear it to bed or to school or anywhere

Give them a designated flare up shirt that they where for a while in a flare up. However also give them a hoodie they like bc trust me they're gonna wear a specific hoodie when there's a flare up

If you're going to have a random character point it out or ask questions, it's completely logical for your character to be annoyed about it. I know other people are just curious but when a bunch of people bombard you for something you would obviously know is there it's very tiring

Have them change clothes when they get home. It helps and I do it and so do other people. Don't want to being things from the outside into the household.

They aren't going to put on perfume for a fancy evening and chances are their friends won't either because that stuff irritates it so much even if we aren't the ones wearing it

It's okay to say that the skin was red and patchy. It's okay to say it cleared up

Don't say that the character looks like they have spots or scales or looks like a tomato or stuff like that. It's really rude and the amount of times I've been made fun of and told I have lizard skin is horrifying

It can look anything from a little bit of red and pink to being full on scabs and blood and puss all over ones arm or body part.

Let them itch and then have someone tell them stop itching. It's annoying but realistic. Points if your character immediately stops but tries to find some way to still itch or glares at the other person or says some remark back. Their parents are going to be the number one people to tell them to stop itching

Eczema is uncomfortable. Have them be uncomfortable sometimes because of it

You don't have to make the whole story about it but include little things like them itching or before bed putting on a bunch of lotion. Have them have a favorite outfit bc it feels best on their skin

Use words like: red, patchy, dry, burning, itchy, stiff, and swollen

Avoid things like: spots (for hyper pigmentation), any animal like description, comparison jokes to things like "oh they're as red as that sweater". Stop comparing our skin to objects and animals. It's not funny. This may be a personal thing but it's a huge let peeve if mine and one of the reasons I've always been self conscious about it

Please don't have people make rude comments about it or have random people ask a lot of questions I'm seriously begging you. If you do at least have then give some sort of come back or have the other character asking questions approach it in a more polite and sympathetic way. It's so annoying how many times people will walk up to me and point at my eczema and go "what happened to you?" Or even worse there have been people who think they're going to catch some disease from me. I've dropped my pencil and the person by it kicked it over to me instead of handing it to me bc they took one look at my skin and made a disgusted face. So as realistic as it is so have those things I'm really fucking annoyed by those types of comments and don't want them in my books unless there's a good comeback please and thank you

People are very mean about it and it's the source for the self consciousness so do your best to avoid that bc while I get the person saying it is going to be framed as mean or rude it's still :/

Drawing:

put down your base skin tone

Pick a red tone off of the base

Pick a lighter tone of of the base

Do the same with your shadow and highlight colors

Now you have your skin tone color palette

Draw on white patches and red patches to the proper base tones you used

Don't blend them out. They're distinctive

Just put them on the inside of arms or on fingers and face and neck and legs and wrists at random in blots of all shapes and sizes

Don't draw it as a pattern

Don't use a splatter brush

Feel free to draw on scabs and dark spots here and there

You don't need to draw it like scales or show how dry and flaky it can be if you're a really realistic or more detailed with your art style

Use references

Boom. Done.

It's literally just dry and red skin. We've all had that before. The only difference is it's wide spread. If you can draw skin then you can draw eczema on it

It's not hard.

As always do research! Ask questions! Just be nice and have fun with it! Eczema isn't a big deal but I can't tell you how much it would mean to me to see a character with eczema!

#writing resource #writing reference #eczema #writing eczema #drawing #drawing resource #drawing eczema

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mordremiya · 3 years

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haikyuu characters and their icks

hi this is my first writing post lol

( side note: an ick, if you didn’t know, is basically a headcanon that targets something kind of gross or unhygienic about a character! )

( tw // mentions of throwing up, emetophobia, bodily fluids & excrement, i talk about skin a lot, teenage boys having deplorable hygiene, me ruining your favorite characters )

i’m so sorry for this <3

suga has a retainer and not only wears it to school instead of at night but also takes it out in front of everyone before he eats his lunch

kageyama dabs in 2021 unironically and everyone hypes him up as a joke but he's just so fucking oblivious

ALL of tanaka's socks have holes in the bottom of them

the top of hinata's head smells RANK

yamaguchi has definitely trusted a fart and ended up shitting his pants

kenma's hair is so mf GREASY boy wash ur hair pls

yachi is the "im so short omg" girl

the bottoms of lev and kuroo's feet are YEL👏LOW👏

tsukishima for the love of fuck clean your glasses please we're worried

ukai talks about the 90s in a gatekeep-y way like "you guys wouldn't know this song" and then it's just smells like teen spirit by nirvana

bokuto has MAD dandruff 🤢

ushijima's forehead is so oily and for what

hinata isn't afraid to take a shit in the school bathroom or like any public bathroom

daichi calls you 'kid' or 'sport' regardless of your age

sakusa's face is so dry from washing it constantly and not bothering to use moisturizer EVER

oikawa does not clean his ears and wears earbuds constantly so them shits are clogged

asahi has (what one could consider) a happy trail that grows really patchy and weird looking but he doesn't want to shave it off

the entirety of date tech and fukurodani do not wash their asses <3

you could probably braid asahi's leg hair

oikawa was that kid in elementary school that threw up in gym class one time for no reason

tsukishima is the driest texter. you'll vent or express your genuine concern for something and he'll just respond "um ok?"

all of lev's pants straight up don't fit him and his long ass legs so when he gets up from a chair he always has to readjust his pant legs that rode up

atsumu rolls up the waistband of his gym shorts in an attempt to emphasize his junk but in reality it does nothing and his shorts just get eaten up by his asscheeks

terushima's tongue piercing has gotten infected before bc he was too lazy to take care of it

tendou running with a backpack. that's it

bokuto squares up with pigeons on the street

sakusa impulsively pops all the blackheads on his nose at 2am

tsukishima's elbows are so. ashy.

ushijima has gotten a computer virus from clicking on one of those 'HOT MILFS IN YOUR AREA' ads

oikawa wears white briefs at all times and they look so awkward on him pls

ALL the second years have skid marks

on his flight to argentina, oikawa tripped and fell in the aisle while boarding the plane

lev and suna use reddit

nishinoya wipes back to front

nekoma high, two words: dick stench

pls take a moment to imagine literally any of the characters falling off of a swivel chair while changing a lightbulb

tendou: if i eated soap i dont eat it because i did. no i didnt <3

iwaizumi doesn’t wash his feet

yamaguchi used to wear the really shitty kind of anime merch in middle school. y’know what i’m talking about. the shirts that would say things like “eat. sleep. otaku. repeat”

kenma pees SO LOUDLY. he probably lives on energy drinks too so his piss is straight acid

akaashi has the driest cuticles on this earth and his fingernails are so uneven and have dirt underneath them 🤢

lev smells like old woman soap (if that makes sense) and doesn’t realize until kenma points it out

send me ur thoughts or any other icks you have for them in my ask box pls and thank u <33

ok bye

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bag-of-broadway-snacks · 3 years

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My Cats Non-Replica Pt. 1

Here, for your viewing pleasure and no body’s request, I give you- My ideal Cats non-replica production. Now complete with drawings that make eyes bleed! This is a part one so stay tuned and let me know what you think for 2! (Also this is long as fuck sooo)

Overture Okay, so this production is heavily based on my ragdoll au idea from very long ago. Basically, the production takes place in a little girl’s bedroom. During the overture, we see the girl who own’s the room in front of a curtain, playing with a rag doll version of Munkustrap. As the overture ends, the girl’s mother (double cast as Grizabella) moved onto stage and gestures for the girl to follow. So the girl sets her doll of Munkustrap on a chair and moves backstage. Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats So the curtain lifts revealing the set. We can see large window in the background (with functioning curtains). There’s several things around the room, a bookshelf, a toy chest, a lamp, a doll bed, a teapot, a fallen over hat, and a play tunnel.

Next to the toy chest, there’s also a chair, a bigger replica of the one we saw in the overture. Slumped over on the chair is Munkustrap, sitting seemingly still until his cue. On his cue, he perks up, looking a cross between the usual cats make up and a rag doll. He gets up as many other cat/toys appear out of various corners of the room. Before singing ‘Are you blind when you’re born?’ Munkustrap looks to the window as the curtains open, revealing a large moon in the background. Prompting the Jellicle ball. The rest of the song continues as normal. (Because there aren’t changes, the naming of the cats progresses as normal) Invitation to the Jellicle Ball So this song continues normally, Victoria dancing her solo before Misto starting up the song. In this version, I imagine the little girl will be shortly going on a trip and is allowed to bring only one toy. The Jellicle choice is to decide who will go with her. The Heaviside layer in this case being the outside world. The Old Gumbie Cat To start off the night, Munkustrap begins singing the Old Gumbie Cat, this time however, rather then a car Jennyanydots enters through the toy chest. Misto going over and undoing the latches before lifting the lid with magic. Jennyanydots is half swaddled in a large, leopard print blanket thats extremely fluffy but limited in movement. During the Gumbie Trio’s first verse she has her normal interactions with ‘The mice’ on the side of the stage. In the background, the other cats are scattering toys and paper across the stage in chaos. During the Gumbie Trio’s second verse, Jenny turns around and is shocked at the mess the others have made. Ever orderly, she throws off her blanket to reveal a leopard spot dress and a tiger stripped apron. The tap number in this case being replaced with a choreographed clean up of the room. With Jenny’s ‘Cockroaches’ who are clothed with tissue paper wings, pipe cleaner antenna, and big glasses for eyes. Once the room is clean again Jenny thanks them and the song ends.

The Rum Tum Tugger This one may be my favorite. So as Jenny’s number trails off she continues to move about the room and tidy things up. She goes up to a tipped over tea pot, preparing to put it upright before the lid is pushed off, causing her to jump in surprise. Out of the tea pot comes Rum Tum Tugger, a particularly fluffy rag doll. He looks very similar to his replica design with a few differences. His spots are more obvious and patchy looking, giving us the idea that he’s even worn and repaired with leopard cloth by the child’s mother. Around one leg his tied a pink ribbon and his ‘belt’ is actually a girl’s hairband he’s been dressed up with. He’s also wearing a black biker vest that most likely came from a doll of some sort. He runs around the room, riling up the others with his flirting and generally causing his usual chaos. In this world he’s extremely popular, being one of the owner’s favorite toys. Of course, all the fun stops abruptly as Grizabella appears, crawling out from behind the bookshelf. Grizabella the Glamour Cat

The cats quickly scatter as Grizabella approaches. She’s a beat up toy, ragged with stuffing sticking out in different places. She’s been chewed on by a couple dogs after venturing out of the room to try and find a different place. The scene mostly progresses as normal, everyone shying away from her, the kittens trying to get close but being warded off by the elder toys. Munkustrap shows no emotion but does gently gesture for Griz to leave before things get worse which she obliges, slowly walking away while her song is song behind her. Bustopher Jones

The mood quickly lifts as Bustopher Jones arrives! He’s a wind up toy, big because of all his fancy mechanics and not used very much thus looking extremely well taken care off. They all great him as normal, turning over a hat for him to sit on while presenting him with different plastic foods for him to eat. They even use a sock as a napkin for him. However the atmosphere of fun is broken quickly as the hear aggressive shouting in the background. (Which is the distance voice of the girl’s older brother) they scream Macavity before running for the hills, hiding in various places in the room. Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer As the stage empties, a large puppet theatre is wheeled out. We hear Rumpelteazer’s laughs before the theatre curtain opens, revealing two stringless puppets, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer leap out of the puppet stage and begin their number doing a healthy mix of acrobatics and tearing around the bookshelf, tossing books around and making a show of stealing things like pens and one sock from a pair. Rumpelteazer is wearing a plastic bracelet as a necklace of sorts. They cause their usual mix of chaos before being found out by the rest of the tribe and chased onto the toy box for the next number.

Old Deuteronomy The next song begins as normal, cats pointing out they sense the Jellicle leader and Munkustrap beginning the song with Tugger and the others joining in later. Slowly, Old D enters the stage. He’s a large, cat themed baby blanket and was the girl’s first ever toy and is thus a ‘father’ to Munkustrap and Tugger. (Who are the girl’s favorites) He greets the tribe before sitting on the chair to observe the ball. The Aweful Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles Okay so this basically goes as normal so I won’t describe what happens so much as the designs. So the Pollicles are the toms. They wear dangly earrings hanging off their ears to imitate dog ears, dry erase marker caps on their hands to make their feet, and plastic baggies for their other feet. The Pekes are the queens. They wear socks with holes on their heads, and mittens and bags for their hands and feet. The poms merely have little pom pom hair ties fastened around their ears. Now the Rumpus Cat is the most interesting one here. He’ll be double cast as Admetus and is a nightlight. He has a big Cheshire cat light up mask and a light up chest plate as well with a big R on his chest. Other parts of him will ideally light up as well.

I’m going to skip a bit here, all the way to the second act as there wasn’t much of note during the Jellicle ball portion.

#cats the musical #cats non replica #my ideas #rum tum tugger #jennyanydots #munkustrap #bustopher jones #mungojerrie #rumpelteazer #old deuteronomy #grizabella #jellicle cats #pekes and pollicles #part one #my shitty art #long post

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

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Could I perhaps persuade you into sharing something more from your wips 👀 cause I would like to see it.

They're always hilarious, such a fun read 💖

Okay alright okay alright you’re getting:

That’s an After-Breakfast-Problem: How Danma Takeru Accidentally Got a Cat

Warnings: drunkenness, drug mentions, a teensy bit of sexuality thrown in there, absolute tomfoolery

Rating: PG-13

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It’s half-past three in the morning when Takeru stumbles through his apartment door. He’s sober enough to remember to lock it behind him, but drunk enough to trip over his own two feet and faceplant onto the hardwood floor.

“Whyyyyyyy,” he whines, head aching from impact...and definitely not the extra B-52 shot the flirty bartender gave him on the way out.

Rolling over onto his back is a Herculean effort, and he makes sure to moan and groan the entire time—just in case anyone thought he was having an easy go of it. His boots (the extra cool ones, red with the buckles on the sides) are lazily kicked off, landing somewhere by the door with two loud, hollow thuds.

Takeru has slipped halfway into sleep when he realizes that it’s really, really hot in here. Like, ‘hair-sticking-to-his-forehead-and-shirt-plastered-to-his-back’ hot. Like, ‘Satan-called-and-he-wants-his-space-heater-back’ hot. Like, ‘that-scene-in-Pretty-Woman-with-the-piano’ hot.

Hot enough that Takeru tugs the leopard-print shirt over his head and tosses it across the room, not caring that it lands in a wrinkle-inducing lump on the kitchen floor.

“Still too fucking hot,” he says with a scowl, hands now working to shimmy his leather pants down his hips. Was leather in August a good idea? No. But did his ass look incredible the entire night? Yes, yes it did, and that’s what really matters.

Left only in his underwear and socks, Takeru has started to feel somewhat better. So much better, he is able to pick himself up off the floor and drag his legs to the kitchen sink to slam back a glass of water. And then another one. And he realizes that he’s probably going to wake up like three times to take a piss in the middle of the night, but that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to feel the cool caress of liquid at the back of his throat.

It’s on a whim that Takeru opens the kitchen window—barely more than a crack, just enough to let in a bit of summer breeze—before trudging his way to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother changing into his pajamas, he doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, he doesn’t even take the time to moisturize—he simply flops onto the bed and lets sleep take him, fuzzy-brained and covered in drying sweat.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Takeru starts off the next morning the same way he always does: regretful. His phone reads 8:23, which means he slept nearly four-and-a-half hours—which for him, qualifies as a full night of sleep. Despite the water he gulped down the night before, he’s still managed to earn himself a bit of a hangover; and while it’s not unexpected per se, he’s not pleased about it, either.

Well, there are few things better for a hangover than a hot shower, and Takeru indulges in turning the water temperature to near-scalding. After shaving and brushing his teeth, he feels like he might actually be able to survive the morning—provided he have a cup (or four) of coffee to help him along the way.

And it’s when he’s a quarter of the way into his first mug of dark roast that he considers the clothes so pitifully strewn across the floor—unfortunately, left there by his own hand instead that of an eager lover—and sighs. The pants will be fine, but the shirt? That’ll need dry cleaned for sure. And there’s a weird-looking stain on the one sleeve...

And then it moves. The shirt, balled up and left previously inanimate, is wiggling. Takeru jumps, sloshing a splash of coffee onto his foot and wincing at the burn.

Haunted shirt, haunted shirt, haunted shirt, his mind screams as he stumbles backwards, until he’s pressed flat against the refrigerator. If he was less terrified, he’d commend the spirit on its impeccable taste in sartorial matters, but right now? Right now, though, he’s dialing Aguni’s number in a panic.

“Please tell me I did drugs last night,” Takeru begs the second he hears Aguni pick up, “I’ve gotta be tripping balls right now.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Mori-chan, this is serious! My shirt,” Takeru whispers, “is moving!”

“Are you wearing the shirt? Because if you’re moving, the shirt’s gonna move too.”

“No,” Takeru snaps, “it’s the shirt I left on the floor last night. Oh, fuck, it just did it again!”

“Did what?”

“It moved, Mori-chan, keep up!” Takeru runs a shaky hand through his hair, “Fuck, man, this is not good...”

“Do you need me to come over?”

In that moment, Takeru feels his eyes well up in tears—in one eye, those tears belong to fear, and in the other, they belong to sentiment. What a beautiful thing it is to be loved by friends!

“I don’t want to trouble you—“

“Yes you do. Troubling me is your favorite hobby. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Relief washes over Takeru—for a handful of seconds, until he notices that his shirt is now apparently breathing.

“Just...try not to do anything stupid until I get there, okay?”

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Aguni stands in front of Takeru’s door and sighs. The twenty minutes he had promised his friend over the phone had doubled—partly because the line at the donut shop had been particularly long, and partly because he had taken his time, dreading whatever mess he was going to find.

Balancing the paper bag of food in one arm and unlocking the door with the other, Aguni takes a deep breath and steels himself for the worst.

“I brought breakfast,” he calls out, kicking off his shoes, “got a croissant for the haunted shirt, in case it wants something.”

“Great news!” Takeru shouts, “Shirt’s not haunted, I’m not high, and I’m a dad now!”

Aguni’s head snaps up.

“Excuse me?”

And he sees Takeru, sitting with his elbows on the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands like a love-struck schoolgirl. In front of him is...well, it’s probably a cat, lapping milk from a saucer.

It’s important to note that this...thing looks like an absolute mess. A scraggly little lump of brown and black fur—matted and tangled and patchy and just generally sad-looking—with a missing eye and half a tail.

At least it’s not an actual child, Aguni thinks to himself, dropping the bag of donuts on the table and taking a seat opposite Takeru. The cat-like shape looks up at him and blinks.

“Mori-chan, this is Ziggy,” Takeru says, petting his index finger along the cat-thing’s head, “Ziggy, this is your Uncle Mori.”

“I’m gonna be real with you with you, Takeru,” Aguni says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a chocolate-iced ring, “I was sure you were hallucinating when we spoke on the phone.”

Ziggy purrs and rubs his nose along Takeru’s hand before dipping his head back down to the saucer and settling back into his meal.

“I know, right?” Takeru leans over the feasting little feline and grabs a jelly-filled pastry from the bag, careful not to get powdered sugar on his new friend, “But, apparently, this little guy snuck in through the window last night and thought my shirt would make the perfect bed. He blended right into the fabric, and that’s why I thought my shirt was haunted!”

Frankly, it’s embarrassing to witness Takeru turn his attention to Ziggy and start cooing about how “fashionable” and “brilliant” this weird little cat is. And it’s especially weird when he hears Takeru refer to himself as “daddy” in a non-sexual context, which...well, maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing?

“Sounds like you’re keeping him,” Aguni says with a chuckle. They make quite a pair, but he’s beginning to think that Ziggy would be good for his eccentric best friend. Something to come home to at night, something to care for...something to cough up hairballs onto his shoes and keep him humble.

“How can you say that,” Takeru chides, “when Fate has clearly brought us together for a reason? He is my son, and nothing will come between me and my son!”

“Except a bath, hopefully,” Aguni says, “he’s looking a little...rough.”

In a worrying display of language comprehension, Ziggy looks Aguni in the eye and lets out a pathetic little yelp, which sounds like someone squeezed a dog toy that is also a four-pack-a-day smoker. Even Aguni can’t help but smile a little at that.

“That’s an ‘After-Breakfast-Takeru Problem,’” Takeru says, merrily munching on his pastry.

I imagine we’re going to have a lot of those, Aguni thinks to himself, but...well. That’s an ‘After-Breakfast-Aguni Problem.’

#alice in borderland #danma takeru #hatter #alice in borderland netflix #morizono aguni #writings and such #listen guys I’m very passionate about him having a cat okay???#he’s a cat guy you can just tell #also if anyone was gonna own a haunted shirt it’d be him

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theskywaslookingback · 4 years

Text

Intimacy

Content Warnings: Martin has a couple of anxiety moments that border on panic attacks. There is also a discussion about consent where Martin feels he may be making Jon do something he doesn’t want to do, though this gets resolved. This has been given a T and up rating.

Jon wakes up in a honey cocoon of warmth, trapped under the weight of Gerry’s arm slung over his chest and Martin’s leg hitched over his hip. He drifts there in that sweet in between, drunk on the relief of sleep he so rarely gets, and has half a mind to fall back asleep that way. The sun is just barely beginning to creep in through the half slotted shades of their window casting soft hues of yellow and orange across the light linen of their bedding. It’s enough light to make out Martin’s dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he dreams, the soft spill of freckles across the bridge of his nose. In the end that’s what keeps Jon awake, tracing the line of freckles with his eyes and then, eventually, with the gentlest touch of his hand.

Martin hums when the movement wakes him, despite Jon’s care not to do so. His eyelashes flutter and then warm brown eyes are watching him, sleep soft and half amused. Martin takes hold of Jon’s wrist and brings his hand down to press a kiss to the center of his palm.

“Hi,” Jon whispers, his fingers curling to brush Martin’s cheekbone.

“Hi,” Martin whispers back, his mouth pressed against Jon’s skin.

Gerry breathes out heavily against Jon’s neck, and his hand tightens its hold on Jon’s shirt. His voice, when it comes, is rough and dry, “Hush. S’early.”

Jon laughs. It was a kind of startled sound, like Jonathan Sims wasn’t used to laughing, a kind of punched out breath of a noise. He feels Gerry grip him tighter, the baring of teeth against his throat like an animal.

Martin pitches forward across Jon’s chest to kiss the top of Gerry’s head.

Gerry bats at him irritably, but when he finally picks his head up there is no anger in his eyes. He does look exhausted, though, dark circles under his eyes and a furrow in his brow.

Martin must see it too because he settles back a little, his mouth turning down in a worried little frown. His hand curls around the back of Gerry’s head, and Jon can see his fingers rubbing little circles against the taut skin there. “Sorry.” Martin mumbles.

Gerry shakes his head, his hand curling around Martin’s wrist to keep his hand in place.

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and the sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Gerry says, clearing his throat.

“I--” Martin rushes out an exhale of a breath, an anxious sound Jon is all too familiar with.

Jon may not understand the nuances of speech that Gerry seems to be able to pick up on with Martin, but that sound he’s familiar with. He tucks himself closer to Martin, wriggling against him until he can press his head under Martin’s chin and tuck himself into his body. Jon is all bone, sharp elbows and hard skull, but he pretends not to notice the little flinches when he digs in wrong. He doesn’t settle until Gerry presses a hand against his spine to keep him still, and then he feels Gerry settle in close behind him. They’re crowding Martin, something that would ratchet Jon’s anxiety into a full blown panic attack, but has never failed to soothe Martin. He told them once he liked the closeness, that it reminded him he wasn’t alone. That they needed him.

“It’s alright.” Gerry says, once they’ve settled. “I can take a nap later.”

“Okay.” Martin breathes, slow and deliberate, and Jon can’t help but press a kiss to the center of his chest for it. Proud. “Yeah, okay.”

Jon feels Gerry’s hand in his hair, brushing it out of the way so he can press a kiss to the nape of his neck. It makes him shiver. Martin’s hand settles over his hip, big and warm like the rest of him and Jon tries to press in closer. He wouldn’t be satisfied even if they could share a body, he thinks, there was no true way to ever have them close enough.

Martin’s legs tangle with his, bare feet brushing against Jon’s socked ones, and Jon is suddenly struck with a want so frantic it makes his head swim.

Jon starts to squirm again, this time in an effort to put some distance between their bodies.

“Jon? Are you alright? Do you need some space?” Martin asks, taking his hands off of Jon.

Gerry shifts back too, giving Jon room to sit up.

“No, I--” Jon’s mouth feels dry and heavy, like someone has stuffed it with cotton. “I-I need you to lie on your back. I want to do something to you.”

Martin’s eyebrows raise in something like shock. “I-- what?” His voice goes a little high at the end, blood rushing to his cheeks.

It takes a confused moment, but then Jon feels an embarrassed flush start to burn his ears. “Oh, not-- not like that! Um, not a sexual thing, I just--” Jon chews on his bottom lip and stares up at the ceiling, red all the way down to his chest, “I would like to kiss your thighs? If- if you’ll let me.”

“Okay?” Martin says, a bit nonsensically, his voice still a bit shrill.

“You don’t--” Jon feels Gerry’s hand settle on his back, gently as though soothing a skittish animal. It’s grounding. Jon takes a breath and tries again. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with that. I just-- the thought came to me and it’s something I would like to try.”

“Why?” Martin blurts. He looks genuinely confused and it makes Jon’s chest ache terribly. He reaches out to cup Martin’s face in his hands.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Martin sucks in a wet breath and closes his eyes. “Alright.” He croaks, after a long moment.

“Are you sure?” Jon asks, “Because I don’t-- if you’re not comfortable--”

“No, it’s-- Gerry?”

“I’m right here.” Gerry says. He still has his hand on Jon, but he leans in close so he can tuck his face over Jon’s shoulder. “I’m here and nothing bad will happen.”

Martin nods, turning his face to press a wet kiss into Jon’s palm. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Martin laughs and Jon feels the knot in his chest release.

It takes a moment to rearrange. Martin on his back with Gerry plastered to his side and Jon down between Martin’s legs. It’s a novel view, Jon thinks, and he quite likes it if he’s honest. He lets himself lay there on his stomach for a bit, trailing his hand gently over the coarse dark hair on Martin’s shin and calf. He presses his lips to a knee first, unable to help himself when his fingers drag over a patchy road rash scar from Martin’s youth. He hears Martin’s sharp inhale and moves his focus upward.

Like the rest of him, Martin’s thighs are big and soft. Covered in that same wiry dark hair that covers his lower legs but sparser and a little softer. Jon lets his fingers map the skin there, brushing over very thin, parallel lines of scar tissue with as gentle of a touch as he knows how. He wants to commit it all to memory, pushing up the material of Martin’s sleeping shorts so he can see more, touch more.

“Jon, focus.” Gerry says softly.

There’s just so much for Jon to touch, to taste. He closes his eyes and just presses his face into Martin’s leg to stifle a noise. There’s a hand in his hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding. It must be Martin’s because it’s so careful not to pull.

Jon looks upward. “Sorry, I--”

“It’s alright.” Martin’s still red faced, flushed from his ears down his neck to wear it disappears under his shirt. “It’s-- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Jon furrows his brow, his lips turning down, “I’m the one that asked you.”

“That doesn’t mean you consent to-to turning me on or--” Martin sputters.

Jon swallows. “Oh, is that what you’re upset about? That- that I’ll be mad if you--”

“Yes,” Martin exclaims in a rush of breath, “I just-- there are boundaries and I don’t always know where they are and I don’t want to push you past them if you’re not comfortable.” He takes a sharp breath, “And I don’t want you to push past your own discomfort to-to make me happy or--”

“Stop.” Gerry says softly. He curls his hand over Martin’s heart. “Take a breath.”

Martin does, though it sounds painful.

Jon tries to rock back, but Martin’s hand holds him in place, so he just awkwardly rests against Martin’s thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin in an effort to soothe away the tension gathered there.

“Good Martin,” Gerry says, “let’s talk, okay? It sounds like you’re worried about putting Jon into a sexual situation that he can’t escape from, is that what you’re worried about?”

“Well I-- yeah.”

“Jon, if you become uncomfortable at any time would you let us know?”

“Of course,” Jon says.

“And would you ever swallow your discomfort just to make us happy?”

“No.” Jon says and pushes up into Martin’s hand as if to make a point. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Martin shudders out a breath. In and out. In and out. Until finally he goes pliant under Jon’s hands. Jon presses a kiss to his thigh in thanks, his eyes falling shut.

“Sorry,” Martin mumbles, “sorry for-- for doubting you, I guess, Jon. I know, well...I know better, I suppose.”

“It’s alright.” Jon says, gently squeezing Martin’s leg. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I think I’m alright now. The, uh, the knot in my chest is gone.”

“Good.” Gerry hums and presses a kiss to Martin’s neck.

“Thank you Gerry.” Martin says and tilts his head down for a kiss.

Jon shifts Martin’s leg over his shoulder, pinning the other thigh down with his hand. He takes his time, covering the skin with his lips and fingers until he’s satisfied. Little purple bruises bloom under his teeth and tongue and Martin hums softly when he presses at them gently with his thumb.

He switches to the other leg, holding and kissing until his mouth feels sore and the skin is slick with sweat and saliva. Martin’s hand in his hair alternates between scratching at his scalp gently and cradling the back of his skull. When he finally feels satisfied the sun is well past rising and Gerry climbs out of bed with a grumble about making something to eat.

Jon crawls up to take his place against Martin’s side, tangling his fingers into a small hole near the bottom of his sleep shirt and making it worse. Martin presses a kiss to his temple, sweet and slow.

“Thank you.” Martin says, though for what Jon doesn’t know.

“Do you think Gerry will bring us something to eat?” Jon asks.

“Probably not.”

“Mm,” Jon untangles his hand from Martin’s shirt like he means to get up, “we should get up then.”

“In a minute,” Martin says, reaching for him. Jon goes easily, allows himself to be pulled fully across Martin’s chest. “Just-- stay with me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Jon says, pressing a kiss to the first open bit of skin he can reach. “Okay.”

#fic #my fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerard keay #jongerrymartin #visible world

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

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Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC

Warning: Language, sexual conversation, insecurity

Rating: M

Chapter 4 || Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Hvitserk watched in silence as his brother stalked into their suite, slamming the door behind him. “You’re back early, brother,” he called from the sofa, where watched a rerun of a classic Austria vs Germany soccer match.

Ivar was going through it. His legs were hurting and so were his feelings. He wanted to still be kissing Cash and possibly doing more but, he needed to talk to Ubbe. Gah.. why wasn't going like how he had rehearsed it in his head?

Sitting on the side of the bed, he removed his leg braces before reaching over to gather the leather binding straps. As he secured the straps around his calves, he hit the speed dial number on his phone again and listened to it ring. Refusing to leave another voice message, he slid off the bed and crawled into the living room.

“I need to talk to Bubbe but, he’s not answering his phone.” Ivar sat beside the coffee table and uncapped a beer from Hvitserk’s pack, “I can’t find Bjorn, so you will have to do. But, I swear if you interrupt me or make fun of me, I will kill you.”

Hvitserk turned the volume down on his game and tilted his bottle in his brother's direction. For once in his life, he would try to remain quiet.

“I want to have sex with Cash.” There he said it. Ivar had bared his soul. So, why was Hvitserk just looking at him like that? Where was all the brotherly advice that he was supposed to be giving?

Hvitserk’s eyes looked around the room in confusion while he waited for Ivar to finish. After a few seconds, he realized his brother had stopped talking. “Okay. So?”

“So? So, that’s the problem. I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Hvitserk took a long swallow from his beer before picking up the remote and increasing the volume. This was a stupid conversation, and even though he had seen this game before he would much rather keep watching it than have Ivar go into detail about any erectile dysfunctions he'd experienced. “You know where to stick your pecker. Just put it in there and move it around.”

Ivar looked at his brother in disgust. “I hate you.” He set his beer on the table and crawled out onto the balcony. At the rate he was going, he would be smoking two packs a day if he didn’t get his anxiety under control soon. As soon as he made it to the chairs, he hoisted himself onto one and lit a cigarette. He looked back into the living room, wishing he could have brought his beer with him, but refused to ask Hvitserk for help. Instead, he took his hair down from its bun, placed the band on his wrist, and began to rub his temples.

This was not Hvitserk’s wheelhouse. Being all big brotherly to Ivar was not something he had ever been good at. Hvitserk liked to live by the 3 F’s of life – food, fucking and fun. Having a deep, personal conversation about anyone's problems be them physical, mental, or sexual didn’t exactly fit into any of those categories. He loved his little brother, that wasn’t even a question. But this…this was Ubbe’s deal. Hvitserk had always been the brother that would fight for Ivar if needed. He was the one that would drive him to the store in the middle of the night when they smoked pot and they got the munchies. Hvitserk was the brother that always tried to hook Ivar up with the friends and relatives of girls that he dated. But talking about his feelings and shit? Damn Ubbe for being busy.

Reluctantly, Hvitserk turned off the television. He grabbed the beer and Ivar’s phone before walking out to the balcony. He placed the bottle in front of his brother and took his pack of cigarettes in return for his trouble. Once he lit up, he took a seat and put his feet on the railing. "Here,” he said, sliding the phone over to Ivar.

Ivar dialed Ubbe’s number for the fourth time since leaving Cash’s hotel room. Resting his thumb against the bridge of his nose, he let the smoke escape his mouth. He left his shoulders drooped when Ubbe’s voice message answered, “Hey, Boob, it’s Ivy again. Call me when you have a chance. I need advice and Serk’s an ass that knows nothing,” he rolled his eyes at Hvitserk, then looked back at the ground. “Thanks. Bye.”

“Okay, Ivy…What’s up?” Hvitserk blew the smoke from his nose just before swallowing his beer. “Why can’t you fuck this girl?” He scratched his patchy beard with his thumb, “She likes you, no?” He watched Ivar nod. “So, what’s the problem?”

Ivar let out a frustrated sigh. Did he really want to go down this road with Hvitserk? If he talked to him now, he was going to be made fun of for the rest of his life. But, then again, Hvitserk did have almost as many women as Bjorn, and he didn’t have to marry them. Maybe he actually knew something about women. It was doubtful, but how much could it hurt?

“I really like her. A lot. But, I can’t…I’m not…I haven’t.” Ivar stuttered. His lips vibrated as he exhaled in frustration.

“What?” Hvitserk fought with everything he had not to smile. He pressed his beer bottle to his lips and held it there, so he could concentrate on something else besides the corners of his lips turning up.

Ivar looked over the balcony at the city lights and took a deep breath. “I have trouble with sex, Serk. It hasn’t gone so well before.” He took another deep drag of his cigarette. “When I was with Freydis, we tried a few times, but I couldn’t…you know.

Hvitserk wouldn’t let that damn beer bottle go from his lips. He held it to his mouth for dear life. Instead, his eyes just grew wide as he looked around the balcony, feigning ignorance. He raised his brows to signal that he had no idea what Ivar was referring to.

“I’ve never had an orgasm.” There he said it. Ivar paused and looked at Hvitserk for a reaction. He even waited for a second for him to laugh or get all of his jokes out, but he didn’t. Instead, Hvitserk cleared his throat and shook his head as if he was shocked.

Finishing the rest of his beer in a few swallows, Hvitserk reached over to grab another. If this talk was going to continue, he was going to need a lot more alcohol. He opened the top, took a pull off of his cigarette, and leaned his elbows on his legs. “Do you jerk off?”

“What?”

“Jerk off? Do you?”

“No,” Ivar could feel his cheeks starting to burn hot with embarrassment.

Hvitserk squared his brother with an incredulous look. “Oh, come on, Ivy. You’re not 13 anymore. It’s not like the time I walked in on you with your pecker in your hand and you said you were just checking it out because you thought you might have broken another bone.” He laughed out loud at that memory, “I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now.”

Ivar was sure his face was as red as Hvitserk's socks, by now.

“It’s your meat, you can beat it.” Hvitserk laid a hand on his brother’s trying to seem compassionate. “Do you finish yourself off when you do it?”

If Ivar could run, he would have. If he could fly, he would have jumped off the balcony and flown home. Talking to Ubbe was never this embarrassing. Why wasn't he answering his phone, damn him?

Reluctantly, Ivar shrugged, neither confirming or denying Hvitserk's question.

“Oh, Ivy…you're looking at this all wrong. This is a great problem to have!” Hvitserk sat his beer down and slapped his brother on the thigh. He watched as Ivar’s eyebrows raised. “My dear, brother, do you know how many women want a man that can go all night? You’ve heard of the Kama Sutra? Tantric sex? You should be fucking all the time. Tell me, my little Padawan,” he sat back in his seat with an interested look on his face, “what do you know about orgasm denial?”

Ivar grabbed his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. He looked at his brother with disgust, “Stay away from me.” He slid off the chair and started to make his way to the door to go back into the living room before he turned around to glare at Hvitserk one last time, "Don’t talk to me. Ever.”

“What?” Hvitserk turned around in his chair, “I thought it was a good talk!”

“I did not wake you up, did I?’’ Ivar rolled over in the bed and faced the window. He had yet to turn the lamp off, but leaving the light on would alert Hvitserk that he was still awake. The last thing he wanted was to talk to him anymore ever again. “I am not used to sleeping without speaking to you first.”

Cash retucked the ends of her silk scarf around her head as she balanced the phone on her shoulder, “No. I was just getting ready for bed. I had the best shower. I twisted my hair...”

“What are you wearing?” Ivar smiled into the phone.

“A night shirt and boxers.”

“A shirt and boxers - nothing sexier?” Ivar smiled thinking about what she smelled like fresh from the shower. What scent soap did she use? She looked like she would use something soft like peony and chamomile, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Maybe if I reason to...Oooh,” she laughed light-heartedly, “shots fired.”

Ivar laughed with her. “So much for being a gentleman, huh?”

“A gentleman? You’re a choir boy.” She smiled and picked at her nail polish. Unfolding her legs from beneath her, she placed her feet on the floor feeling for her slippers. “I mean, I thought I was shy.”

He pulled the covers over his legs and hummed. “Now you know my secret. I have always been shy. I can talk when no one is around. But in my face, I cannot. I get embarrassed.” He extended his arm and watched himself open and close his hand. “There is so much I wish I could say to you.”

“Like what?” She got off the couch and made her way to the bedroom.

His voice was soft when he answered her, “I’d tell you that I did not want to leave tonight. Or that I wish we could sleep in one another’s arms, finally. Oh wait, hang on.” Ivar rolled toward the door when he heard Hvitserk knock, “What?” He asked impatiently. When the door opened, Ivar’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “What are you doing here?”

She was wearing a mid-thigh length baseball jersey nightshirt, and what wasn't covered by the jersey was hidden beneath a pair of boxer shorts. She also wore a colorful headwrap that was tied almost like a turban. It wasn’t a look that he would classify as sexy, but the way she was standing there, smiling around that bottom lip in between her teeth. It was enough to take his breath away.

“Your brother texted me. He said you wanted me to come over.” She stood in the doorway trying to formulate another sentence, but the words were escaping her. Should she not have come? Did he want her there? She couldn't tell from his face if he was happy to see her or not.

Besides that, he was wearing a tank top. Though most of his torso was still covered, she could see the large tattoo piece he had described to her running across his back, shoulders and across his chest. And what a back, chest, pair of shoulders and arms it was. It was a sight to behold.

He was at a loss for words. Hvitserk texted her? How did he get her phone number? When did he have a chance to text her? “Hvitserk?!”

Ivar yelled, sitting on the bed, unsure what else to do at that moment. Part of him wanted to invite Cash into his room, while the other half of him wanted to crawl away and hide. However, the biggest part of him wanted to find his brother and kick his ass.

Ivar waited not making eye contact with her, instead choosing to look out into the empty hallway for this asshole to appear.

“Yeah?” Hvitserk answered casually, walking to Ivar’s door peeling his orange. He looked genuinely clueless as to why Ivar was yelling for him this time of night. When he looked over at his brother, who raised his shoulder and gave him a WTF look, he simply popped an orange slice in his mouth. “I took her number before I gave you the phone,” he replied in English, chewing loudly, before swallowing. “You need to talk to her – not me, not Boob.” With that, Hvitserk smiled at them both, nodded goodnight, and pulled the bedroom door behind him. “You are welcome.”

Cash and Ivar were silent for a few seconds more before Cash cleared her throat and stepped further into the room. As she approached the bed, she looked at Ivar for permission. “You still wanna have a sleepover?"

Reluctantly, he touched the edge of the covers. He started to tell her what to expect when it came to his legs but figured since he wearing pajama bottoms he wouldn’t have to. Not tonight, anyway. It’s not like they were going to be naked, even though he wanted them to be, he wouldn’t let it get that far. “I told you I crawl without my…”

“Do you plan on us having a sleepwalking race tonight?” Ivar shook his head. “Then you don’t need to explain anything to me. Just be you.” She took a seat on the bed and pulled the covers over her legs.

She couldn’t believe it. After all this time, she was finally next to Ivar. This was surreal on so many levels. She didn’t care about the fact that he didn’t disclose all of his secrets to her, nor did she care that he couldn’t walk. The only thing she did care about was that he was real and he was gentle and amazing and smelled good.

She couldn’t quite place what products he’d used but his damp hair smelled like fruit and his body had that woodsy men’s body wash smell. It wasn’t as sexy as the cologne he’d had on earlier, but those pheromone undertones of his were still putting her ovaries in an uproar.

Ivar laid back on his pillows and extended his arm, inviting her into his personal space. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to ask or not, but making the gesture seemed like a good start. When her head found the space between his chest and shoulder, and he closed his arm around her body, all felt right with the world. “I just need a little bit of time, okay?”

“For what?” she asked wrapping her arm around his waist.

Ivar closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. Coconuts. "To be what you expected.”

“You already are.”

Taglist: @oddsnendsfanfics @a-mess-of-fandoms @waiting4inspiration@simsadventures @chipster-21 @tgrrose @alicedopey @ariesxslytherin @laketaj24 @we-are-only-halfway-home93 @thelastemzy @becacosta27 @naaladareia @alexa4040 @absolutelynotanidiot @pokeasleepingsmaug @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @skadithegoddess @dina-m16 @tiyetiye @synnersaint @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @moonlightsspirit @the-jess-life @geekandbooknerd @dreamlesswonder86 @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius @cruelfvckingsummer @mummybear @flowers-in-your-hayr @honestsycrets @thatendymion @jzr201

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star-linedsoul · 3 years

Text

Ask Game

Thanks for tagging me, @wordspin-shares!

1. What is the color of your hairbrush?

Black and turquoise

2. Name a food you never eat

Sauerkraut

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Too warm

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Editing some writing

5. What’s your favorite candy bar?

Hershey’s Cookies & Cream

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game?

Yes

7. What is the last thing you said out loud?

“No, Molly. You can’t go. You weren’t invited.” to my dog as she tried to follow my dad out the door. XD

8. What is your favorite ice cream?

Cookie dough or mint chocolate chip

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?

Coke

10. Do you like your wallet?

Yes! I got it for myself from the Vera Bradley Harry Potter collection and I LOVE it!!!

11. What is the last thing you ate?

Pancakes made for me by my dad!

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

Do earrings count?

13. What’s the last sporting event you watched?

College football...OSU vs Kansas State

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

White Cheddar

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to?

One of my tutoring clients

16. Ever been camping?

Yes

17. Do you take vitamins?

Yes

18. Do you regularly attend a place of worship?

I used to...but I usually have to work on Sundays now.

19. Do you have a tan?

Not really...it’s a patchy tan XD

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

Chinese

21. Do you drink your soda through a straw?

Only at restaurants

22. What color socks do you usually wear?

Black

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

I’m pretty much always driving five miles over...it’s a terrible habit. Don’t be like me, kids! XP

24. What terrifies you?

Lack of control of my situation

25. Look to your left, what do you see?

Clean dishes I should probably put away

26. What chore do you hate most?

Mopping

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

“G’Day!”

28. What’s your favorite soda?

Coke

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?

Drive thru

30. What’s your favorite number?

I wouldn’t say I have a favorite, but the number 117 pops up in my life A LOT

31. Who’s the last person you talked to?

The secretary of the local elementary school on the phone; my dad in person

32. Favorite meat?

Venison or beef

33. Last song you listened to?

Living After Midnight by Judas Priest

34. Last book you read?

The Man Who Shot My Eye Out is Dead, Chanelle Benz

35. Favorite day of the week?

Wednesday

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards?

Yes!

37. How do you like your coffee?

With two sugars and a dash of Hershey’s International Delight creamer

38. Favorite pair of shoes?

My Converse sneakers...they’re my everyday shoe!

39. Time you usually get up?

Depends on the day...usually around 9am

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunset?

Sunset

41. How many blankets on your bed?

Just one

42. Describe your kitchen plates

White with gold trim

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment

Mostly cleaned but a bit cluttered because I have some stuff piled up that I need to sort

44. Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?

The Malibu Barbie-Malibu rum with pineapple juice and a splash of grenadine

45. Do you play cards?

Sometimes...I really like Blackjack and Poker and my sister usually suckers me into playing Uno with her.

46. What color is your car?

“Galaxy Blue” according to the owner’s manual

47. Can you change a tire?

Absolutely! Won’t see me stuck on the side of the highway waiting for help! O.o

48. Favorite state or province?

I haven’t been everywhere yet, but I have a fondness for Texas

49. Favorite job you’ve had?

Waiting tables at the local cafe has been my favorite so far...great customers, great coworkers, and the BEST boss! Unfortunately, they closed due to Covid. :(

Tagging: @howdy-writes, @bad-carrot, @darknightfrombeyond, @viragosouls

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chickenscript · 4 years

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specs (rottmnt x reader)

A/N: originally wrote this a couple months ago. i haven't been keeping up very well with things lately honestly (-｡-;

it's mostly platonic and started out as an idea based on donnie having glasses being cannon. then it turned into a bit of angst. there's just a lot more going on than what i planned for.

hope you all enjoy though!

and sorry again for the spotty updates. i'm having another dive in mojo and it's been hard to think things up. but i'll write when i can and try to get to stuff in my inbox soon (^◇^；)

---

Donnie didn't wear glasses much anymore.

He ditched his specs for contact lens the moment he could. Being around his rowdy brothers always shortened the life span of his glasses and he was done with repairs and having to scour for replacements. But, there's still occasions where he needs to refresh his stock of contact lens and has to break out his glasses in the meantime.

The softshell turtle huffed and pushed his glasses up his snout again, squinting a bit as he looked at the parts of his newest project that he was stitching the wire guts together for. There was a steady thump going in the back of his head. He lost track of how long he'd been working hours ago and his vision was starting to get slightly hazey.

He sat up in his chair, stretching to relieve the crick in his back and rolled his shoulders with a rumble. The blades felt as stiff as his back muscles but the discomfort wasn't anything new.

Donnie pulled off his glasses to swab at a greasy smudge on the lens with a handkerchief from his work table, and he could hear footsteps and the crinkle of plastic bags approaching his lab.

“Hey Dee.”

He turned in his chair, placing his glasses back onto his face.

You had a plastic slung over your shoulder- probably filled with some goodies you got on the way there from some 24/7 store, and your bookbag.

You let out a gentle guffaw when you spot the change in your friend’s look, “Since when did you wear glasses?”

Donatello sat back, checking notifications on his phone as you asked.

“Well, who said I never did. There’s such a thing as contact lens.” he answered matter of factly.

You go up to his work table to drop your haul of snacks down and shoulder off your bookbag.

“I mean, I knew you wore contact lens but I’ve never seen you with those.” you’re obviously staring at him still and he looks up at you from over the rim of his square framed glasses.

They’re held together by tape in the middle and it was like he’s never not worn them in front you before.

You tilt your head and give a slight smile, “They look good on you.”

Donnie isn’t really sure how to take the compliment and uses a skinny finger to push up his glasses again.

“Thanks.” he mumbled, clicking off the screen of his phone and dropping it back onto his desk.

You start sifting through the snacks you bought, “I stopped by that Asian market again- they had some great deals today.”

It was always a cheap spot to get good Japanese munchies from, but there were some really good sales tonight. You pulled out a few bottles of ramune, lining them up on the table, and then a few packs of various chips and tossed one to Donnie that you knew he was very fond of.

It crunched in his grasp as he caught it with ease, and he quickly popped it open. A salty, savory scent wafting into his snout.

He looked over at the time in the corner of one of the monitors on his work table.

“Only 3am?”

You chuckled, “How long has it been since you last slept anyway?”

The turtle hummed for a moment, posing his fingers against his chin thoughtfully.

“Two days maybe.”

You remember his longest sleepless stint was five days. He crashed severely hard and got a head cold. He was miserable for about two weeks after that, mostly because his body kept forcing him to shut down and sleep much earlier and frequently than he would normally.

“Haven’t even napped?” his sleeping system had a lot to do with him taking several hour naps in between working before crashing at some point and getting legit bed rest.

“No.” he yawned, his pointy molars peeking out.

“Well, I think it’s bed time.”

He grunted from under the crunch of his crab and seaweed flavored chips, giving you a look.

You pulled your sweatshirt over your head and threw it Donnie’s way. He ducked- not that you expected to hit him. You also slipped off your shoes, thinking about how it was hitting the colder months now. But, it was especially cold for November because of the Arctic blast heading over the states. Your fingers and toes were definitely feeling the backlash, and you probably should’ve worn a jacket.

You knew the colder weather has been affecting the boys too.

Despite Donnie not wanting to sleep, you could see the lethargy written on his face. Probably didn’t help that he was only wearing sweats.

You started to rethink the ramune and crave something warmer.

“I’m gonna go make some hot chocolate. Pick out a movie.”

Donnie grumbled a reply and you padded out the lab on your toes.

The other turtles had long since went to bed, or at least you thought they did, so it spooked you when you nearly ran into Leo.

He was coming from the direction of the bathroom and looked awfully run down.

“Oh hey,” your name got caught up in a long, showy yawn. Even the red stripes on his face look a little duller, like they were as tired as the turtle.

You chuckle off the scare and knocked on his plastron with a knuckle. You were surprised he didn’t have a shirt on with his baggy pajama pants and tube socks.

“Hey sleepyhead. I’m making hot chocolate- think you can stay up long enough to wait for a cup?”

Leonardo sleepily nodded and followed you to the kitchen. You kept him awake while you prepped the hot cocoa with some idle chatter. Once you talked about the blandness of your school day, he spoke about the rigorous and very tiring new training routine Splinter was putting the turtles through.

"It's crazy- he's never pushed us like this. It's like he's preparing us to go to war or something."

Something somber hit you and Leo could tell.

Splinter finally cracked down on the boys because of the Kuroi Yuroi, and ever since you found out about, you've been fearful.

Something about it and what it was made your skin quiver. It brought this feeling that a storm was heading everyone’s way and there was nothing you could do about it. Even Leo's reassurances that they would get through whatever would come just fine, you...

You didn’t like feeling so helpless.

The hot chocolate reached a peak boil and you hurry to pour out three mugs worth. You turn to bade Leo a goodnight and get a tight hug you didn't expect. But, the wrinkle in your brow and the way your lips were set in a firm line before, tipped Leo off that you probably needed one.

You hug back and couldn't say you weren't thankful for how it managed to help mellow out the bad feeling lingering in your gut. When you both let go, Leo ruffled your hair with a smirk.

You swat at him before giving him his share of hot cocoa- it was in the blue Sonic mug he loved so much -, and then grabbing your own mug and Donnie’s too.

When you got back to the lab, Wolf Children was about ten minutes in and Donnie was roosted on his pillow stuffed loft, swaddled in a thick and colorful, patchy quilt. It was one of the many things you and April found while spelunking at thrift shops for stuff for the boys.

You wondered how full April's hands were with helping them out before you came along to help with outings like that.

"Nice choice." you refer to the movie and reach up to give Don the mugs so you could climb up and join him on the plush perch.

"Ghibli always is." he lifted his mug to his lips and let you take half of the quilt and huddle under it with him, passing your mug back when you were settled.

The both of you sipped at your hot cocoa in a warm silence as you watched the movie.

While you couldn’t do much about what was going to happen in the future, you were holding out that the Hamato family would turn up on the winning side and nothing as horrible as you felt would happen to them in the end.

Donnie leaned against you, seeming to detect your internal distress- that or he just wanted to get closer to your body heat. You think maybe it was both because somehow. Even with the new central heating the boy genius managed to cleverly cobble together for the lair, his skin felt staticy and cool to the touch against your arm.

You hold your mug a little tighter, staring into the last bit of chocolate sludge swishing around the bottom.

You really did hope this storm didn’t come.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #donatello #leonardo #reader insert #my writing

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sp00kymulderr · 4 years

Text

tag game ★~(•◡•✿) 50 questions you’ve never been asked before

Tagged by @longitud-de-onda & @javierpenaspinkshirt aages ago thanks loves💖

what colour is your hair brush?

Neon pink

are you typically too warm or too cold?

warm

what were you doing 45 minutes ago?

French lessons on Duolingo!

what is your favorite candy bar?

Whittakers coconut block omg

have you ever been to a professional sports event?

Yeah mainly football cause I grew up a Leeds United supporter (ew). The best of any sport I’ve been to watch was roller derby in Austin, that was incredible.

what is the last thing you said out loud?

I was actually attempting to read out loud that cursed @amarvelousmandalorian fic to see how far I could get, but I won’t tell you which bit I got to cause I don’t wanna write it down haha

what is your favorite ice cream?

Ben & Jerrys Half Baked maybe. Idk I don’t eat a lot of ice cream

what was the last thing you had to drink?

Water. Gotta stay hydrated.

do you like your wallet?

Yeah. It’s super glittery and cute, but I’ve had it a couple years it’s time to replace it I reckon.

what was the last thing you ate?

Some carrot batons cause I couldn’t be bothered to cook

did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

No but I did buy some art prints from my fave tattoo artist which is way more exciting

the last sporting event you watched?

All Black v Tonga in 2018 is the last one I actually remember. Really don’t watch sports.

what is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

Sweet & Salted

who is the last person you sent a text message to?

my brother

ever go camping?

Not since 2009 when we camped out somewhere near Austin I think, I’m not particularly in to camping.

do you go to church every Sunday?

No. I am very much an atheist

do you have a tan?

At the moment kinda, my fake tan is coming off and looks patchy af. I need to sort that out before it gets warm again.

do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

pizza pizza all the time.

do you drink your soda with a straw?

Nah

what color socks do you usually wear?

what are socks? I haven’t worn socks in so long jfc. Black if I have to wear them.

do you ever drive above the speed limit?

I don’t drive

what terrifies you?

Dogs because I have a really bad phobia. Storms in general but specifically lightning, other deeper things but I don’t wanna talk about those.

look to your left, what do you see?

The back of my sofa and the wall

what chore do you hate?

I have come to realise I don’t mind chores now I live alone, but cleaning the bathroom is probably the one I like the least

what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

how much I’d rather be hearing a New Zealand accent haha. JK they’re fine but I don’t really have much of a reaction, I’ve lived and travelled with too many Australians at this point.

what’s your favorite soda

Coke Zero, I don’t really drink other sodas

do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus?

Go in but I generally try to avoid them as much as possible.

who’s the last person you talked to?

My therapist but that was an online chat so idk if that really counts as talking. In person, my deliveroo driver

favorite cut of beef?

no thank you, I don’t eat meat.

last song you listened to?

In Red - Queenadreena (I’m really diving back in to music from my teenage years this week idk what’s going on)

last book you read?

I haven’t picked up a book in forever I don’t have the energy to read eugh. I am still working through The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet and I guess the last I actually finished was The Last Wish

favorite day of the week?

Fridays, when times were normal and I was working. All days are equal now.

can you say the alphabet backwards?

definitely not

how do you like your coffee?

Strong, made in a cafetiere and with a dash of oat milk. If I’m ordering from a coffee shop though; cold brew or mocha

favorite pair of shoes?

I had a really nice Doc Martens collection going, and these beautiful dark purple suede docs were my highlight - but I can’t wear them anymore because of plantar fasciitis and had to get rid of them :’(

the time you normally go to sleep?

At the moment we’re looking between midnight and 4am

the time you normally get up?

Very rarely before 11am. I don’t know how I’ll cope when I get sent back to work and have to get up at 5am fuck.

what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets?

Sunsets. They’re beautiful and peaceful and remind me of home.

how many blankets on your bed?

just the duvet, no blankets.

describe your kitchen plates

Boring plain white and sort of square.

do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage?

I’m a red wine girl through and through, give me a good Malbec and I’m very happy. I’m definitely getting more in to whisky every day but I’ve yet to find my absolute favourite (maybe Jura Prophecy? it is amazing)

do you play cards?

Sure but only snap ha

what color is your car?

I don’t have one.

can you change a tire?

Nope

favorite job you’ve ever had?

God I’ve had so many jobs and I really disliked the large majority of them. I wasn’t made for the kind of jobs I’ve had to take. The best one I ever had though was the first job I got in my industry that wasn’t call centre work - I wrote letters responding to hotel complaints for a bedbank. It was amazing; I got to write every day, I had the most wonderful supportive supervisor, I didn’t have to physically speak to customers just write to them. I was with that company for several years and got promoted, worked in a bunch of different departments but that job was the one I always wanted to go back to. If it wasn’t London based I’d happily return to it now.

how did you get your biggest scar?

The only scar I still have is from scraping my acrylic stiletto nail in to the skin on my knee by accident. I don’t have any big big ones.

what did you do today that made someone else happy?

Fuck all. I sent a friendly anon which I hope made the person smile, does that count?

idk who to tag since this is quite old but if you see this and wanna do it consider this me tagging you!

#tag game #about me #long post #sorry I'm v boring!

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