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#enjoy this 10 minute whatever the fuck practice art this is
all-or-nothing-baby · 9 months
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15 QUESTIONS, 15 (or whatever) TAGS
i was tagged by @ash-mcj—thanks dude! HERE is their's.
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1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYBODY?
my middle name is the name of my mum's friend/dad's ex who died (my folks ended up getting together a year later).
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
about 10 minutes ago? to WELLY BOOTS which is an amazing devil song i've heard 10,000 times before. i honestly cry a gajillion times a day bc i don't just cry at sad stuff but also anything that moves me: from hearing a wonderful piece of music... to someone saying something kind to me or anybody else (real person or fictional character)... to being overwhelmed by the enormity of life and all its fucked-up and wonderful complexities... seriously, absolutely bloody everything makes me cry!
3. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
yes, two of 'em; a brilliant, beautiful, super-talented, immensely kind and outrageously hilarious 24 year old and a brilliant, beautiful, super-talented, immensely kind and outrageously hilarious 15 year old :) they're incredibly different individuals who bicker like siblings absolutely should and love each other a lot. i love them both so much it makes me cry when i think about it (surprise surprise).
4. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
oh, no, never. (probs too much at times—although i don't always understand when others are using it with me #neurodiversesquad).
5. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?
used to do what the american folks call 'run track', back in the day before chronic illnesses became the villain in my story.
6. WHAT'S THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT SOMEONE?
whether they, you know, get it (or not).
7. EYE COLOUR?
erm, a bit of an odd sort of dark grey/blue with lots of dark green swirls and splodges
8. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
oh definitely scary movies, horror my beloved <3 i think i'm finally (bc it's been on my list for so long omg) gonna get around to watching RELIC tonight! *scratching at the door noises*
9. ANY SPECIAL TALENTS?
forgetting absolutely fucking anything and everything all the fucking time. ALWAYS knowing the first letter of the word i can't think of. having a bit of a photographic memory. being able to play the william tell overture by flicking my fingernails against my front teeth. making really good pancakes. good at accents. pretty good at drawing faces. playing music by ear. great at making inconsequential lists lol
10. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
blackpool, a seaside town in the north-west of england, UK. imo it's a veritable shithole these days, only good for trashy arcades and getting stabbed... but i do miss the ocean now i don't live there.
11. WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?
making art, making words, making mixtapes, making trouble, making time for reading, making music, making a mess.
12. DO YOU HAVE PETS?
yes—i couldn't imagine not having critters in the house! i have 4 precious arseholes cats: little jimmy novak and moriarty, who are both house-loving cats—like, they do go out, but are indoors wanting cuddles more often than not. whereas the other two, grace jones ii and goku, are practically feral and only really come home for dinner and if it's raining hard (and the occasional i-will-allow-you-to-stroke-me-and-let-you-have-the-honour-of-me-sitting-on-your-knee-i-suppose).
13. HOW TALL ARE YOU?
5'2". short king.
14. FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?
loved art and english in high-school, and also enjoyed drama and history. i studied art at college and fashion at uni (which was a mistake, that world was very much not for me pfft).
15. DREAM JOB?
i honestly don't dream of jobs. but if i did? i suppose a portrait artist or published poet who was paid enough to actually live on, aha.
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tagging, play or nay: @shealynn88 @sharkfish @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @poebin @jmeelee @raisesomehale @rajalagang @ohhalefire @halinski @kikiroo @lovebillyhargrove @harrgrove @slytherkins @witchsickness @ltleflrt @wellwaterhysteria @deklo @chasingcastiel @racheld93 @gabedemon absolutely anybody else who wants to do the thing!
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thecw4kids · 6 months
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for the past weeks ive been drawing less. not drawing if much at all. ive thinking over why in my head over and over while distracting myself with other stuff and interviews for jobs. where is my motivation and what motivated/s me
I have characters i love, i have goals i want to do and make. But cant seem to bring myself to do them. putting things that i want to draw and create is so hard in practice. Its like im missing pieces of the creation process, still stiliting myself to try and be perfected or just i dont actually know enough to do something right. i feel like my art is ugly and imperfect, every thing i do in the process i poke at and comment on and fix and i dont know how to stop myself. It makes me sad and it makes art a trudge to go through
when i got my new tablet i made a few pictures so freely in under 10 minutes that look sooo good and so pure and emotional and well done. That happy uncaring doodle was me thinking weights were off and i could do whatever now with my new tablet… that ive rarely pulled out bc art has felt so hard. i keep trying to recapture that but i keep being so hard on myself in being happy with what i make, having fun, applying what i do when i do ANYTHING else i enjoy onto my craft. And its so fucking hard. Im not an idiot i know how to draw shit i know how do anatomy and make stuff up and do poses and make emotion and depth and all this stuff i nitpick and critique myself on but i still have to push my limits every day instead of simply enjoying it. How the fuck do i get that hour of unbridled love that i had back. My art is an extension of me and why do i have such preception im an ugly imperfect fucked up mess!!!!!
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pppandemia · 2 years
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sad without the lore
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hyuniiehoney · 3 years
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swimming fool
chp 3. leave me hanging
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did yn intentionally fall on yeonjun,,, no, is she embarrassed out of her mind now,,, yes.
“please get your ass up so we can eat lunch,” summer retorts. yn slides down her chair, groaning out of misery. how dumb could she get? she had one job, one and only one job, and it somehow turns out to be a disaster.
“i think-“ yn starts but soon stops to slap herself with both hands, bringing her head down and slamming it on the table. “i think i have to be one of the most clumsiest people on this god forsaken planet,” she mumbles.
“ok so what does that have to do with me?” summer asks, visibly annoyed at her friend who currently refuses to get up and get food for her poor stomach.
yn looks up, closes her eyes, and sighs. “summer, i’ll get your damn food if you let me fucking rant. give me five minutes to self loathe and i can pay for whatever your heart, or stomach desires.” yn swears in that moment, summer has sparkles in her eyes.
“sorry love, go on haha” summer gleams.
“i just can’t believe that actually happened. i mean what are the chances of my tiny ass feet tripping over some tiny ass crack on the ground. that is so embarrassing, and to think that yeonjun’s girlfriend had to show up at that exact moment as well. what are the fucking odds.”
“apparently the odds are incredibly massive considering how much of fool you made yourself to be. so glad i got a picture of it,” a recognizable voice replies.
sunghoon and jake walk in the classroom with smiles on their faces, enjoying the humiliation that yn had been going through since the morning.
“ugh im so mad that my coach made me stay longer,” sunghoon says annoyed, “i wanted to see his girlfriend’s face, i bet it was so funny,” he chuckled.
“ay summer,” jake tosses a strawberry sandwich towards her, “since you love them so much you know.”
“jake i literally love you holy crap. you don’t understand how much suffering i was in because of how much of a whiny bitch she’s being right now,” summer complains.
yn turns her head and gives her a small glare. “i can just,,, not tell you guys what happened.”
“ok ok!”
jake and sunghoon set down their backpacks, pulling up chairs near yn to listen to their friend rant about the morning incident that has been making her too ashamed to even lift her head and make eye contact.
yn pulls out her phone, opening her messages and hesitantly pressing yeonjun’s contact. she shoves her phone towards her three friends, displaying the messages that have been making her overthink out of confusion.
“like i just don’t know what to do? i really want to know what he was gonna ask but im too awkward and shy to ask. and what the hell is his tweet about? and the fact the his girlfriend had to pull up at that exact moment is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me. i am so dumb and clumsy. what’s worse is that i have swim practice with him later,” yn whines.
silence falls upon the group of friends, confusing yn who’s head is currently faced down on the desk with her eyes shut. she slowly lifts her head to face her friends with looks of disbelief.
“you know for once i agree with you yn!” summer says with sarcasm.
“…what?”
“you are the dumbest bitch i have ever had the misfortune of being friends with.”
sunghoon stands up and gently grabs both yn’s hands, “im going to say this in the nicest way possible, but for someone who excels in school, athletics, and arts, you are not the smartest are you?”
“…”
“i have no comment,” jake chimed in. “i mean yn, this all you, have fun figuring this out.”
her three friends chuckle a bit before jake gives back her phone as they all pat her in the back, wishing her luck as the bell rings, notifying students that the next class will be starting soon.
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masterlist | previous | next
a/n: i think the schedule has been changed more than 10 times already :( ive been really busy this week so this a mix between writing and socials. this isn’t proofread so there might be errors but other than that i will be posting tomorrow just because this week is so wack and this chapter is just like a lil recap instead of a continuation of the story 😭😭
taglist (open): @jimblekook1 @softforqiankun @wonhaotrsh @definitelynotcesia @staysstrays @kittysunoo @skypemonke @popokeyry @elicheel @so-jays @kac-chowsballs @shuichi-sama @fylithia @love-svt @taejinxkoya @ikyk-leeknow @viscoolreal @luvrjn @eeheeeh @youreverydayzebra
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the-slasher-files · 3 years
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Lester n Vincent ( hcs) reacting to reader who is having a really bad anxiety attack and they pass out in their arms please and happy new year 🥺✨
Congrats you're my first person to request Lester lol Happy new year to you as well!... Ok so I went kind of wild with these and made them longer story based hcs, also added more slashers just for fun :) Hopefully I did Lester justice since this is my first write for him! Also warning, there is gore, blood and stress lol.. enjoy🔪💕
MASTERLIST
SLASHERS REACT TO S/O THAT HAS A PANIC ATTACK
INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT and LESTER
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JASON VOORHEES
It was a night you saw him kill for the first time. The blood covered the branches of the bushes and oozed in the soil around you. The moonlight illuminated the plastic hockey mask now sprayed in a crimson paint, his chest rose and fell deeply, enough to see some bones sticking out from unhealed wounds.
At Jason’s feet were 3 teenagers' corpses. You knew what he did but seeing the bodies be brutally cut down 10 feet away from you was another story.
When you had woken up from a nap Jason was gone, he didn’t tell you people had been at the camp, if he did you would not have been on this walk in the first place, but you knew he would never wake you up. The words stupid, stupid, stupid screamed in your brain as you watched the bodies twitch and pour streams of blood. Would Jason be mad at you? Would he hurt you too? oh my god is that person really dead or still breathing?
You started to breathe heavy and choke when they caught the back of your throat violently, Jason moved towards you slowly. Even though you knew how gentle he was with you, you still questioned him at this moment; the blood flowing beneath boots, the smell of rich dirt and copper, the way the nature fell eerily silent following the high pitched wails of the victims, and the way the creature tore through the bodies with ease. It was all so animalistic. Wicked and ruthless.
Locking eyes with Jason you walked back a few steps, his blue eyes were dark, pupils blown with something you had never seen before, this was the killer of camp crystal lake. Throwing his machete to the ground he held out his large hands, gently pulling up his mask as if that might help.
Your throat was closing and hot tears started to flow down your cheeks, broken gasps and whimpers rose from your chest as Jason stood towering over you.
“J-jay..” you cried and felt yourself go lightheaded as his large bloodied hand reached for you, one last tough inhale and your world went black.
Coming to, you were in the cabin, with the fire roaring and about 3 blankets on top of you. A large shadow stirred from the kitchen and came into the light. It was Jason with a hot towel and your favourite drink, softly he smiled rushing to your side. He was maskless and all cleaned up, looking under the blanket you were just in your underwear and a t-shirt, cleaned from any blood.
Kneeling down beside you Jason gingerly brushed a few stray hairs from your face and kissed your forehead. You could tell by the way he lingered and how soft his touch was that you scared him and made him worry. Pressing his forehead against yours Jason squeezed his eyes almost trying to tell you that it hurt, you hurt his heart, scared him so badly and made his nightmares come true. It wasn’t your fault he knew and made you aware of that by his touches and kisses.
The sight of you sprayed with blood and going limp under his grasp was something Jason had only seen in the darkest corners of his mind. He is making sure you stay put and knows exactly where he is going next time.
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MICHAEL MYERS  
The door creaked open to the bedroom, you had been laying there for a while in and out of sleep, just waiting for Michael’s return. He never slept well, so often Michael found himself lurking in the shadows of the night, or just watching some tv downstairs not wanting to disturb you.
Rolling over you squinted, trying to see in the darkness “Michael..” you whined, reaching out slightly into the shadows.
Soft eyes started to adjust to the darkness and you were met with eyes that weren’t the cold gaze of your lovers, they were alive with curiosity and there was a different maliciousness. This was a much different predator, one the shadows rejected and gave up to you. It was a smaller man in height and muscle, dressed head to toe in black tight-fitting clothes.  
A scream left your lips and you tried to scramble away when gloved hands grabbed your ankles pulling you closer to the stranger. His body weight leaned against your frame, his smell revoltingly encapsulated yours; sure to the average person he might've smelled nice but you only had taste for one dangerous cologne, the one of rich copper and animalistic musk.
Kicking and screaming only one name left your lips, "Michael". It was the only thought you had. You knew Michael would come for you, he always did in bad situations. Your scream was his soft siren call and he was the broken sailor beckoned; however, it was much more possessive and raw than that. Michael never liked his things to be tampered with. You were his and that was that.    
The stranger above you reached in his pockets and found some zip ties, struggling but bounding your legs and wrists together. “what a little fighter” His words sharp and almost making you gag.
Your breath became more and more ragged, blood pumping and heart racing loudly in your ears, while streams of tears flowed. Crippled whimpers and wails caught in your throat more and more with each stroke of the stranger's gloved hands.
That’s when something stirred in the hallway, a flash of navy and white them seamlessly blending into the shadows like a perfected craft. This was his art, not the strangers. “You should be afraid” you choked out. The man gave a laugh “of what?”
“Of me” a deep growl spoke from the shadows. The man widened his eyes looking directly into yours, as Michael reached around and slit his throat from ear to ear. Blood spraying over you, the bed and running a deep crimson river to the floor, choking and deep gurgles filled the air. You watched the life drain from the man's green eyes and he reached out for you to help him ironically. Michael grabbed the man looking him in the eyes, feeding his own sick desires of watching a soul leave the body or maybe wanting the stranger to meet the cold inhumane gaze, making him terrified as he died.
Even though you knew the more than tense situation was over, you just witnessed a man die; he was bleeding, clutching his throat fruitlessly, life leaving his eyes and grabbing for you. It was all too raw and your throat was closing, you could taste the unfamiliar copper on your lips making you shudder in disgust. Michael ripped off the white mask and he propped you up under his knee and one arm, while the other was on his dripping blade.
“Mi-Michael, please” you whimpered against his chest feeling yourself go fuzzy and limp. A rough shake kept you awake for a moment then you saw his knife coming towards you to cut the zip ties and that was it, the world went black.
Waking up, you coughed and sputtered at the warm water that was splashed in your face. You were in the bathtub, warm pinkish water surrounded you and a large hand cupped your jaw while the other wiped some blood away from you and rubbed at the marks on your wrists.
Meeting Michael’s cold gaze, it wasn’t cold, it was oddly warm still with that edge that his damaged eye gave him. “Baby” you whispered reaching a shaky hand to run along his cheek and sharp jaw. Michael didn’t turn away or roughly remove your hand like normal, he allowed your touch and leaned into it, closing his eyes and whispering barely audible “I’m sorry”
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BO SINCLAIR
The screams and gunshots had stopped. Only the muffled classical music flowed from the basement where Vincent was working. Usually, Bo would come immediately back home, dragging his bloodied adrenaline-filled frame through the front door. 10 minutes went by then another and another. You began to grow worried and sick to your stomach with anxiety.
Hesitantly you grabbed one of Bo's jackets and heading out to the garage. The familiar scent of ash, teakwood and grease eased you enough to walk down the dimly lit abandoned streets.
Rounding a corner, from the shadows a man reached out for you, it was a man you had seen from this morning and left with Bo in the gas station. He was still alive, covered in blood but still alive. The man pulled you against the wall of the old building. Your heart pounded in your skull and your breath became broken and hitched, hearing footsteps pounding towards you the man whipped you around, placing you in front of him like a shield.
You met the dangerous baby blues of Bo, he was seething, shoulders tensed, neck stiff with veins popping and hands on his shotgun. "Let. Her. Go." Bo's words coated in venom, a wickedness you had never heard before. "Bo" you whimpered as the stranger tightened his hold on you, now placing a sliver shiv to your collar bone.
"If you let me leave, I will let her go.." the stranger negotiated. "We both know that can't happen... how ‘bout you let her go and I won't make ya suffer" Bo shifted his hand on the gun and the stranger raised the blade to your chin, your tears were uncontrolled at this point, silently pleading with Bo to do whatever the man said. "Fuck.. Alright, alright" Bo began to place the gun on the ground slowly, but nodded twice at you, a signal he practiced with you, closing your eyes and inhaling as much as you could, you knew what you had to do. Do what Bo taught you, just in case this might ever happen.
With one quick motion you grabbed the man's wrist pulling and twisting, using your hip to fuel momentum, yanking the man down in a struggle you managed to grab the blade and stab into his neck. At this point it was just adrenaline, you were never supposed to actually kill him, Bo taught you just to wait, but the damage had been done. Blood was on your hands, oozing and spraying with each thump of the man's heart. The scared look in his eyes made you wanna choke, you would never forget this. The whole scene was too raw. You had just killed a man.
Quickly Bo came to your side and beat the strangers' skull in with the end of his shotgun, it was brutal, gory, unmerciful assault. He was gone but Bo was lost in rage, the man touched and threatened what was his.
“Bo... Bo p-please, Bo” your cried pushing yourself along the cold asphalt. Whipping around Bo was not human, he was a beast, covered in blood, huffing and bearing his teeth. “Bo enough” you shook frozen in his gaze “B-baby” whispering to try and bring him back. Bo dropped the bloody gun and stepped towards you, kneeling down he held you, felt every broken gasp and shake. The scene replayed in your head over and over again, suddenly you gave a whimper and felt yourself go limp under Bo’s grasp.
Waking up your eyes adjusted to the warm yellow lighting of the old house, loud footsteps moved in a pattern, back and forth Bo paced until there was some muffled yelling “What do you mean there is nothing you can do?!... she just went limp... Fuck I don’t know... how could she just be fine?!” You let out a whimper and shifted on the old couch and Bo practically ran to you, cupping your face gently but always with a rough edge. His eyes were red, possibly from tears or adrenaline, he shook and breathed heavily.
“Baby, don’t ever do that again!” Bo yelled, most likely rougher than he initially intended but he kissed your forehead gingerly. “You scared the shit outta me!” You knew his yelling was just his fear. The nightmare of losing you could’ve come true tonight, and once the adrenaline wore off you knew he would be gentle again and hold you all night.
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VINCENT SINCLAIR
Coming home from a shitty day your anxiety was already higher than normal, you labelled papers wrong at work and just couldn't seem to do anything right today; All you wanted was to just get comfy with some bad food and lay in your boyfriend's arms, forgetting the world. Carrying your exhausted stressed body into the old home, it was quiet; Bo must have been at the garage and maybe Vincent was downstairs.
Tossing your bags and shoes off to the side, you made your way to the basement, guided by candlelight. The eerie silence, the hot air and the creepy faces in the wall made a less than relaxing atmosphere. With each creek of the stairs, your heart seemed to race faster, even though you had made your way down these stairs hundreds of times before there was a different energy here, one with malice, one that drew tingles up your spine.
Rounding the corner, Vincent stood behind some sort of contraption made of metal and leftover medical supplies. The structure held a wax-coated body, one of the men you had lured into town yesterday. Vincent had always kept you away from the making of his creations, it was a brutal process, especially when he usually left the victims alive, Bo said “it gave them more expression if they’re still livin”
Vincent was lost in focus, smoothing the skin and creating delicate textures, if you didn’t know it was a real life person under the wax it honestly might have been soothing to watch, but you swallowed hard at the reality. You felt your throat started to become scratchy and closed with anxiety, clearing your throat it drew the attention of your boyfriend across the room.
You must’ve scared Vincent by your presence because he jolted the metal structure and there was a loud snap. A deep red oozed from the neck of the wax body and pooling on the floor. Vincent’s blue eye looked down to the body then back to you, watching as you covered your mouth and shook.
Rushing over to you Vincent gently placed a hand in your hair and one on your arm trying to steady you, pulling your chin up you saw the worry on his face under the wax mask. He could feel your ragged breathing, shaking and Vincent could have sworn he heard your heartbeat. Clutching his chest you felt yourself go lightheaded and fall into him, your eyes closed as Vincent held you.  
Gingerly opening your eyes you felt a hard body underneath you, the room was dimly lit by the lamp on the bedside table, and you noticed a glass of water was next to the lamp. A hand carded through your hair while the other ran a cool towel against your forehead, Vincent sat up slightly so he could meet your eyes when he noticed you had woken up.
Softly smiling you spoke “Di-Did I pass out?” Vincent just nodded slowly and signed ‘Do you feel ok?’ “yeah.. I think it was just an anxiety attack” Vincent kissed your head as you continued “...and I didn’t each much today” He frowned but nodded again, ‘Stay... I will grab you some food’    
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LESTER SINCLAIR    
“Why the hell is Louisiana so damn hot?” you ask irritably uncomfortable in the truck as Lester came into the drivers side. This morning wasn’t exactly ideal and you got a terrible sleep, Lester tried to help but it just gave you anxiety. You hated these days when just out of nowhere you would feel anxious for simply no reason, but thankfully Lester never blamed you or made you feel bad.
“I know baby girl, it’s s’possed to be in the hundreds all week” He said turning the key making the old truck come to life. Groaning, you tried to roll down the window and it wouldn't budge just adding to the torture "oh man, I forgot to ask Bo to fix that, sorry cupcake" you glared at the name he gave while Lester just laughed rolling down his window.
This morning you decided to drive around with your boyfriend, cleaning up the roads of any roadkill. You had never done it with him before and honestly you kind of felt bad just sitting at home, not ever helping him.
Mindless chatter and laughter made the ride short and Lester tried to distract you from your own anxious mind. Pulling over it was not a pleasant scene, the poor thing was bent and broken with blood smeared all over the road. “oh my god Lester... poor little deer” you stood back allowing Lester to pull the deer over by the truck.
“Necks broke.. the thing didn’t suffer” Lester gave you a gentle smile and nodded trying to make light of his gory job. “Ready?” he asked as you helped lift the deer onto the flatbed of the truck.
Picking up one more deer carcass along the way, you were now headed to ‘the pit’. You had been there only once before, when you met Lester but he had never let you go back since. Even he didn’t stick around the dumping grounds often.
“If ya wanna stay in the truck it’s fine” Lester smiled. “No, no I’m ok” you insisted jumping out of the truck. The smell was unbearable, flies swarmed and the gore was horrifying, especially to an animal lover. Your heart started to race and you felt like throwing up, but you tried to push it away and continue to help Lester dragging the deer into the pit.
“Ya alright?” he asked looking at your frozen figure. There was a hand. A human hand sticking up from the middle of a deer carcass. You couldn’t hear Lester’s calls for you, your heart pounded too hard and your breath seemed to be stuck in your throat. Quickly Lester moved behind you trying to move you away from the scene but suddenly you went limp and passed out.
Coming to, you were laying in some grass, a nice shady spot away far away from the pit. Lester was running toward you with a water bottle from the truck and coming to sit next you, he propped you up on his knee handing you the bottle “Fuck ya scared me baby” the stroked your hair and held you tight. “Sorry Les” you whispered looking into his soft brown eyes. “Don’ be sorry.. I never should’a let ya join” Lester bent down to kiss your cheek and wipe some blood away “Can we just go home and shower?” you giggled.    
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hello-yue-here · 3 years
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thank you @chiptrillino for tagging me in a wip game!
not quite sure what the rules are but based off of your AMAZING POST OF ART WIPS (check it out here yall chip is so talented) ive decided to just share some parts of my writing wips that i rlly like because i cannot draw whatsoever lmao
enjoy some lil snippets hehe
from heart don't stand a chance:
"Zuko couldn’t get over her eyes. She was looking past the camera towards the man who took it. Zuko could see clear as day the love she held for Sokka in her gaze.
It was a perfect moment that Sokka had captured. No wonder held it with him at all times. If someone had looked at Zuko like that, he’d never want to see anything again.
As he took in the photograph, Sokka sat next to him in silence. His hand was clutching the ring around his neck again in his fist, pressing it close to his mouth as he peered over Zuko’s shoulder to look. Zuko turned to him to compliment the picture and saw a sad fondness lingering in his eyes."
this is a scene i wrote a while ago thats gonna appear in a much later chapter. but yeah. more yue angst for you guys im so sorry.
from i love you (and that's all i really know):
"Mister Sokka," a little voice wishpered in his ear as he felt tiny pokes on his cheek, "Wake up Mister Sokka."
"Good morning to you too Izumi," Sokka responded wearily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked towards the little girl who was standing on her tippy toes to see over the edge of the bed and poke his face until he rose.
She smiled at him once she realized he was awake.
"Can we have pancakes?" She asked shyly, hiding her mouth just below the edge of the bed as she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.
That look was going to be dangerous for him later on, he could aready tell.
"Sure thing, Izumi, just let me sleep for five more minutes, mkay?" He asked as he shut his eyes again. He was exhausted from last nights events, and the sun had barely risen. How did Zuko do this?"
this is a scene from the next chapter of this fic. so much sokka and izumi bonding you guys are gonna explode hehehe.
from cherry (the mailee fic i wont shut up about that is now a whopping 19 pages):
"Mai never had to guess with Ty Lee. She always knew when Ty Lee was happy about something because she would use an obnoxious amount of exclamation points. She would send gifs of people or cartoons making outlandish expressions whenever she wanted to react to Mai’s text with a specific facial expression. Sometimes Ty Lee would even send voice memos whenever her thoughts became too long, or she got too excited about a story that her fingers couldn’t type as fast as she could speak."
hehe i love mailee.
from yours (the mailee sorority fic that i promise i did not forget about):
"Mai lifted her head off the pillow again and met Zuko’s eyes. She studied his impassive expression, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. He did seem like he missed Mai and Azula, so maybe he did really just want to catch up with them.
But Mai wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity like this.
“Tell us everything about the boy toy as well and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Mai said.
Zuko rolled his eyes and sighed, “Ugh, fine. And his name is Sokka by the way.”
“Nuance. You also have to wake up Azula.”
“No chance in hell,” Zuko scoffed, “You’re the roommate and her fellow ‘pong princess,’ wake-up duty is all yours.”
“If she murders me, it’s your fault. She’s a bitch when she’s hungover.”
“Whatever you say, Mai,” Zuko grinned before returning back to his phone."
i have decided that zuko is a little shit for this fic and no one can stop me.
from Where'd All the Time Go? (the yuekka fic that i have severe writers block with that i also promis i have not forgotten about):
"“Sokka I really think you need to take a moment and-”
“I am fine Aang, I don’t have time for a feelings talk right now. Right now I need to find the fucking chief of this damn place.” His words came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t have the time to dwell on that.
Before Sokka could run off again to continue his search, a hand grabbed his arm. One of Arnook’s advisors, Malina, had started dragging him towards the podium.
“Do you not realize how late you are for this Sokka? The ceremony was supposed to begin with your speech nearly an hour ago-” she hissed at him as she pulled him along through the crowd.
“Malina I’m sorry but I really need to speak with Arnook it is urgent-”
“This damn speech of yours is what’s urgent right now Sokka, you can speak with Arnook later but the guests are getting antsy so you need to give your speech right. Now.”
“But-”
“Now.”
Maline shoved Sokka towards the podium and suddenly all eyes were on him. Every guest in attendance had their focus solely on Sokka."
homeboy is stressed in this scene. things are slowly going to shit in this chapter. i promise i will update this before the end of the year. i swear. im so sorry.
from a currently untitled jetko/sukka boiling rock fic:
"“Oh good, you survived after all,” She said in a mocking tone.
Jet didn’t answer. He knew anything he said would be used against him. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was happening. But he would be damned if he showed that weakness in front of the fire nation.
“I was told you were more talkative than this,” the girl mused. There was something familiar about her, “my informants were very detailed when discussing your little teashop romance.”
I knew it. Jet snarled in his mind, That bastard betrayed me."
i want this fic to be a little darker but idk how good i am at writing darker fics because i love fluff and humor too much. this could be good angst practice for me.
from a toph and sokka fic that i wrote a while back to help me cope w some shit that i dont know if ill ever post:
"“Sokka? Are you still there?” Toph asked, the slightest hint of concern began to slip into their voice
“Tell me a story,” he was trembling. Despite all of his efforts to sound calm, he knew his voice came out trembling and scratchy and pathetic-
“Is everything okay? You don’t sound too hot,” Toph said through the phone.
Breathe, Sokka, breathe. You don’t want them to be worried, you just need to calm down.
“Please, Toph, I just,” he said through shaky breaths that weren’t nearly deep enough for him to be getting enough oxygen, “I just need a distraction. I just need to hear your voice okay?”"
nonbinary toph anyone?
from a 10 things i hate about you kataang and zukka au:
"“What? Something on my face?” the guy asked deadpanned. He rubbed at his scar as if he were wiping off a smudge of mustard, and Aang’s face went pale.
“Stop scaring the sophomores Zuko, this one’s new. He won’t get your… humor… just yet,” Ms. Wu said as she waved Aang off again.
“I’m hurt that you’d imply I’m not funny, Wu. I’m hilarious,” the senior, Zuko, said as he walked past Aang.
Aang let out a sigh of relief knowing that this Zuko guy didn’t seem all that offended by his awkwardness, and darted out of the room."
zuko is a little shit part 2. the amount of sarcasm i have dripping off of heath ledger zuko is glorious. let zuko be a little shit. i havent added to this in months but when i finish some of my other wips i cant wait to get back to this.
i have more wips and drafts saved but none of them have anything juicy or funny or interesting yet because all of them are like less than three pages so far
but yeah, heres a good chunk of sneaky peakys from my wips!
I hope you liked them!
anyone who wants to do this can totally go for it. imma tag @ambykinns @lumities and @flowers-inthepieshop (only if you all want too!!) because this was fun :)
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pip-n-flinx · 3 years
Text
On Creativity
So I’ll probably be updating this a couple of times, but I spent nearly 2 hours with a friend debating the nature or definition of creativity. It’ll be difficult to get all this in text, but I’m going to do my best because I think thinking is so important my lord. I promise, if you follow along you’ll find that some beans, and some beans, is four.
Old Blackadder jokes aside, I recently participated in a survey on creativity. I was so angry about the methods and assumptions that after spending maybe 2-3 minutes on this online survey I ranted at length to one of my best friends.
The Impetus:
The TL;DR for the survey was input 10 nouns, and get a score. The score measures how ‘creative’ you were in thinking of your nouns. It’s a word association game, where the fewer associations the study could draw between the nouns, the higher your score and the more ‘creative’ a participant was judged as being. But see, here’s where I think that breaks down - ignoring the hidden algorithm and apparent data-set of connections the survey claimed when calculating this inverse relationship - I don’t think creativity has anything to do with originality.
What do you think of when you think about creativity? What is creative? What does a creative person do? According to Merriam Webster: the ability to create. Most people might lean more towards the Oxford definition which reads as : the use of the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work. Or perhaps you prefer the dictionary.com version: the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.; originality, progressiveness, or imagination. Truth be told, I think MW is the closest. And I vehemently disagree with the following two.
Allow me to explain - creativity and productivity are two sides of the same coin. You don’t have to be original or unique to be creative, and anything you do that is purposed or fashioned to aid in your survival - here extended to include any activity that you get paid for - is productive. An artist who carves out time to write a novel they’ll never publish, a musician who wants nothing more than to jam in the basement with a friend, these people are being creative whether or not their work is original. Artists who sell their art or their time or their expertise are not inherently less original, or less artistic. Indeed, they aren’t even necessarily less creative than an artist whose art never earns a penny. They do however, spend time and energy making their art specifically for a market. They have to take time to carve out space in whatever market they inhabit. So they are spending more of their art-time being productive.
Let me be clear here: this isn’t a call against productivity, or art as a means to support oneself, or a condemnation of ‘selling out.’ If you enjoy doing something, I can scarcely fault you for seeking out ways to spend more time doing it. That can be hard when you also have to secure the basic necessities of life. Furthermore, I don’t want to lionize either productivity or creativity. I think wanting to better yourself, or secure food or safety for yourself or a loved one, is a laudable goal. I think this very human urge is the seat of productivity. On the other hand, to do things for no other goal than the pleasure of doing them, the hedonism and joy of simply being, should not be demonized. Surely if were to be purely ascetic we would never know soul food, or barbeque, or sushi, or coffee or tea, beer or wine, cake or pie.... Rarely do we do anything for purely creative or purely productive ends. For as sure as bread brings nourishment it warms the heart.
So when a hipster tells you their favorite artist sold out to the record label, or a critique calls a piece gauche and derivative, they are commenting on a real change in behaviour. Usually, the reasons they give are rationalizations or worse baseless attacks on a stranger’s character. Rarely are we actually upset that our favourite band is releasing music with more time and effort and polish in it’s production or recording, for instance. It’s impossible to pin down, but if you go from being a creative artist to trying to make a career of your art, or even just trying to earn some money freelancing, you are allocating time and energy to the productive part of the process - talking to patrons and commissioners, managing social media, networking, etc. - and that time and energy both must come from somewhere. This doesn’t necessarily mean you spend less time on creative endeavours, but if you aren’t then you must be pulling the time/energy for productivity from other productive behaviours.
This is the shift that I think young artists/musicians/actors struggle most with. ‘Get a job doing what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ What a load of BS. You will absolutely be working. And some of the freedom of the creative process will have to be turned over. Transitioning from loving music to studying music in college was one of the most heart-breaking things I ever had to do. The harder my professors pushed me to be better, the more time I spent practicing things I myself didn’t discover, the less I enjoyed my music.
I chose to study Jazz, out of all the fields of music, because I had this sense that jazz improvisation was more creative than playing in an orchestra. That the originality of inventing a melody on the fly was somehow more creative than playing a written part in an orchestra. This is simply not true. They are both acts of creation, of creativity. One takes marginally more originality, and one takes marginally more cooperation and teamwork.
Originality still relies on the constraints of the environment. You can’t break the mold if you can’t recognize it. You can’t bend the rules if you don’t understand the rules. As per the infamous Shakespeare quote “nothing new under the sun.” In any act of originality we still stand on the shoulders of those before us. When I was younger, it was always tempting to conflate originality or inspiration with creativity. I think it’s important now to move beyond that. They are different words, they mean different things, they might even influence one another, but they are not the same.
Take, for example, one of my college roommates. They worked all through highschool and college, trying to help support their family after an ugly divorce and then trying to move out and make their own way in the world. The weight of being constantly productive wore on them, and while they had been an honor student in a college prep program they simply dropped out of college before two years were up. For those formative years between the ages of about 14 and 20, Jess did not have time to be creative. All their energy was spent trying to ensure they had enough money for food or rent or utilities or whatever other mundane cost can be associated with living. I was by all measures a more creative person for 6+ years. Then Jess made time to do things for themself. Cosplay, the convention circuit, nights out at the bar or club. Jess was never less original than I was. Only ever less creative, and only then by force of habit. This does mean that people in marginalized groups are going to - on average - look less creative than those of us with privilege and the advantage of even minor inherited wealth.
Remember that, the next time someone tries to tell you you’re creativity is average.
Oh and fuck that survey it was garbage and what little they disclosed of their methods made fuck-all sense I sincerely hope that was a student project and the creator(s) have a chance to learn to do better later.
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artificialqueens · 3 years
Text
Me and You Together, 4/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega
fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.
a/n: fam this response is crazy it really is…thank u all so much for the love, kudos and comments, i’m so sorry if i’ve not managed to reply to urs yet but know that i’ve read them all and cherish every one and i will get round to replying and yelling some love and thanks at u soon!!! pls enjoy this chapter in which A'whora does not possess the flat’s shared brain cell at any point. that being said, i wish all the readers of this fic a very pleasant italicised ‘oh’ xo
last chapter: January-Tayce and A’whora still had unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December.
this chapter: October- The gang make plans for their first year together, Tia gives everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora has a realisation that will change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.
***
“Bimini, what is it you’re actually doing?”
A’whora’s intrigued by the way her flatmate’s sitting on the sofa: legs crossed, notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and looking deep in thought. They’ve not long since stretched over the smoke detector with a sock, having long since established nobody in the flat minds them smoking indoors as long as the windows are open. Lawrence is beside them on the other end of the sofa having been to all the lectures that’re required of her already today and has got a bright pink, blue and purple-flecked ball of yarn hanging from two knitting needles, with which she seems to be knitting some sort of cosy accessory. It’s a wholesome picture that’s playing out in front of A’whora, one that’s miles away from the raucous, drunk nights they’ve all shared in the first month of uni so far.
“Okay, here’s what it is,” Bimini starts, clicking their long nails together. “I am making us a freshers bucket list, and I want your input.”
“Ooh!” Lawrence perks up beside them, and A’whora, interest piqued, picks up the bowl of pasta, butter and cheese she’s spent all of five minutes making and crosses the room to sit beside her flatmates.
She knows it’s only been a month so far, but she really loves everyone she’s living with. For a start, there are four of them that take classes at the art college (the ‘art hoes’, as Tayce calls them), so they all get to walk to lectures together and hang about between classes and workshops with each other depending on how their days are going. Bimini is almost always in the flat, with not a lot of contact hours making up their journalism degree, so they’re a comforting presence for A’whora to come home to at whatever hour of the day, always asking how she is and always offering to make her coffee. Tia is sweet and funny (if ever-so-slightly grating to her at first) and they’ve bonded over being the only two flatmates seemingly able to keep the place clean and tidy. Lawrence is endearing and big-hearted, if A’whora spends half her life hoping that her next prank isn’t involving her in some way (Ellie is usually the butt of them). Ellie herself is one of A’whora’s closest flatmates; they’ll often stay up half the night finishing prototypes or assignments together, all while watching a film which they have spookily similar taste in- they’ve agreed on 101 and 102 Dalmatians, Hocus Pocus, and The Wizard of Oz so far.
And then there’s Tayce, who A’whora thinks is both the absolute carbon copy of herself and yet also so different, the yin to her yang. Tayce has been her closest friend in the flat since day one when she booted the door to her room down and dragged her out of her emotional stupor, and that’s really what’s set the tone for the rest of their friendship; Tayce, upbeat and motivating, constantly and infectiously helping A’whora feel the same way even when she doesn’t want to go out, or doesn’t feel like dragging herself out of her room for a chill flat night with the others, or even when she just feels like a heap of shit. She’s such a fun and positive person to be around, relentlessly optimistic and goofy, and she brings out that side of A’whora too. As opposed to during sixth form and high school, where she’d put up a front to make sure nobody fucked with her, A’whora finds that at uni she can be the person she truly is and let her guard down a little.
This includes being open about her sexuality for the first time ever. She’s out to her family (for the better or worse), but nobody else back home knows (not even her friends) and she wants to keep it that way for now. But at uni things are different- nobody knows her here, nobody has these preconceived ideas of who she is and who she has to be, so she’d taken the plunge and been open about everything. None of the others had cared of course, in fact they’d all been too excited about the fact there’s not a single straight person in their flat comprised of four lesbians (Tayce, Lawrence, Tia and A’whora), one bi (Ellie) and one pan (Bimini).
“What’ve you got so far?” A’whora asks Bimini, sitting down on the sofa opposite her two flatmates.
Bimini reads off their notepad. “Casino night, bottomless brunch…get the train down to Newcastle, have a big night out, stay out all night an’ get the first train home-”
“Christ, that’ll be a challenge for me, you know I get sleepy around midnight,” Lawrence chuckles.
Bimini shrugs. “We’ll just get you an IV drip of Ellie’s Monster, you’ll be alright.”
“What else’ve you got?”
“That’s it so far.”
A’whora spears a pasta spiral, tilts her head in thought as she eats it. “Get drunk in a lecture.”
“Aw, good one!” Lawrence cries enthusiastically. Bimini, for their part, frowns with disapproval.
“Wait, no! Not a good one. Not a good one at all. It’s alright for you art school bitches, you’ve got some lectures together and you can coordinate, where does that leave me n’ Tia?”
“I guess that leaves you…downing a bottle of five pound chardonnay on the back bench of a lecture hall like a tramp with a drinking problem,” Lawrence shrugs, A’whora yelping out a laugh as Bimini shoves Lawrence with their foot.
Just then, there’s movement in the hall and as A’whora turns around she’s greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Tayce and Ellie walking into the kitchen. They shrug off their coats and take off their shoes and dump their bags on the kitchen table with a huff before they walk over to the others. Tayce spreads herself out over the sofa that A’whora’s sitting on, thudding her feet onto her lap without asking permission, to which A’whora instantly pushes them off her and gets a glare and a smirk in return.
“Lawrie, are you knitting?” Ellie laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.
“Yeah? And?”
Ellie snorts in amusement. “Just didn’t realise we were living with a wee granny.”
“Well actually, bawbag! I was in the middle of making you a scarf because I can’t stand to listen to you talking shite about how you’re cold every time we leave the flat, but I can leave it if you want,” Lawrence explains. A’whora thinks it’s funny how Ellie backtracks immediately; she can’t tell if she’s blushing or just out of breath from scaling their block’s stairs. Bimini gains control of the conversation, tilting their head in intrigue.
“How were your lectures, huns?”
“Shit, thanks for asking,” Tayce groans, thudding her head down dramatically against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know, I just can’t concentrate when I’m getting talked at for an hour at a time. I need to be doing stuff, you know?”
“Feel that,” Ellie joins in, deflated. A’whora can sympathise- she loves the practical elements of her course, but not so much the lectures. She’s glad she shares a lot of them with Ellie, and the two of them can dick about and text each other and doodle designs in their notebooks while keeping one ear on whoever’s speaking.
“Well if you want to be doing something, you can help us with this,” Bimini suggests, explaining the bucket list they’ve been making.
The girls get settled and the ideas start to flow, Lawrence putting her speakers on for background noise as they all come up with new and increasingly more chaotic exploits. Ellie suggests trying every cocktail in Levels which gets scribbled down into Bimini’s notepad, and Tayce suggests going to Levels sober, which doesn’t get afforded the same appreciation. A’whora comes up with crashing the catered halls for breakfast one day, which they all agree is a good idea but the chances of it actually happening are low considering the earliest riser in the flat is Tayce and even she doesn’t waken up til half nine on a weekend.
“What’re some clubs we’ve not been to yet?” Bimini asks, shrugging. “Could put those down, try an’ visit every one in the city?”
Lawrence snorts derisively. “You go to Underground if you want your phone stolen, Velvet if you want to be bullied by fifteen year olds in the toilets, and Crystal if you want to subject yourself to painful misogyny and probably some light sexual assault.”
“So none of those, then,” Bimini murmurs.
“Those are all really het as well, though,” Ellie wrinkles her nose up in distaste. Then her face lights up as she gets an idea. “Oh! Put down Pride in July.”
“Nice one,” Bimini nods as they scribble down Ellie’s suggestion, the others making little hums of approval.
The conversation goes on for quite some time. Halfway through it Tayce seems to decide she’s bored of lying down and instead moves to sit on the floor between A’whora’s legs, asking her to play with her hair. They’ll do this sometimes- it’s a routine they fall into, A’whora being able to style Tayce’s endlessly long, straight hair and Tayce finding the whole thing therapeutic. They have a lot of little routines like this: they’ll sit close together on the sofa during a flat movie night and take turns leaning on each others’ shoulders, spontaneously give each other hugs at random points throughout the day, trace patterns into each others’ palms when the other seems stressed.
It’s nice. A’whora’s never really had a friendship like this, soft and caring and kind. In school her group was the kind that made catty jokes about each other then buffered them with a “love you!” afterwards and took kissy-face group selfies only to bitch about each other on a private group chat mere hours later. If it was a wolfpack then it was rabid and cannibalistic, and it had seemed like a full-time job ensuring she was never the runt of it. What she’s got with all her flatmates now- especially Tayce- makes her feel like she can finally breathe.
“What about the Centurion Challenge?” Lawrence suggests with a small gasp, breaking A’whora’s reverie as she expertly twirls Tayce’s hair into a loose and chunky French plait.
“Jesus Christ, Lawrence,” Ellie mutters in amusement.
“What’s the Centurion Challenge?” Bimini asks, pulling a face.
Lawrence gives a blythe shrug as she elaborates. “A hundred shots in a hundred minutes.”
A’whora ruins Tayce’s braid in shock, her hair untwisting itself from the braid as if it’s outraged too. The cry she gives joins in harmony with that of Tayce’s and Bimini’s. “A hundred shots? You’d fucking die!”
“Not of vodka! Obviously not of vodka! I know we all have one communal brain cell between us but Christ, can one of yous not use it?!” Lawrence protests. “It’s a hundred shots of beer. Don’t shit yourselves.”
“Aw, well that’s alright then,” Bimini pipes up sarcastically. “What’s actually wrong with Scottish people? Is your breastmilk spiked with whiskey? What d’you get instead of Cow and Gate formula, just cocaine?"
“Actually, a hundred shots of beer sounds more doable to me,” Tayce shrugs, and A’whora can feel her relax against her lap.
“I’d need to change it, I can’t stand beer,” A’whora considers. Ellie cocks her head in consideration.
“Well what alcohol do you like?”
“Fucking none of it,” A’whora laughs. “Cocktails. Vodka cokes. Anything where there’s juice to cover it up.”
Tayce twists her head to look up at her, a little twinkle of mischief in her eye. “I think the challenge ceases to be a challenge when it’s reduced to one hundred watered down shots of Woo Woo, Rory.”
As the others blurt out a laugh A’whora glares down at Tayce, but she can’t help but break out into a giggle too when Tayce grabs her knee and gives it a playful wobble, letting her know she was only joking without even having to say a thing.
A’whora’s not sure what time it is when she hears the front door swing shut and Tia emerges from the hallway, her long hair all messed up from the seemingly ever-present wind outside and almost obscuring the bright smile plastered on her face. “Hey, huns!”
“Oi oi,” Tayce greets her from her position on the floor. “What’s got you so smiley?”
“Nooothing,” Tia smirks, dragging the word out playfully. “Just got an invite to the night out of a very cute girl in my MT society…and she said you guys can all come too. Pres at her flat and then out to The Avenue. Evening plans sorted?”
“Oh, love that!” Bimini gives an enthusiastic clap. “Go on then, who’s the girl? Whose night are we crashing?”
“Her name’s Veronica,” Tia smiles bashfully. “She’s so lovely. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind you coming! She’s got one of the big flats over at Gourock Court so it’s not like it’ll be packed.”
“You don’t exactly want to go to a party that’s not going to be packed,” Ellie screws up her nose. She looks unimpressed and her tone is flat. “And even if it is, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a flat party with a ton of new people, Tia.”
A’whora’s face drops and she locks eyes with Lawrence simultaneously, who’s got an equally incredulous look on her face. “Els, are you unwell? You never turn down a night out.”
Ellie shrugs quietly, not giving much away on her face. Tia, obviously keen to move to the girl she’s crushing on, carries on persuading her. “C’mon, Eleanor, don’t be such a fucking…square! It’s the musical theatre society, we’re just a walking Pride festival who all happen to be able to hold a tune. There’s loads of fit lesbians?”
“Well if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now,” Tayce purrs, a little smile appearing on her lips and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. A’whora feels her laugh come out weakly. She doesn’t know why, but an odd, uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in her gut. She can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is or why it’s put itself there.
“And there’s gonna be so many musicals on the playlist!” Tia continues to insist, despite being met with Ellie’s sour face. “I know you’ll love it! They’d probably even play stuff from Shrek if you got them drunk enough.”
A’whora can’t help but scrunch up her nose in distaste. “Hey, I’m only coming if they play fucking…normal people music as well. I’m not gonna be sat in a room with twenty white kids trying to rap to Hamilton or whatever the fuck it is.”
Tia rolls her eyes, plants her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Calm down, A’whora, you’ll still get all the top 40 dance-pop shit you love so much.”
“To be honest, it sounds class. And The Avenue’s always good,” Bimini cuts in calmly. A’whora does have to agree with that. They’ve not been there in a while- the bar across the road from the city’s most popular LGBT club- and its selection of early 00s pop princess tracks combined with its deal of two vodka mixers and a shot for a fiver makes it a guaranteed good night out.
“Well it seems like we’re all down, even if this stroppy cow isn’t,” Tia smiles happily, sticking her tongue out at Ellie for good measure. Ellie finally heaves a world-weary sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as she relents.
“Ugh, fine! Fine, but this Verruca or whatever the hell she’s called better be the hottest bitch on the planet for you to drag us all out with your MT weirdos, Tia Maria,” she grumps. Tia ignores her bad mood and lets out a cheer which the others join in with, and A’whora resolves to interrogate Ellie about her Bitter Betty attitude later on. Preferably when they’re both drunk. That always makes things easier.
In the melee of excitement, Tayce twists round from her position on the carpet, folds her arms and rests them on top of A’whora’s thighs. “Right. You need to come help me choose an outfit if we’re going out. I need to look fit.”
A’whora smiles with pride. “Ooh, personal stylist duties? I’m honoured.”
“Well I’m hardly gonna ask Tia, am I?” Tayce giggles quietly, and A’whora joins in like it’s a little secret they’re sharing. “Or Ellie. She’d just send me out in one of her bodysuit/skirt combos. I swear to God that girl is like Marge bloody Simpson. Open up her wardrobe and she’ll have twenty sets of the same outfit. Serial killer behaviour, that.”
At this point A’whora is laughing so much that it draws the attention of the others, who eye them with suspicious stares. “What the hell’s so funny?”
A’whora gives Tayce a mischievous look. “Tayce just called Ellie a serial killer.”
Tayce yelps in outrage at having been called out, and as Ellie narrows her eyes Tayce leaps up from the floor and tugs A’whora off of the sofa with her. “That’s taking it out of context, you absolute hound! Come on, help me pick something.”
Tayce’s fingers stay curled around A’whora’s hand all the way down the corridor and into her bedroom. It’s a feeling that A’whora likes because it makes her feel close to her friend, and Tayce taking her hand is like an affirmation and a reassurance all in one; that she likes her, that their friendship has reached the level where hand-holding has become acceptable, that A’whora is worthy of being liked, of being someone’s friend- their real, proper friend. The validation sets her heart off like a flare. It’s nice to feel wanted.
A’whora perches on the edge of Tayce’s bed as she scrapes the coat hangers in her wardrobe and throws outfits onto the bed like a tornado, each more gorgeous than the last and all ones Tayce would look stunning in. That’s something that always strikes A’whora about Tayce; just how beautiful she is, how absolutely blessed with the God-given good genes. The way she looks serene and ethereal without makeup, walking to lectures in the morning with the sun hitting her face and giving her skin a glow. The way she paints for a night out and knows how to accentuate everything about her face that’s already perfect, a feat that would seem like an exaggeration if A’whora hadn’t seen it for herself to confirm it’s true. She frequently finds herself having to hold back from giving compliments to Tayce because if she started she’d never stop.
“Okay, first thoughts are…” Tayce announces unnecessarily loudly, and A’whora laughs at the way she’s talking as if she’s a stylist on a morning TV show. “…I’m thinking something black.”
“Of course you are,” A’whora interrupts with a laugh. “Tayce wearing black. How predictable.”
Tayce gives her a shove on the shoulder that’s too hard and makes her fall back against the mattress. “Shut up! I’ll wear something other than black when Lawrence wears something other than purple, how’s about that?”
The pair of them giggle at the joke as Tayce rifles through the clothes she’s shortlisted, holding up a black leather jacket and a black bralet with an intricate lace hem. The combination makes A’whora’s eyes fly wide open in appreciation.
“This?” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively. The fact she’s obviously seen her reaction makes A’whora feel a little self-conscious and she doesn’t particularly know why. “Because I’m wanting to wear either my wet-look leggings or my black vinyl skirt with the zip up the front, and I don’t know if that’s too much leather effect stuff?”
“It’s too much,” A’whora nods, physically unable to help her honesty. “Also I think you should wear the skirt because you’ve got good legs and you should get them out any chance you get. But also the bralet won’t go with it because it’ll make your proportions all wrong.”
Tayce smiles appreciatively as she throws the bralet back into her wardrobe as if A’whora’s given her a command and not a suggestion. “See, this is another reason why you’re the queen of outfit advice. Bimini wouldn’t give me this level of honesty, they’re too nice.”
A’whora feels a warmth spread in her chest at the compliment, but she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts, nods in agreement. “Yeah, because you could come out dressed in a pair of child’s pyjamas and they’d still say they love it. They’d say it’s very Y2K or something.”
Tayce lets out a cackle before holding up the skirt and leather jacket, humming in thought. “Okay, so you’re saying ditch the jacket but keep the skirt.”
“Yes.”
“And ditch the bralet.”
“Yes.”
“So you want me to go out in a skirt and a pair of heels and nothing else,” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her, and as A’whora bursts out laughing and protests she has to fight off a blush at the thought of her best friend topless in heels. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt with a zip that could just be pulled down to leave her in-
The heat floods A’whora’s face like she’s been smacked and she shifts on the bed in an attempt at dissipating the feelings that’ve hit her like a tsunami. Inappropriate. Weird. Way too weird. Don’t do that again.
“What about the bright blue fur coat you’ve got? Because you could have an all black outfit with that as a bit of colour,” she suggests, shrugging lightly in an attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been thinking about Tayce in the way she had.
Tayce’s face lights up and she points at A’whora with one hand and reaches into her wardrobe with the other. “Love that. Okay, top?”
“Are you addressing me? I’ve never topped for anyone,” A’whora attempts a joke. If Tayce can make jokes like that to her then she can do it right back.  
“That’s very clear, baby,” Tayce shoots in response without missing a beat. Before A’whora realises it, she’s flexing her toes. What the fuck is happening to her? She needs to steer this conversation back on track.
She thinks for a second. “You’re a size eight, right?”
“In theory. The amount of pot noodles I’ve been chucking down my neck since I moved in is very quickly rendering that a distant memory, I’ll tell ya,” Tayce says, as she leans against the door of her wardrobe and folds her arms.
“I’ve got a black lace bodysuit that would go with that. It’s a ten so it’ll fit. D’you want to try it?”
“Well despite the fact a skirt and a bodysuit was the very thing I just roasted Ellie for always wearing…that sounds lush. Thanks, Rory Roo,” Tayce agrees, the nickname-of-a-nickname setting off the click of a small pilot light in A’whora’s heart. She’s about to ask if she wants to come try it on just now when she hears both their names being yelled from the kitchen.
The pair of them head back through to find that Tia has changed the playlist on the speakers from the chilled-out, calm acoustic one that had been playing to her early 00’s tunes. Combined with Bimini half-singing, half-yelling along to Murder on the Dancefloor and the blast of the extractor fan as Ellie stirs something in a big metal pot at the hob, it’s a far cry from the calm, cosy scene that A’whora had witnessed in the kitchen some hours prior.
Ellie had been the one who had shouted on them, and she whips around from the cooker when she realises that Tayce and A’whora have come through. “I’m making dinner for me, Bims and Tia, you wanting some?”
“Depends what it is. Come on, talk it up, Ellie. Give us some options,” Tayce shrugs with feigned disinterest, and A’whora can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts from her mouth as Ellie narrows her eyes at her.
“It’s spaghetti and meatballs, and your alternatives are fuck off or die,” she shoots back savagely, and the whoop of shock and laughter that goes up from the others soars above the music and the fan. Tayce laughs good-naturedly in spite of the barb.
“I’m joking, ‘course I’ll take some.”
A’whora wrinkles her nose. “You’re making meatballs for a meal that Bimini is gonna eat?”
“They’re not real ones, dipshit,” Bimini pipes up from over on the sofa. “It’s that Birdseye Green Cuisine shit, innit.”
“Birdseye Green Cuisine shit,” A’whora repeats disdainfully. “If you ever go on The Apprentice, Bim, Alan Sugar’s gonna shit himself at your selling abilities.”
Tayce snorts, tries and fails to cover it up. When her eyes rest on A’whora they share a little smile, and A’whora’s grows bigger when she thinks about the way they’re both so in sync all the time.
“They’re nice, I promise! Veronica’s talked them up loads, she told me she’s been trying to eat more veggie things,” Tia insists, with an entirely unnecessary namedrop of her crush. A’whora relents and says she’ll have a small bowl before jumping out of her skin as Ellie bangs the spoon against the pot somewhat aggressively with a face like thunder.
Before A’whora can ask Ellie about her bad mood, Tia speaks again as she scrolls her phone to change the song. “Honestly, Ellie, you’re a star for doing dinner. Thanks so much.”
“Aw, don’t be silly, doll! It’s nothing!” Ellie turns around from the hob and bats the compliment away, shooting Tia a dazzling smile in return. It’s funny the way her demeanour seems to instantly do a complete 180 at the praise, and it makes A’whora wonder what’s changed.
She’s distracted, though, by the way Lawrence enters in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel, obviously having come straight from the shower. She pouts and whines in a very un-Lawrence way as she lingers at the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen.
“Guysss, does anyone have an ID they can give me for tonight?”
“What about your friend? Who was it…Rosé?” A’whora shrugs, and Lawrence fixes her with a wide-eyed stare of incredulity.
“Oh my God, A’whora! I never thought about asking the girl I’ve been borrowing ID from since the start of uni! Thanks for that!” she says sarcastically, Bimini giving a yelp of laughter and A’whora leaning off the countertops and swiping at Lawrence in retort. “She’s using it. She asked her girlfriend and her flatmates for me but they’ve all got plans. I felt like a fuckin’ daytime TV charity advert.”
“For just one pound a week, you could help an underaged child get blackout drunk on triple trebles,” A’whora puts on a dramatic, concerned voice, proud of the way it makes Tayce blurt out a laugh.
“It’s such fucking bullshit,” Lawrence huffs, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. “I mean my eighteenth’s in five days and I’ve been drinking in parks since I was fourteen, how can I not just be let into a fuckin’ bar?”
“Grow up and order a fake one,” Ellie shakes her head with incredulity, smashing the wooden spoon against the pot again with a bang-bang-bang to get the excess pasta sauce off.
“Just you pipe down, hen, you shouldn’t even be at uni. In fact, have you even completed primary yet?”
The two girls stick their tongues out at each other, a mirror-image of petty bickering that makes A’whora laugh. Luckily Bimini steps in, shrugging as they open their purse.
“Here, babe. I’ve still got my course friend’s provisional from when she dropped it on Gordon Street when she was off her face. I ain’t given her it back yet an’ I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you borrowed it. She’s chill.”
Lawrence accepts enthusiastically, bouncing over to Bimini and thanking them gratefully. A’whora watches her face drop, though, when she takes a look at the photo.
“There’s no way this’ll work.”
Bimini tuts and shakes their head, the picture of casual composure. “It’s fine, babes, they never look properly anyway.”
Lawrence drops the hand that’s holding the license to her side and fixes her friend with an astounded glare. “Bimini. This girl is black.”
As the others screech with outrage and mirth, Bimini waves Lawrence’s concerns away blithely. “It’ll be dark! It’s fine! Asttina an’ you have both got similar…well…you’re both girls, an’ you’re about the same height. Give or take a few inches.”    
“Christ. I’m going to have to just forward roll past the bouncers, aren’t I? Then draw a fuckin’ club stamp on my arm in Sharpie.”
“Oh my God, stop moaning!” Ellie sighs from her position at the hob, bangs the spoon again for emphasis. “Look, I’ll ask Pippa from flat 2, alright? You both have brown hair, so…that’ll probably be enough.”
A’whora thinks it’s interesting the way Lawrence doesn’t shoot something back in her foghorn of a voice like she normally does. Instead she smiles warmly, dashes over to the kitchen where she hugs Ellie from behind, squeezing her tightly at the stomach and making her flinch in surprise.
“Thanks, Ellie-Bellie,” she sing-songs, swaying her aggressively from side to side until Ellie bats her away, flicking the spoon in a way that threatens to shower them both in marinara sauce.
“Right, that’s plenty. Don’t even do things I enjoy for that long.”
“When’s this gonna be ready, Els?” Bimini shouts through as Lawrence lets go. “ ‘Ave I got time to do my makeup before it?”
Ellie shrugs. “If you can do your makeup in ten minutes.”
A’whora kicks her leg out in Tayce’s direction and jerks her head towards the hall. “Do you want to try on that bodysuit before tea?”
Tayce nods enthusiastically in agreement, so they go back along the corridor with a shout to the others telling them they won’t be long. A’whora holds the door of her room open for Tayce and her heart sinks in embarrassment when she realises she forgot to make her bed this morning.
“Sorry about the mess,” she apologies, to which Tayce gives a cry of a laugh in response.
“A’whora, have you seen my room? You’re fine, kid, don’t worry.”
A’whora thinks that’s true- Tayce’s room is a state, but somehow it seems to suit her. Tayce’s room with the crowded bulletin board, desk covered in sweet wrappers and sketches, floor carpeted with clothes that need washed and outfits that didn’t make the cut. The cracked picture frame on her window-sill of the first selfie the six of them all got together on the first night of freshers and the huge cheese plant that sits next to her bedside table, Tayce’s pride and joy. They’re all little intricate shards that join up to form a perfect picture of her personality, and A’whora thinks it’s sort of perfect.
She looks out the bodysuit from its neatly Marie Kondo-d place in her wardrobe and hands it gently to Tayce. “Try it and see. It’s a small 10 anyway so it’ll probably be fine for you.”
Tayce accepts it gratefully and hooks a finger around both of the straps, letting the rest of the material fall out of its perfectly folded little parcel. She gives a little gasp of appreciation as she looks at it. “Oh yes, baby. I think this’ll do just fine.”
A’whora feels good- proud that she’s managed to find the perfect piece for Tayce’s outfit, to help her look as inevitably gorgeous as she knows she will. The smile on her face falters, though, when Tayce shoots her a wink and leans against the wall with her shoulder. “This is gonna get me someone I can pop off my acrylics for, I can tell. You’ve got the best taste, girl.”
“Are you actually going to try and get with someone tonight?” A’whora injects a laugh into her question that she’s banking on sounding genuine, otherwise it comes across as accusatory and that’s not what she means it to be. Or is it? She doesn’t know. “You know how messy nights at The Avenue always get. Last time we were there Lawrence got so drunk she told us she couldn’t see, remember?”
Tayce laughs her off with a shrug. “Well then I’ll just have to be careful with my drinks, won’t I?”
A’whora gives a false laugh, tries so hard to get it to meet her eyes. Why is she so pressed about this? She gets with girls on nights out too, she’s brought the occasional one night stand to the flat. Tayce is allowed to do the same.
So why does she feel ever so slightly gutted?
If her smile looks fake (which it is) then Tayce doesn’t notice, and she only shoots her a smile as she opens the bedroom door. “You’re an angel. I’ll pop this on then be back in five.”
A’whora takes the opportunity of Tayce having left to make her bed, and as she does so she feels lots of little thoughts dart around her mind like minnows, none of them staying in the same place for long enough to be able to be deciphered. She manages to catch a few before they flee away and she clings to them, turning them over in her head: why does she feel so bothered about the prospect of Tayce finding a girl at the party, talking to her and making a connection and laughing at her jokes? Why had it felt like a punch to the gut when Tayce was joking about doing so? Why does she have this part of her that feels like an idiot for setting Tayce up to look her best and knowing that it’s for the benefit of somebody else, somebody that doesn’t know her like she does?
And then her bedroom door opens and A’whora turns around and lays eyes on her best friend. Tayce in her high heels and bare legs and the skirt with the zip. Tayce with her baby blue fake fur coat and her straight, dark hair tumbling over its shoulders. Tayce in the bodysuit- A’whora’s bodysuit- with the lace and the mesh that clings to her chest like it was designed just for her. There’s something about the fact that she’s wearing something that belongs to A’whora that makes something inside her chest tingle, the fact it’s a little piece of her in Tayce’s jigsaw puzzle that seems to fit regardless of the difference.
“What d’you think?” Tayce smiles, all too aware of how drop-dead stunning she looks.
And then the realisation hits A’whora like a train.
Oh.
Fuck.
She’s screwed.
29 notes · View notes
deecitys · 3 years
Text
blue, white, and a little bit of gold; z. chenle
Tumblr media
pairing: chenle x fem!reader
genre/warnings: school au, friends to lovers, student!chenle, fluff, swearing, food
word count: 2.7k
a.n.: this is part of the nct secret santa collab hosted by @neoculturechristmas ! i’m writing for @candychanhee i hope u enjoy <33
masterlist
lowercase intended
--
MONDAY, DEC. 14
“you’re really going to leave me alone?” you frown. “here? with mrs. s? out of all the teachers?”
your best friend, jiwoo, places her hand on your shoulder empathetically. “she called you. i’m terrified of her. the discussion is over, y/n.”
she bows like a ballerina and proceeds to jump away from you down the hall. you roll your eyes and push the wooden door open, sighing. the empty home economics classroom smells like freshly baked muffins, except evil freshly baked muffins, just because this is mrs. s’s classroom.
you walk up to the one desk you could find, clear of fabric scraps and needles, and dump your heavy backpack on it. the noise echos; or maybe it’s just your hyperactive brain anticipating for a jumpscare. in mrs. s’s classroom, anything can happen… 
but just as you were about to call for the terrifying teacher, the door rattles open behind you and you let out a yelp, scrunching down. 
“hey y/n,” a slightly familiar voice calls. you slowly shift your gaze to find zhong chenle. 
you’ve known chenle ever since middle school (you might’ve had a crush on him back then…), and he was in your friend group at one point, but you two have never crossed paths in particular especially after he was announced as mvp for the school basketball team and became mega popular. he was nice though, as far as you knew, and it was a sense of relief that you weren’t going to be the only one in mrs. s’s room.
“haha, um, hi chenle,” you force a smile and hold the desk to get up. something shifts in the storage room of the class, and when you two turn your attention to the noise, mrs. s enters the scene. her leather buckled shoes clack on the floor as she approaches you and chenle. 
“hello, chenle,” mrs. s greets the smiling boy with ink-black hair, and proceeds to frown on you through her narrow glasses. “you should’ve told me you’re here.”
“sorry,” you utter, avoiding eye contact.  
she mumbles something about kids these days. “i called you two here because i want to ask for a favor.” 
while mrs. s shuffles through her desk, you glance at chenle with wide eyes, who shrugs back in question.
“i’m on duty for planning, and you two are the highest performing in my classes. a week left.” mrs. s hands a piece of paper, and chenle reaches out to grab it.
“december 18th, friday, gym, at 6 through 8:30 pm… the winter dance?” he reads. “we’re supposed to plan it?”
“plan it, manage it, whatever else it needs,” mrs. s explains while you panic trying to think of an excuse out. chenle just stands, dumbfounded. “10 percent raise of semester grade of whatever class if it goes successfully.”
10 percent? holy shit, this is your chance. your math grade!
“we’re doing it!” you blurt out loudly, inducing an emotion (slight surprise? indistinguishable.) out of mrs. s for the first time. 
“we are?” chenle questions, to which you blink inanimately . “oh… oh yeah, we are. leave it to us! we’re really trustworthy, and we have teamwork. we’re, we’re practically best friends. you can count on us.” 
mrs. s slowly nods in approval while you force a big grin, grabbing your backpack and pushing chenle towards the door. “we’ll start planning now, thank you, see you in class!”
you two rush out of the room. “dear god,” you sigh.
“you know what? i need that grade raise, my english grade is, uh, kinda questionable.” chenle sighs. 
“so is my math grade, i’m literally about to be disowned. meet tomorrow after school at the gym?” you ask, and he nods, giving you a thumbs up. with a strained grin, you turn right around and speed walk to the end of the hall. jiwoo appears, peeking behind the corner. 
“is that zhong chenle?” 
--
TUESDAY, DEC. 15
“so…” you hold on to the ends of your puffy jacket to make sure they aren’t blown away by the freezing winter wind. “where do we start?”
“we could look at the gym and, i don’t know, envision the scene. i got the keys. and budgets tomorrow,” chenle enunciates, which you give a positive shrug to. 
the door creaks open and you hurry in to turn on the lights. you’ve been in here plenty of times before, and you try to remember the setup last year, hoping you would be able to get some inspiration. it’s interrupted by a tingly feeling in your nose and a following sneeze.
“god, it’s freezing in here too,” you exclaim. “doesn’t it get even colder? we’ll need to have everything indoors.” 
“do you think they’ll let us sell winter themed popsicles?” chenle asks. you frown at his contradicting question. he’s wearing a simple crewneck sweatshirt unlike you prepared for antarctica.
“...a hot chocolate stand?” he negotiates, noticing your glare. 
“a hot chocolate stand it is,” you take your phone out to write a note, pausing halfway to point at the spot near the entrance. “we could have it right there, with the entry fee stand, so people can grab one as they come.” 
“and this can be the dance floor?” chenle is now suddenly standing in the middle of the room. you nod, writing down another bullet point. 
--
“so, how was it?” jiwoo asks on the phone. 
“it wasn’t that awkward, he’s still chatty, actually,” you describe, twiddling the blanket you have over your head. “we got a week’s notice which is so shitty, but we got to everything we had to do and we’re on track. he comes up with the wildest, most unrealistic ideas, though. can you imagine popsicles in a winter dance? it’s fucking freezing, i’m going to work a bit on decorations after school so he doesn’t mess with it…”
--
WEDNESDAY, DEC. 16
“what are you wearing?” chenle lets out high-pitched laughs. it’s after school the next day, and this time, you’ve prepared for the climate. 
“what?” you frown. “it’s cold in there. i need to survive.”
“you look like a penguin.”
“it’s only five layers.”
“whatever you say, best friend,” chenle does a fancy little bow to lead you into the gym. you huff but follow him anyway.
“today, we have to do all the budget stuff,” he takes a seat on the open bleacher to open his laptop, and you hesitantly take a seat a feet away. “i actually did some research and found all the places we need to contact, with all the costs and fees written and added一 here.” he turns the laptop your way and you lean towards the laptop (NOT HIM, THE LAPTOP!) slightly to take a look. a lot of work with numbers is done and you’re actually quite astonished by the organization and amount.
“practice got cancelled, and so like i had a lot of time lying around. i’ve contacted some places if we already made the decisions on the specifics so some are finalized, um, if that’s okay,” he explains. you continue to scan through the spreadsheet. the dj, catering, lights, they’re all done.
“wow, chenle,” that’s what you manage to say. “i’m glad i did something too.” you quickly dig up your sketchbook from your backpack and flip through it until you find the decoration sketches. you hand it over to him with fully stretched arms, keeping your distance. “they’re all at target, all the stuff i marked. so we can go get them whenever, if the budget, you know, allows it.” you hold down the strong urge to bite your nails through the long, dreadful silence. where did the chatty chenle go while you needed his chattiness the most?
“this is really cool,” he finally speaks. “and it fits our budget, so it’s perfect. i remember you being really good at art in middle school! guess you didn’t change.”
you flush (for no absolute reason!) and quickly take the drawing away, mumbling up a ‘thanks’. 
“uh, anyways, today all we have to do is contact the rest of the people on the list, and then we’ll buy the stuff tomorrow, sell last minutes tickets on thursday, and theeeen we’ll decorate and see how the dance goes on friday, right? since the school’s been advertising since, what, last week?” you speak quickly to change the subject. he doesn’t seem to notice and instead nods. 
--
“tomorrow, we’re driving to target to get all the decorations. hey, remember when i liked him in middle school?” you ask jiwoo. it’s after school and you’re at her house, doing homework. she looks up from her science assignment to give you a look.
“don’t tell me you’re starting to like him again,” she laughs.
“hey, what’s wrong with that?” you raise your voice slightly, then turn your attention back to your laptop, suddenly self-conscious. “i mean, not that i like him, anyway.”
“you know i can see right through you?” jiwoo doesn’t take her gaze off of you for the long period of silence that follows. you roll your eyes.
“fine, whatever, i may have the tiniest physical symptoms of liking him again or whatever,” you admit. jiwoo giggles, then scrunches closer to you.
“so, what do you like about him?” she asks enthusiastically.
“i mean… he has a nice smile, yeah, that,” you mumble.
“and?”
“i guess he’s funny, and nice, and actually kind of responsible, i don’t know, and his voice一” 
your description is interrupted by jiwoo’s screech.
“shouldn't have brought it up…” you sigh.
--
THURSDAY, DEC. 17
what have you gotten yourself into?
out of all the cars, you’re sitting at the front seat of ZHONG CHENLE’s car. he’s driving. CHENLE IS DRIVING. 
the familiar roads aren’t so familiar when you’re in such a peculiar situation. he drives nicely though. and there’s the radio on. and he’s humming. super nicely. that’s so attractive. there’s nothing particularly attractive about humming, but on chenle it is. SHUT UP Y/N! 
“do you sing?” you unconsciously ask.
“yeah, actually,” he answers. “my dad doesn’t like it, though, actually, so i don’t tell a lot of people. he just wants me to focus on basketball, because i don’t sing in a deep tone like the opera people, and he thinks if i don’t do that, it’s not manly enough, or whatever.”
the mood… you brought up the wrong topic, you think. “sounds like what jake would say,” you reply in a lighter note. “remember him? the super old school kid from 7th grade?”
“oh my god, YES,” chenle laughs, moving on to talk about him and middle school memories until you reach target. you quickly find the party decoration section and pick out the things. you’re on your last item when chenle taps your shoulder. he’s holding packages of golden sparkly streamers.
“i know the colors are blue and white, but imagine a little bit of gold. a little bit of sparkle, but no annoying glitter shit! what do you say?” he anticipates. 
“actually, pretty cool, yeah,” you say, and chenle pumps his arm before throwing the packages into the shopping basket. 
“i was about to just say no without listening after that one time you suggested we get popsicles, but good suggestion. love the improvement!” you half-joke. he immediately mocks you, which you laugh at.
the car is loaded up and now you’re on your way back. you two chat about the most random things, from taste in food to tv shows to traumatic but funny experiences, and you keep yawning. it’s been a long day.
chenle drives out of route, but you’re too tired to realize; the most you can do is keep up with the conversation. a blink later and you’re at the drive-thru of starbucks. “pick a drink, miss,” he rolls the window down when the car stops front of the menu.
“me?” you ask in surprise.
“yes, you.” chenle laughs. “you look so dead right now, it’s only 5 pm. i think we both need a caffeine boost for homework.”
“ooh, so thoughtful of you,” you dramatize.
 he rolls his eyes. “shut up, i’m paying.”
“caramel macchiato please, mr. zhong!”
you sit patiently while he orders and gets the drinks; a caramel macchiato for you and a café latte for himself. you sip the drink in now comfortable silence and bliss (who wouldn’t be happy with a free drink?) on the way back. 
“why didn’t we ever talk before?” chenle asks, breaking the silence.
“dunno,” you say. “just we didn’t have any reasons to, i guess,”
“remember when i told mrs. s we were practically best friends? maybe that wasn’t a lie.”
for once, you love mrs. s so much right now.
--
FRIDAY, DEC. 18 (D-DAY!)
with the help of chenle’s friends, decorations are up on time and students show up to the dance. everything goes by plan and people are thriving, except… jiwoo had a change of plans last minute. and you were going to ask her to help ask chenle out.
“i’m telling you, it’s the perfect chance,” over the phone, jiwoo’s voice sounds passionate and a little distorted. it’s a little hard to tune into with the background noise, even outside of the dance room alone. “once this is over, nothing happens, and winter break starts, you guys will end up like before. distance friends with zero interactions and zero chances. take the risk while you can, y/n!”
“but you aren’t here to help me!” you whine. “i’ve never done this before! i wasn’t prepared for this! i’m not the kind of person to be doing this!”
“and you’ll never be prepared anyway, so what’s the point of waiting?” jiwoo argues. “don’t be a pussy and go for it. if he likes you back, that’s cool, and if he doesn’t, you have nothing to worry about because you guys won’t have a reason to talk anymore. now, i have an angry mother to deal with, so i’m hanging up, peace out and tell me how it goes. love you, bye!” 
your urgent call of her name is interrupted by a long and loud beep. you sigh. 
as much as you hate to admit, she’s right. there isn’t any other excuse to keep talking to him. you check the time, and it’s almost 8; half an hour until the dance ends.
“fuck it,” you say to yourself, pushing the heavy door open and meeting the warm and noisy atmosphere. it’s not long until you find chenle chatting with the dj. you take a deep breath feets away from his back and decide to approach him that way. 
“chenle! chenle!” you whisper-yelled through the booming music. he turns around immediately, eyes wandering until he finds you. 
“y/n! y/n!” he whisper-yells back. 
“i need to tell you something important.” you take his arm and start to drag him towards the door out.
“you good? what’s up?” he asks. you shake your head, signaling it’s too loud in the gym, and point to the door, continuing to pull him. through your booming heartbeat you keep calm until you reach the cold outdoor air where you finally let go of chenle.
“so, um, hi,” you greet, to which chenle chuckles.
“hey.”
“the important thing is,” you take a deep breath in. “ithinkilikeyouandithinkweshouldgoout.” 
it takes a second for him to process your fast words. maybe you shouldn’t have confessed, you think. you internally scream, and this is the longest second of your LIFE.
“uhh, this isn’t fair,” chenle argues, and you’re stand there, dumbfounded. ?_? “i was going to ask you out! life is so unfair.”
you gasp. “you’re KIDDING.”
“no, i’m not. uh, so, like, i think yes. what am i saying… i’m saying that yes, we should go out.” chenle looks nervous. CHENLE LOOKS NERVOUS!
“i was NOT expecting that,” you say.
“well, i wasn’t either, on my end,” chenle laughs. 
“well,” you hold yourself back from screaming and jumping. “we should go back in, we’re the managers, y’know?” chenle nods, taking your hand to walk back into the gym. smooth.
“also, y/n, when i bought you starbucks, the intention was not to seduce you, just wanted to clarify. that was only like, four bucks. you’re worth more than four bucks, i swear.” chenle rants.
“glad to hear,” you roll your eyes but end up laughing anyway. 
there couldn’t have been a better winter dance.
107 notes · View notes
demonwifey · 4 years
Note
Ok, so we know that beej is a limby boi (with the invisible reprise scene) so maybe a headcanon about just cuddling/spooning and the multiple legs and arms come to play? I thought that since a lot of us are quarantined we’re pretty touch starved (take whatever route you want with it 😊)
Hey guys! I had a lot of fun writing these headcanons. I also got inspired even more by this commission @beetlebitties did for me a while back (check out her Beetlejuice art, it’s amazing btw). Hope you guys enjoy!💜🖤💚
Beetlejuice x fem!reader +  a small AMAB reader part as well
Warnings: Cursing, NSFW (18+) later on, mentions of heavy bruising
Word count: 2,129
SFW 
Beetlejuice never hid the fact that he could sprout extra limbs from his body, and in different places as well. Whenever he was around, he would always use them to try and freak you out.
The first time was when you were cooking dinner. You went to open one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen when a black and white sleeved arm popped out and waved at you. You jump and yelp before hearing Beetlejuice laugh in the distance behind you. What a jerk, you thought. 
But when Beej started to hang around on the regular, you got used to them. Even started using them for your own gain. 
How many times had you asked Beej to use one of his extra arms to grab the remote after it slid too far to reach under the couch? A lot. There were even times when he’d watch you struggle to reach under the couch before offering to help. 
He liked staring at your ass and listening to you curse while trying to reach the remote. Yes, he tried to deny it when you caught him staring. 
“I was trying to get a far sighted view...for the remote.” 
“Just shut up and help, Beetlejuice.” 
He was always using his extra limbs to make you laugh too. Balancing different items on each hand, while simultaneously trying to walk around with 8 different legs. Even if he made a mess on your living room floor, you were still hunched over laughing. Didn’t matter if you had a bad day or not, he just wanted to be the one to make you smile. 
Beetlejuice was a jokester but it became even more evident when you were playing video games or watching a movie together. 
Video games: Beej would presumably have both hands on his own controller. But not even 10 minutes later you would feel a random hand messing with yours while you tried to play. Immediately looking down you saw the extra arm coming from his side. Just before you could yell at him to stop, the extra hand would start tickling your side. Unable to concentrate and play correctly, you immediately lost the round.
“Beej, you fucking cheater!” You tried to play angry but couldn’t as another arm grew on the cushion next to you and tickled your other side.
“What’s that, babes? I can’t hear you! You’re laughing too hard!” He mocks while laughing along with you. 
Watching a movie: Obviously you’re an adult. You’ve watched plenty of movies with nudity and sex scenes in them. So now you’re watching a movie with Beej laying his head on your lap. All of a sudden two of the characters started to roughly yank each other’s clothes off. Just before the woman could unclasp her bra, you felt two hands suddenly cover your eyes. If they weren’t covered, you probably would’ve rolled them. 
“Really, Beej?” You asked while throwing your hands up. 
“Sorry, doll. Gotta protect your innocence.” You heard him snicker. 
“Innocence? B, this is my fourth time watching this.” That’s when the hands quickly zipped away. Replacing them was Beetlejuice’s face only inches away from your own. His smirk was way too suggestive for your liking.
“Well, If you’ve seen it 4 times, maybe you could show me how this scene ends. Whaddya say, dollface?” You felt one of his regular hands gently rub your thigh. You gave him your own cheeky smile. 
“Hmm, or maybe you can be a good boy and watch for yourself.” You got closer, making your noses practically touch before using a free hand to push his face away from yours. This caused the green haired demon to fall backwards onto the floor. A loud thud echoed through the house while he looked back up at you with a hint of annoyance on his face. 
Cuddling was always a staple in your relationship with Beetlejuice, before and after you two made it official. 
Although he would never admit it, Beetlejuice loves being the little spoon. You found this out after one night when he was practically buzzing in your arms while you held him from behind, rubbing his stomach in gentle circles. 
“Hey, Beej...are you alright?” 
“Y-yeah. Why do y-ou ask, babes?” 
“Well, for one your whole body is, quite literally, steaming and it feels like you’re vibrating a little bit.” 
He was trying to babble out an answer but once you actually noticed his hair was beaming hot pink, you caught on. You silenced him by giving him gentle kisses on his back while continuing the circles on his stomach. 
It didn’t really matter to you. You loved holding Beej all the time. But Beetlejuice was always the one to return the favor. 
Whenever you were holding him, you’d feel two extra arms wrap around you from behind. You only giggled, knowing Beetlejuice was just trying to be fair, even though he didn’t need to be. It soon became normal when you guys were cuddling for him to use his extra limbs on you. Almost like he was doing it out of habit. 
You felt extra arms wrap around you. An extra leg sitting between yours so you could have something to wrap them around. Your favorite was when he’d have extra hands playing in your hair or fingers tracing circles on your body. 
His favorite was when you held one of his extra hands. He’d be laying on top of you with his head resting on your chest. Both of his arms would be wrapped around you but his extra limbs would still appear out of his back. Without even needing to be told, you would reach up to grab one of the hands and use your thumb to rub it gently. 
The moan he let out when you did this didn’t go unnoticed. 
Getting out of bed was never easy with his extra arms. You would be laying on top of him and as soon as you tried to get up, an extra arm would snake around your back and hold you down. Even if you laughed and tried to wiggle out of it, two more would come to hold you down again. 
“B, come on. I gotta pee.” You’d plead. You only feel two more arms grip your thighs. “Ugh, Beeeeeej.” 
Being the little shit he is, he only chuckled and gave your ass a light tap before cozying up back into your chest. 
NSFW
There were days when cuddling with Beej was innocent, and then there were days when it wasn’t. 
One time you both were laid out on the couch. You sat up slightly with your back on the arm rest. Beetlejuice was laying with his back on the couch and his head on your stomach. Your legs were wrapped a little around his sides. You were gently combing your fingers through his hair while his hands were rubbing up and down your thighs. 
It was pretty peaceful to the point when you were almost dozing off. That’s when you saw an extra arm come out at the side of you. Finally it reached the hem of your shirt slyly making its way under. You didn’t get a chance to register the cold temperature of his palm before his fingers started squeezing your nipple. 
You can’t help the soft moan that comes out. The little shit then moves his head back to look up at you, a flirty smile taking over his face. 
“You starting something, Beej?” You asked while letting one of your hands run down to undo the first button of this shirt. 
“Only if you promise to finish it, doll.” You felt the extra hand under your shirt pull a little harder. Stopped and actually thought for a second, before leaning your head against the side of the couch. 
“Well, I would but I’m kinda tired. You might have to do all the work.” Not even a second later was he sitting up in front of you. His hair practically lit up the room as it started flashing and fading into different shades of pink. The look of arousal on his face was both turning you on and scaring you.
“Oh, babycakes. You know how much I love it when you let me take control.” He said, practically growling from his own arousal. He quickly scooped you up bridal style and rushed to your bedroom. And he said take control, he really meant it. 
You were used to Beej using his extra limbs during sex but this time he went all out. You didn’t even have to lift a finger. When he took off your clothes, two hands lifted your shirt up and two more pulled your shorts down. He leans down to give you a deep kiss when you feel two hands holding your cheeks and running through your hair. Then a different pair of hands started feeling and squeezing your breasts gently. You couldn’t help but let out a moan at the contact mixed with the feel of his tongue making its way in your mouth.   
You started losing count of how many hands and arms were wrapped around you as he finally pounding into you. The most noticeable hand was slowly rubbing up and down on your clit.
That combined with his hands everywhere else? Were you on the peak of over stimulation? Practically. 
“Beej~ Oh~ Slow down or I’m gonna be cumming, ah~, in no time.” Trying to find any one of his arms to grip on. Without warning, you felt two of his hands reach down to grip your thighs and push them up. Basically having you on full display. 
Was he drooling? Yes. The beautiful sight of his favorite breather being wrapped in his, never ending, arms and on the edge of cumming around his dick. How could he not drool? 
“Babes, no need to worry. This is far from over.” He chuckled. You only moaned louder as some of his drool fell on top of your clit and he pushed in deeper. 
So now you couldn’t help it. Beetlejuice got you hooked on his extra limbs during sex. It wasn’t your fault. He was just too good at using them. And when he caught on to how much you liked them, he never gave you a break. Ever. 
You’d be in the shower and suddenly there was a random arm coming out of the wall in front of you. You didn’t have a chance to get scared as reached down to start fingering you.
OR    
(for my AMAB readers) Imagine you're on the couch, minding your business. When suddenly you feel a hand palming at the crotch of your pants. You didn’t argue as you felt it slip its way under your pants and underwear to pull your dick out. You’re squirming and moaning as the hand pumps you slowly. 
“How’s that feel, babes?” You almost jump as Beej’s voice creeps from behind you, but are quickly distracted as his thumb runs over your tip. You can’t even answer as he’s got you too caught up in your own pleasure. 
“Fuck~ Beej. Yeah~, just like that.” You moan out.
Everything involving Beej’s extra limbs makes him 100 times more excited. He’d never got to use his supernatural powers on a breather if he wasn’t scaring them. And here you were almost loving it more than him. Almost. 
His favorite time to use them is when you were riding him.
You’re on top and he’s got arms around your back holding you firmly while he bounds into you. Two hands are on your chest and more gripping your thighs and ass. 
So bruises and marks were already bad with Beej. But now with quadruple hands gripping you all over, it looked like your body had been run over by a truck. Not that you minded. 
Half the time you would catch Beej starting while you changed clothes. He had a habit of doing so anyway, but now he was eager to see the marks he left all over you. All you hear is a long whistle coming from your bed. 
“Have I told you how breathtakingly sexy you look, doll?” You rolled your eyes at him. 
“Yes, only 100 times a day. Sheesh, I look like I’ve gone through 10 rounds in a boxing ring.” You said while looking at the red marks around your hips and thighs. Beetlejuice quickly stood up and wrapped him around you. The smirk on his face was nothing but mischievous. 
“Well, if you want. We can go 10 more rounds right now.” He whispered while planting kisses on your shoulder. You didn’t even get to answer before he started nibbling on one of the bruises causing you to let out a slight gasp.
Thanks so much for reading!💜🖤💚
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davidmann95 · 3 years
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Comics this week (5/26/2021)?
Heroes Reborn #4: JAMES STOKOE?! Hahahahaha this shit ruled
Heroes Reborn: Magneto & The Mutant Force #1: Nothing revolutionary but if you're in for Orlando or any of a couple eras of X-Men worth a look-see.
X-Men #20: I recently realized Hickman's entire 'main' X-Men run has been nothing but setup for either what he'll do with his upcoming next book, X of Swords, or other titles in the line, and that the real story hasn't actually progressed since HoXPoX. Glad to see any sign of that changing soon.
The Marvels #2: My dad did want to get it himself after all, and it's a perfectly decent issue.
Miles Morales: Spider-Man #26: I think I'm done. This represented another slight uptick but I don't think I can justify continuing with a book defined by its occasional slight upticks anymore.
Abbott 1973 #5: This on the other hand flat-out sucked and I'm not bothering with whatever trilogy-capper's in store.
Haha #5: Another relatively not-horrifying one! Maybe Prince really is starting to vary himself a bit. In any case it's Walta so obviously it's gorgeous, if you're already in the tank for anyone involved this issue's a treat.
The Department of Truth #9: Oh boy howdy do I love me a good high-falutin' bullshit lecture issue. This can't exactly hang with Promethea in that regard but it's a respectable mere rung or two down.
The Blue Flame #1: This didn't knock my socks off the way I was hoping, but for a mini of I believe just a few issues I'm curious enough where it'll go.
Strange Adventures #10: I don't think it'll go for a disappointing 'actually it was Alanna all along!' ending at this point so I'm pretty wholeheartedly enjoying this testament to how hard my least-favorite character sucks. Everybody's fixed on the map, but personally my favorite art accomplishments of the issue were Doc's look at the Seafolk and Gerads' Alanna in flight.
Action Comics #1031: PKJ continues to strut his stuff but for me this was first and foremost a Sampere showcase issue, this is the most since Ryan Sook I've thought "this is the guy who should define Superman's interior art for the next decade".
Batman/Superman #18: Increasingly a slight Multiversity vibe to this whole thing even besides the dimension-hopping, with 'traditional' storytelling giving way to something more unsettling as a reveal of deeper social truths - I continue to extremely fuck with it.
RWBY/Justice League (digital) #10: A letdown tbh aside from Bennett clearly having her own take on the arc of Yang and Blake's relationship; I was hoping this is where her character talent would get a chance to shine, but not so much. It just feels shockingly perfunctory compared to her original run, though I suppose that's par for the course with crossovers, and I'll continue to hope for a more fruitful sequel.
Batman: Black and White #6:
Thomas/Randolph/Bennett: Unsurprisingly a fun little story coming from Thomas. However - and I'll concede it'd be hard to do a 'Batman realizes that as a white man however well-meaning he's still unconsciously practicing systemic racism' story I'd be 100% onboard for, and maybe that's just on me as a white guy who doesn't want that fictional idol despoiled in quite that way - I've never bought the idea that there are parts of Gotham Batman avoids, whether the East Side or the Cauldron or in this case The Hill.
Charretier/Colinet/Maher: Nice but we've all seen this exact story done better before, though the last panel of the kids' recounting was effectively striking and Charretier really struck the perfect visual balance for it.
Derington/Wands: Writing's not as good as it wants to be but who cares it's Derrington drawing Batman.
Arcudi/Harren/Napolitano: ...ok?
Snyder/Romita/Janson/Napolitano: It's fine, it's a Scott Snyder Batman story so you know roughly what you're getting (though his chapter in Detective Comics #1027 really should have been his last word on the character), and Romita Jr. does his best work in a minute here.
The Other History of the DC Universe #4: Probably the best issue since the first, bringing back a lot of the intimate focus in possessed and the same visible filter of how this particular character is perceiving things in a way the reader is inevitably going to clash with that gives the whole thing a charge. And my philosophy-major dad will definitely get a kick out of the last couple pages. Shame it didn't end with "AND THEN I RECRUITED THE SUPERMEN OF THE MULTIVERSE TO HELP BEAT UP MANDRAAK THE DARK MONITOR" though.
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danadeservesadrink · 3 years
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Gin and Tonic
The sequel to Wine and Whiskey is here! AND its part of the XF First Dates challenge created by the lovely @starwalker42 ! Hope you all enjoy! Also tagging @today-in-fic
Rated T, 4320 words, read on AO3 here
This is awkward.
She can’t help but think it for the fourth time since she’d walked into the office this morning. He was already lounging at his desk when she had come in, her cheeks still flushed from the harsh autumn breeze. Her heels had clicked through the open doorway and she spotted him first, his feet propped up on the desk, lazily sharpening a pencil, staring off at some papers he’d tacked up on the corkboard. But he heard her and spun in his chair to face her, the dying buzz of the sharpener giving way to silence.
Awkward. Silence.
She knew that continuing to work together after the events of Friday night wouldn’t be simple. She knew when he left her on Saturday, kissing her gently against the door and promising to see her on Monday, that it would be impossible to forget the softness of his lips and the way he tasted. Logically, the fundamental shift of knowing what his naked body looked like on top of hers made things anything but simple.
But she had hoped they would somehow make it simple. It was them, for God’s sake, he was her best friend, her partner. Sleeping together couldn’t ruin that for them.
Clearly she had vastly overestimated her ability to compartmentalize.  
They had stared at each other for a solid two minutes before she even made it through the door frame. It was impossible to read his thoughts, but by the crease in his brow and the way his eyes repeatedly drifted south of her own, she could only guess that they were of a similar nature to hers. And her own thoughts were resulting in a blush that was very much not due to the chilled breeze.
Compartmentalization was a practiced art, and boy did the pair of them have practice. Sure, when she first walked into his office she had allowed herself the momentary thought as to what his strong hands would feel like touching more than the small of her back, but those thoughts were easily shoved to the back of her mind as inappropriate fantasies, reserved only for midnight phone calls with Melissa and when she was feeling particularly wound up by him. That was also 7 years ago. She would have thought she had matured since then.
But today she found that throwing away the thoughts of him on top of her was much more difficult when they were no longer simply a fantasy.
She had allowed herself one more moment to fight the urge to leap into his lap from across the room and repeat the events of Friday night, and then walked into the room with no further glances to the man behind the desk.
This is a workplace, for God’s sake, and you’re both adults. Keep it together.  
The tension she could deal with. It was the silence that made everything so weird.
He didn’t even say good morning to her, let alone say her name for the first hour. The only words exchanged were those regarding the locations of paperwork, and even those conversations were shortened from their usual banter.  
He broke the dead air once and asked her how her weekend was. She actually saw him wince at the stupidity of his own question, and spared both of them the discomfort of her answer by keeping her attention fixed on her expense report.
He was impossible not to look at, though, and she found herself glancing up at him every so often just to see him staring at his own reports. Maybe she was hoping to see him staring back at her, at least give her some indication that what had happened between them was affecting him the same way. Plaguing her thoughts with constant flashes of his tongue lapping at the dip of her clavicle, drifting lower…
But he seemed much more interested in whatever X-file he was studying today.  
They got a phone call at 10:00 and he leaned over the desk to answer at the same time she reached for it, immediately causing the both of them to retract their hands like the phone was now magically on fire, their eyes shooting up to meet each other in a panic at the mere possibility of skin to skin contact. It rang again and they sat in stalemate until Mulder tentatively reached over again to answer, still maintaining eye contact until Scully returned to biting the nails off the hand that almost betrayed her professional exterior.
And now, she was stuck to her seat, frozen while she tried not to inhale the strong scent of Mulder that had suddenly overcome her, ripping her thoughts straight from expenses and back to the taste of Moscato and Jack Daniels. Apparently, he decided he needed a case file immediately and instead of asking her to grab it for him, had invaded her space to reach right over top of her to grab a stack of folders on top of the cabinet.
He must not have realized the effect he had until he stepped back with his files and she released the air she’d been holding in, attempting to mask it under the guise of a sigh but obviously failing. He stood with his arms full of papers and a perplexed look on his face that almost made her laugh if she wasn’t so embarrassed. Eventually he turned, dropped the stack on his desk, and seemed to gather his thoughts before turning back to her.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” he spoke quickly, not really meeting her eye. It took her a second to realize he was talking to her. When she did, she looked up, eyebrow raised at his sudden directness.  
“I usually call my mom on Mondays, but that's really all.”
“Oh, ok.” She can see the disappointment written across his face, but it was him who brought it up, so it felt rude to presume where he was going with this. She waits a beat and realizes he’s not going to continue, so she takes pity on him.
“I can reschedule. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
His smile lights the room, and for just a moment everything is simple again.
“Let’s get dinner”, he says, stepping closer to her, and she finds herself sitting taller in her chair in response.
“Sure, my place or yours?”
“I was thinking we could go out”
Oh. Oh.
She hadn’t considered this. She thought that maybe he’d want to see her again, maybe under the pretense of a movie night or even some late night casework. But Fox Mulder asking her out to dinner was something she hadn’t quite prepared herself for.
Is it a date? Like an actual dinner date, the kind regular couples go on? Does this mean he wants to date her? What does that mean? What does any of this mean?
Immediately overwhelmed with questions, her mind reeled. He’s asking her out and he’s looking at her like that again and this is entirely inappropriate for their basement office but so ridiculously them that she finds herself charmed despite her best intentions.
“Sure. Yes. Where?”
She’s babbling on, blush rising through her cheeks again, and he notices, his smile growing.
“How about that bar, Hanks? I’ve heard they make a mean salad.”
He again steps towards her, and in the small space of their office he ends with their knees almost touching. She looks up into his eyes and suddenly is devoid of all thoughts other than those keeping herself from grabbing him by his tie and pulling him down into her, paired nicely with thoughts telling her to do exactly that.  
“That does sound nice,” she whispered. “What time were you thinking”
“We could just head over there whenever we finish here?”
“Ok” she says, and she hopes he can’t hear the anticipation in her voice. He looks like he might bend over and kiss her, right there in the center of their office, and she thinks she’s very ok with that scenario, but he hesitates.
“Great.” he says, and leaves her space to return back to behind his desk. The furniture lended itself as a barrier to dull the ever increasing pull between them, and her heart rate returned to resting levels. As an afterthought, he mumbled to himself something that she didn’t quite catch, but sounded an awful like “It’s a date”.
“What?” she asked, and it was his turn to blush.
“Nothing, sorry,” he muttered, proceeding to bury his nose back in his files.
It was going to be a long day.
-
They remained in agonizing silence for the remainder of the day, both spending more time glancing up at the clock than actually getting any work done. Mulder casts the occasional glance in her direction, hoping to maybe catch her eye for some reassurance that he hadn’t completely fucked up, but consistently she was focused on her notes, occasionally pressing the pen to her lips in concentration, tapping it a few times there, then resuming her writing.
He didn’t know how she was doing it, staying so calm and professional. The second she’d walked into the office with that windswept look on her face he’d had the fight the urge to cross the room and press her up against the door right there. But he knew that she would chastise him for the very idea, so he packed up that thought for later and tried to pretend it was just your average Monday.
But god was it awkward trying to pretend that he hadn't had her pressed up against his kitchen counter topless and begging. It was impossible not to remember the way she said his name when she came, how she shook in his arms and he wanted her so badly…
He had debated over the whole weekend what to do when Monday came.
Would she want to do it with him again? Would she pretend like nothing happened? Would she even show up to work?
But eventually, he decided on a date. He owed her at least one good old fashion date, where he opened the car door and pulled out her chair. For seven years he’d dragged her across the country on his epic journey for the truth, and she hadn’t left his side yet. The least he could do was buy her dinner.
Sex before the first date wasn’t exactly traditional either, but neither were they. They may as well do this thing , whatever it was, their own way, as non-traditional and ridiculous as it is.
So he asked her on a date. Spontaneous combustion would have probably been less painful but he did manage to blurt it out after their fourth uncomfortable interaction of the day, hoping that maybe the promise of the night would ease the tension. It worked, slightly, and the way she looked at him when he asked made him feel like he made the right choice. He would have kissed her right there if he thought he would be able to stop after just one.
Eventually the silence settled back in, persisting until 6:00 pm on the dot, when both of them arose from their chairs in a daze and started packing up.
He thought when they got off the clock things would get easier. He was sorely mistaken.
The problem was that he didn’t know what to do with his damn hands. Before, when they packed up their office and headed to their respective vehicles, he would guide her out in front of him with a hand placed in his spot at the small of her back, locking the door behind the two of them. While that had been an unconscious gesture before, now it felt deeply possessive and wholly intimate.
Far too intimate for a man about to take a woman on a first date .
It didn’t help that now he knew he knew there was a little freckle right in that spot that he couldn’t help but picture every time he glanced at her back. So he just shoved them in his pockets and used his shoulder blade to hold the door.
Space, too, was never an issue before, and he had never considered how much he invaded hers. Not until he leaned over to flick the lightswitch off and found himself practically nose to nose with her. She froze, wide eyed, as he backed away slowly, like she was a woodland animal he didn’t want to scare off, mumbling an apology.
They stood just a little too far apart on the elevator, Mulder choosing to stare at his own shoelaces instead of chancing a glance over at her. They exited into the parking garage and eventually she broke the silence before they got stuck staring off at license plates and cement walls.
“Do you want to drive? Or can we walk?” she asked. He considered the options. If he drove he could focus on the road instead of the incessant thoughts swirling through his brain regarding the fact that she had to wear a turtleneck today because of him. But his ever growing need for a drink made him lean towards the walking option. And he was worried that at the rate today was going, opening her car door may result in a trip to the hospital.
“Lets walk”
-
They started talking about a case on the walk over, bitter winds making it easy to keep their hands in their pockets, and he guesses arguing over the implications of seemingly random asphyxiation was much better than silence.
She was in the middle of explaining to him how the collapse of the trachea that she had seen in the autopsies could not have been caused without a physical crushing of the neck when they walked in the restaurant. He walked up to the hostess desk to check in with her following closely behind.
“Reservation for Fox Mulder” he said to the girl, and pretended not to see Scully’s cocked eyebrow at the fact that he’d had reservations ready. She didn’t need to know he made them as soon as he’d left on Saturday.
The hostess looked up at him and glanced back to Scully and smiled broadly.
“Of course! Right this way Mr. and Mrs. Mulder”
She turned to lead them into the restaurant and Mulder turned to cock an eyebrow at Scully who rolled her eyes, although he spotted a smirk before she tucked her head to her chest and playfully pushed him forward to follow the hostess to their table. He tossed his hands up in mock surrender and weaved through the tables, eventually being seated at a small table near the back. He went to pull out her chair for her but wasn’t quick enough, and his hasty retreat resulted in him getting caught in an awkward dance with the hostess as he spun around the table to his own chair. He would have sworn she was laughing at him if he hadn’t been so busy apologizing to the young girl.
They barely had time to get settled before the hostess was replaced with their waiter, who introduced himself as Brandon and got to taking their drink orders.
“And what can I get for you and the misses tonight sir?” he asks with a smile, and this is just great, Mulder thinks, before smirking across the table at Scully and replying.
“Me and the wife will both have gin and tonics. Well is fine.”
Scully kicked him in the shins under the table, and he covered his grimace with a brilliant smile that Brandon seemed to buy, as he left the table to get their drink orders in. He turned back to see Scully glaring at him.
“‘Me and the wife’, Mulder?” she asked, and he was almost scared for a second before he saw the hint of a smile gracing her lips, and he knew he was in the clear.
“Just trying to see if I can get that honeymoon discount Scully”
She rolls her eyes again to herself and he recalls something his mother used to say about your eyes getting stuck like that. He thinks if that saying had any truth Scully would have found out by now.
They stare down at the menus placed in front of them, a much more comfortable silence than before. He decides on the steak special too quickly and ends up watching her as she intently scans the soup and salad portion of the menu. He studies her features in the low light of the bar, how she brushed little strands of hair back behind her ear when they were in her way, how she licked her lip when she was concentrating. She was breathtaking even when she wasn’t trying to be.
The waiter returned and set their drinks in front of them, both politely nodding in thanks as Brandon began taking their order. She orders a southwest salad with chicken and he orders the steak and Brandon smiles and promises their meals will be out shortly.
And so they are left, open and vulnerable, without menus or desks to use as shields. Mulder nursed his gin, letting the dry taste of alcohol distract him from the beauty of his company. He could see her doing the same, her eyes flicking around the room looking for anything mildly interesting. He followed her gaze to the table next to them, where a couple sat hand in hand, gazing at each other overtop of half eaten meals.
Maybe he should try to hold her hand?
He looked back at Scully and caught her staring at him. Probably waiting for him to say something. He was also anxiously awaiting his next move.
Who was he kidding? He had no moves.
He thought back to first dates he’d had before. It had been a while, longer than he’d prefer to admit. It’s probably why he was so out of practice. But with those women, it had always been different. He would ask them about their families, their careers, what they watch on TV, normal stuff. Scully has a mother, two brothers, one sister that he took away, she’s the best forensic pathologist the FBI has seen in years, and she’s recently gotten into watching those discovery channel specials on ocean animals.
“So you don’t think the asphyxiation could have been spontaneous”
Work is safe. Work doesn’t involve awkward first date questionings that he already knew the answers to. If they talked about work maybe he could convince himself that they were just out in the field, grabbing dinner after a long day of investigation, not that he was stuck sweating through his shirt on a first date with his dream woman.
“I’m just saying there have been no recorded cases of the trachea collapsing in on itself spontaneously. Given the amount of internal trauma…”
“But your report stated there was no visible external trauma,” he interrupted. “Tell me Scully, what are the typical injuries related to strangulation?”
There was a glint in her eyes when he challenged her and he could tell she was much more comfortable with this line of conversation. She’d always take him up on an excuse to fire those incredible grey cells of hers.  
“Well, strangulation typically results in petechial hemorrhages along the neck and in the face, possible lacerations to the throat or surrounding areas. You’ll see bulging of eyes, discoloration of the face due to blood pooling, the tongue can sometimes be bitten or even swollen itself, and-” she was cut off by a grunt from the table next to them, and both of them turned to the couple they had been watching before, who were now looking over at them horrified, the woman seeming like she’d rather vomit than touch any more of her own dinner. Scully shrunk down into her chair and Mulder apologized for the two of them, letting out a frustrated sigh.
So that’s a no-go on the work talk. Come on Mulder, think. What do women like on first dates? They like to be complimented. You should compliment her.
“You look nice.”
She looked up at him like he’d sprouted a second head.
“Mulder I’m wearing my work clothes. The same clothes I’ve been wearing all day” she spoke slowly at him and he wished there was a window nearby he could hurl himself from.
“Yes, um. They’re nice. Your work clothes” he fumbled, speaking with the grace of a hippopotamus attempting ballet.
“Thank you? Um… you look nice… as well.”
The words left her lips and she flamed red up to her ears. Quickly she snatched up her drink and swallowed the remainder of what was in the glass. He followed suit. Maybe if Brandon came back he could just ask him to bring the whole bottle to their table. Clearly they both needed the catalyst. She was still blushing when he put the glass down.
If his profiling skills were to be trusted, which they often are, she was mulling over the same question that he was.
What the fuck are they doing?  
Going out, sleeping together? Were they tossing away 7 years of partnership for...what? To crawl into bed with each other? Satisfy carnal urges that could no longer be suppressed?
No that felt wrong. This wasn’t just a simple fuck, sex without feelings. He certainly had been feeling a lot that night.
So then what? To take her on dates? To make her as happy as she’d made him all these years? To make love to her? Is that what this is? Love?
Does love make you incapable of coherent speech every time you gaze into her eyes for a little too long? Does love make you want to pull out chairs and order drinks for her? Does love render you an absolutely smitten idiot?
Yes .
Well then, if that's what this is, he better get his shit together.
He reaches over to her and grabs her hand that had been tapping anxiously at the table cloth, his chair shifting and making a loud screech that draws the attention of some of the other customers. He feels her jump as their skin makes contact, almost tipping out of her chair herself, shaking the table and she anchors herself with her other hand. It's ridiculous that just 2 days ago he’d been on his knees worshiping her and now she jumps when he touches her hand. It’s all ridiculous, awkward, by far one of the worst first dates he’s ever been on, but god he loves her.
She meets his eyes and it's too much. They burst out laughing, both of them, him still clutching her hand, her reaching across the table with her free one to grasp his forearm. The laughter almost brings tears to his eyes, and he’s positive the couple next to them is starring in disapproval again, but he couldn’t care less because they’re both the most relaxed they’ve been all day. She has her head tossed back and he watches in awe as she laughs with him. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
Eventually their laughter subsides, and he squeezes her hands to bring her back to him, speaking softly.
“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”
She chuckles again, aftershocks of their outburst before.
“No Mulder, I should be apologizing. It’s me who’s been so awkward all day”
She grips his hands tightly, like she was trying to enhance the meaning behind her apology.
“It takes two to tango Scully,” he jokes, hoping maybe if he can get her to laugh again she’ll forgive him.
She does.
“I’m just glad you haven’t given up on me yet.”
At this she raised an eyebrow in feigned shock.
“What, and just walk out on a free dinner?” she jests, and he didn’t know he could love her more.
“Now Scully, you and I both know what happens when the man buys his woman dinner…”
He waggles his eyebrows at her and she giggles again. Maybe the gin was getting to her. He hoped that maybe it was just him.
“Agent Mulder you should know that a lady never puts out on a first date.”
She was teasing him now, with that soft smirk and those flirtatious eyes, and he felt the toe of her shoe tap the front of his shin gently.
And just as he feels like reaching across the table and pulling her in for a kiss, Brandon makes his untimely entrance with their entrees.
“Enjoy,” he says with a wave and retreats back to the kitchen. Scully happily dives into her salad and a disappointed Mulder cuts his steak. The reviews on this place must have been correct, because she is humming contentedly by her third bite, clearly satisfied with her choice of dinner. He made a mental note to look into other restaurants in the area with stellar salad reviews.
The awkwardness seemed to dissipate as they ate. He pretended not to notice her shuffling tomatoes onto his plate and stealing bits of his mashed potatoes back. Eventually when he had eaten his fill, he rotated the plate in her direction, gesturing towards the unfinished potatoes. She acted innocent for a second before scooping a forkful into her mouth. Brandon refilled their drinks but neither felt the call of intoxication any longer. He was perfectly happy getting drunk off of love.
Love .
He wondered when he would tell her. How would he tell her? He wondered if she loved him.
But he wiped a spot of chipotle lime dressing from the corner of her mouth with his thumb and she looked him dead in the eyes and sucked his finger between her perfect lips, releasing it with a pop and instantly returning to the shy smile that she wore better than anything.
He decided that conversation could wait, for now.
At least until the second date.
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slashnatic · 4 years
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NSFW ALPHABET [Vincent Sinclair]
a/n: soo...this is the first time i actually post what i wrote + english isn't my first language (and i feel like there’s still 1000 mistakes in this although i proof-read it like 10 times) so please don't be too hard on me, but feel free to give me constructive criticism :)
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
He definitely takes care of you after. He’ll clean you up, gets you a drink if you want...really anything. You need to go to the bathroom? Sure, he can carry you. You’d rather walk yourself? Well, you’re only allowed to go after he’s given you your goodbye-kiss-on-the-forehead. And no, this is not unnecessary because you'll be back in a few minutes, it’s a must.
Once all of that is done he likes it when you lay your head down on his chest or the other way around and you just cuddle and enjoy each other’s company in a comfortable silence.
B = Body Part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Vincent has a very prominent v-line. He never paid attention to it until he realized how much you like it and with that it became also his favorite body part of himself.
He loves the curve of your hips and waist. (Whether you are slim or curvy, he absolutely loves it either way!) His favourite thing is when you’re lying naked on top of him, your head on his chest and one leg laying on top of his in an angled position. He won't stop caressing and squeezing your hips.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)
He both loves and hates cuming inside of you. He loves the intimacy of it, the vulnerability you show each other, but he is also scared of the possible consequences, at least at the beginning of your relationship.
He also likes to cum on your chest and belly.
D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)
Vincent has watched you a lot. At first it was innocent glances he stole, later he would make time to watch you from afar going after your daily tasks and the more he started to obsess over you the less he cared about how wrong it was to basically stalk you. It went so far that he once stood before an barely-open door, watching your every move through the small gap while you showered.
It doesn‘t really matter how long you are together, he still does it sometimes. You’ve grown used to it and now even put on a show for him sometimes, pretending you don‘t know he’s right there.
Another secret of his is that he sculpted your orgasm-face. It‘s weird and creepy, but he doesn’t really care. (I’m referring to the faces he sculpted in the walls on the way down to the basement. You’ll find your face there too, just a bit a part from the others.)
E = Experience (how experienced they are)
Not at all. Vincent has been wearing his mask since he can remember. He didn't even consider pressing his wax mask in some girl’s face. Needless to say pressing your lips on wax isn’t really romantic and with that no teenage girl‘s dream. Aside from that he barely left the house. When he was older he had gotten too used to it. In conclusion: He never even kissed a woman and he didn't have sex either.
F = Favourite Position (their favourite position, could possibly include a visual)
I believe it is called the Sphinx Position.
https://littlepennyberry-files-wordpress-com.cdn.ampproject.org/i/s/littlepennyberry.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/IMG_3071.png?w=768&h=433
He likes how he towers over you. Not even in a dominant way, but more that his frame completely covers yours. Your body is practically buried by his, but in a good kind of way? It’s just whatever ground you‘re having sex on underneath you and him on top of you; you’re trapped in between, there‘s only him and it gives him a feeling of pride. He also loves kissing and softly biting your neck in that position.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He is quite serious, probably even stiff the first few times you’re having sex. He will get comfortable though and then he‘s a total romantic.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Vincent is almost never completely shaved. He doesn’t have the time for it and even if he did he doesn't think of it as necessary. Nevertheless he’s still always clean down there, just a bit sweaty sometimes from the heat of the fire in the basement.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? romantic aspect, etc.)
Uh, yes? Just yes. Yes, sex is an intimate thing to him. Yes, he is a romantic.
While he overall views sex as something very intimate, his mask also plays a big role. He’s scared shitless of taking the mask off, but he also doesn’t want to wear it while you‘re making love. Besides the fact that it‘s quite impractical, it also makes him feel worthless. He’ll overthink and then believes you’re only having sex with him and want to be close to him or even want him at all when you don‘t have to put up with his face, that you don’t actually care for him and that he isn't good enough. He knows himself well enough though, so he takes it off before he can lose himself in those thoughts (this doesn’t make taking the mask off easier though). In conclusion he rather has sex with you when he is (as a side affect, but that doesn’t really make a difference) vulnerable and therefore sex really is something intimate to him.
J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)
Well, first of all...he thinks about sex fairly often. There are also quite a few pieces of his art that have a sexual touch. (Have you seen the couple on the couch in the wax house? They’re going at it!)
He doesn‘t jerk off whenever he thinks about something sexual, but he does jerk off quite often. When he does it he‘s downright filthy. Lies in his bed or preferably sits at his work bench stroking his member at first slow and then faster and faster, throwing his head back, groaning and hissing and then finishing all over his work bench with his eyes closed, imagining it was your body.
He might as well has a few photos and videos of you. Wether he took them with or without your permission is up to your imagination.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Voyeurism. While he does enjoy watching you pleasure yourself, he prefers watching or rather observing you while he fingers you. He’ll spread your legs and position himself between them so that he lies on his elbows, fingering you with one hand and holding you in place (as much as possible from that angle) with the other, his face right in front of your heat. This also gives him the perfect opportunity to have a taste too.
He also has a praise kink. Telling him not to stop? Oof. Telling him how good he makes you feel? Bigger oof. Telling him how pretty he looks? Biggest oof.
L = Location (favourite places to have sex)
He preferably has sex in the basement with you. On his work bench or really wherever, just not directly where he works. You can be as loud as you want, there is a lot of space and lots of opportunities for whatever-you-wanna-try. Plus the house is quite dirty and so is his bedroom and he doesn't want to be that kind of filthy.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Anything can be sexy to Vincent, it really just depends on his mood.
It might be simple, but seeing you naked is his biggest turn-on. I‘m talking completely bare and vulnerable. No towel because you just came out of the shower. No blanket because you’re in bed. No make-up. Nothing. Just you, you’re body being illuminated by the warm light of the candles in the basement. And don’t talk. For some reason it is incredibly sexy to him just taking you in, so pure and perfect. When he sees you like this he doesn't get horny, he just:
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N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Anything verbal which is respectless and degrading. If you’re into humiliation, that‘s cool. He can spank you, whip you, do whatever you want, but he won’t call you names. Ever. If you call him names he’ll also probably cry.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Vincent loves eating you out. Your taste, your soft moans, you telling him how good it feels... It makes him proud and when he hears those sweet sounds leaving your mouth he forgets all his insecurities for the moment.
It took him a while to discover this though, since he is so insecure. (‘You seriously want that face between your legs?’)
He hasn’t had any experience, but that doesn’t mean that he’s doing a bad job! He knows your body (or the human body in general) well enough to know what will make you feel good. On top of that he’s a quick learner. For everything else he makes up with his enthusiasm.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He’s rather slow, but still quite rough. He’s a big, strong guy after all.
Also: When it comes to who’s more dominant it really changes with his mood and the atmosphere. He likes hovering over you and trapping you underneath him, fucking you hard but teasingly slow. He likes to hear you whining, whimpering and telling him how good he feels inside of you. You look so beautiful when you stare up at him with big glassy eyes and rosy cheeks. Nevertheless he likes being submissive too, you straddling him, pinning his arms down and telling him what to do and what not to do. He likes being soft to you and he likes being rough to you. He likes you being soft to him and he likes you being rough to him too. He really doesn‘t have a preference.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Vincent doesn’t like quickies, they are almost a no-go. He likes to take his time, since it's something where he feels very vulnerable. Rushing through it isn’t satisfying for either of you in his opinion. He also feels like quickies lack passion and isn’t that what sex is all about?
Foreplay is also important to him. You start kissing him? He will get lost and he won't let you go. Not even for sex. Your having your romantic kiss now and you will have it a while longer. It doesn't matter how horny you are, you’ll have to be patient.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Absolutely! There’s basically nothing he wouldn't try, he just needs a bit of time “exploring“ whatever is new.
He also isn‘t actually disgusted by anything, whatever tools, body fluids or other things are involved. He might be a bit confused about some things you want to try out and isn't naturally turned on by it, but you can probably change his mind.
S = Stamina (how many rounds they can go for, how long they last…)
This totally depends on his mood, but even if it’s one round and no more he‘ll want to make sure you are satisfied. If you go for one round it‘s basically a lot of very intense foreplay, petting and all that, but less of penetration. More rounds means more penetrating sex, but will probably include some longer breaks in between.
T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Nope. He knows they exist, but doesn’t bother to get to know more about it. He has two perfectly fine hands and now you, he‘s good.
If you want to introduce some toys to him though he’ll be interested and willing to try it out.
For some reason he really likes buttplugs, no matter if you use them or if he does.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He doesn’t tease you, at least not intentionally. When he feels like it, he touches, strokes and gropes you, but never because he wants to tease you. It often has the same effect as if he did though.
If you tease him...oh boy. If he doesn’t realize right away that you‘re doing it intentionally he’ll probably react super affectionate, in the sweetest way possible. Once he does realize it he’s confused as to how he should react and he is?? sad?? Like...why are you messing with his emotions like that? You can explain it to him, but he’ll probably never hop on the train and tease back or whatever.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)
Isn‘t much of a talker during sex, but he does make some noise. He grunts and groans a lot. Whatever you do you’ll probably get a verbal reaction out of him. He surprisingly isn’t even trying to be quiet and isn’t ashamed of it either. He usually doesn’t talk and it’s as if he‘s letting it all out (Charlie Hoyt voice) f o r b a l a n c e.
W = Wild Card (a random headcanon/imagine for the character of your choice)
He loved your taste on his lips, the sound of your soft moans and needy whimpers in his ears, the feeling of your soft skins underneath his fingertips, even your smell. Yes, he loved your smell. The smell of your hair, the particular smell of your body, oh and he loved how you smelled there. He often wondered if this, the way he felt about you, was love or obsession. Probably both, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind because he knew you loved him too. And in your own way you were obsessed with him too. Ever since he‘d let you in, you had given your all to show him. And it had only made the feelings stronger, for the both of you. He placed a last light kiss to your heat before hovering over you again to feel your lips on his. The kiss was lazy, almost innocent and to him it felt like he was drowning in euphoria. With your eyelids only half open and a tired, loving smile on your lips you pulled him down to you. And there you two laid, lovers worn out with no energy left from hour-long love making, you comfortable on your back and he on top of you, with his face buried in the crook of your neck, your hand on the back of his head, you placed a kiss to his forehead. It was the last thing he felt before he fell asleep, just this once the first of you two.
X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Let’s put it this way: It makes up for what god took away from him.
He’s above average length and very thick. Not big enough for an unrealistic way-over-the-top porno, but big enough to write a letter about it to your best friend if you know what I mean.
Y = Yearning (how high their sex drive is)
As mentioned earlier he thinks about sex a lot, so he’d always be down for it, but it isn’t a necessity. He’s horny quite often, but that doesn’t mean he needs to get off whenever he’s horny. He can ignore it or take care of it himself, no stress. Unless you want to have sex whenever he’s horny of course, then he‘d also be more than happy.
Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He‘s relaxed but won’t fall asleep for a while, so if you do he probably just stares at you and admires you (he even draws you sometimes, but only if it doesn’t ruin the moment).
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that-house · 4 years
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Hey so I hit 100 followers today!
Buckle up, this is gonna be a LOOOONG post.
I quite honestly expected it (while my ego is a little smaller than my jokes make it out to be it is definitely present), I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.
It’s not an insane milestone, plenty of people have 100 followers. A hefty portion of my followers are bigger than me. But it’s still important to me. Knowing that there’s 100 people out there who enjoy my shit makes me happy.
First and foremost the credit quite honestly has to go to ahegao George Washington. No, I’m not joking. Until I posted on r/tumblr about my desire to draw that, I had 0 followers. I jumped to like 10 overnight, which was awesome. And then those new followers helped me spread my posts and get more attention.
Secondly I’d like to shoutout @imaverysadgirl and @themeaninglessjumble. You two were my first real tumblr frens. You were the first of my followers to really interact with me. Ember, I’m super happy you’re alive to see me hit 100 followers. Jumble (I don’t know your name unless I forgot it), your art and creations are great and you deserve way more attention.
To all the rest of you, you guys are great, too. Every new follower makes me happy. I’d say I don’t deserve you all, but my colossal ego says I do. Regardless, being nemesi and getting called out for being horny on main and sending and receiving asks has made this last month or so great.
Finally, for all the shit it gets, and for all the shit it pulls, [tumblr] really is pretty dope. I got to meet you all, and it’s actively making me a better person by exposing me to groups of people I’d rarely interact with in real life.
Why does it feel like I’m saying goodbye? I’m not, don’t worry. I plan to stay, and neither death nor pain shall drive me from this hellsite. I’m just saying thanks.
Now with the thanks out of the way, I want to talk about myself a little. Just the stuff that I’ve always wanted to say and never quite gathered my thoughts and found the time to talk about.
You’re gonna get to know me so well! This is like a mini autobiography!
First off, my mental health. This is something I don’t talk about much on this blog, mostly because it doesn’t need much talking about. I’m doing pretty well, to be honest. I have a smattering of anxiety and I’m maybe a little too introverted for my own good, but I’m not suffering from depression and the only time I ever even remotely considered suicide was when I just really really didn’t want to go to French class. COVID has been great for me, since I don’t have to see people. I suppose I’m not a great person to talk to if you’re struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, seeing as I can’t personally relate, but I’m still always here for you guys if you need me. Just because I haven’t lived through your experiences doesn’t mean I can’t try to help.
Next up I want to talk about my sexuality. This one’s a bit of a mystery. For the past 16 years of my life I’ve considered myself 100% straight. But lately (let’s be honest, following the release of Spirit Blossom Thresh) I’ve been wondering if I might be bi. How many times can I joke about wanting to smash sexy boys before it’s not really a joke anymore? And if I am, a lot of things would suddenly make a lot of sense. But every time I think I have it figured out it suddenly feels like I have no clue what’s going on. Regardless, my sexuality has honestly never been a massive part of my identity (though I’m definitely not asexual, my friends can attest I’m far too horny for that). I have no clue if I’m bi and for now it’s kind of a fun little adventure!
I guess I’ll talk about school and stuff now. Believe it or not, I’m kinda smart. I’m taking a shitton of AP courses this year. But I simultaneously feel like it’s too much and not enough. I’m smart, but I’m not a great student. Compared to my dad, who graduated college with a 3.98 GPA (and his only B being in History of Canada as an American) and now has a super well-paying government STEM job that he loves, I feel like even if I work my ass off I’ll never quite measure up. And my parents have had super high expectations of me, and it’s only recently that they’ve started to accept that I might get some B’s here and there. I’m worried about all the homework this year. I’m a year ahead in Math but I don’t feel good enough at math to be taking AP calculus junior year. I’m worried I’m going to get like a C. But for the most part school is alright, too. That’s sort of the trend in my life. Everything’s alright.
Time to talk about my love life! I have no love life! I’ve been single for 17 years and probably stand no chance of changing that until at least college! Haha I’m so alone! But I can live with it. Growing up an only child with a few friends means that I’m pretty good at functioning without a ton of social interaction, and, while I’d like a partner someday, I’m not desperate. I can wait until I find someone. Pretty much my goal is not to die alone.
Onto sports maybe? I played soccer for most of my life, and was always the worst player on the select team. I was too good for the normal team and not good enough for the select team (kinda like math). Soccer was really toxic, especially when you’re the worst player on a team of high school jock drug addict boys. So I quit, and started playing frisbee! It’s a lot better. The people are nicer! But my first season never happened because of COVID and now I’m in my Junior year and haven’t played much frisbee! So I kinda suck! But I’m physically fit and that’s good enough for me! On my own time I bike and run to stay in shape.
Are you still with me? Now I’m gonna talk about my hobbies and things!
I’ve been playing video games for a long time. I kinda suck at them to be totally honest. I probably have below-average reaction time, and my parents only let me play 15 minutes a day for most of my childhood, so I have a lot less practice than most of my friends. I’m pretty slick with Swain in LoL tho.
This next part is borderline shameless self-promotion, but since the Kickstarter isn’t live yet I guess it doesn’t count. I’m making a tabletop role playing game! I’ve been working on it for the past few years. My goal is to launch the Kickstarter prior to my college applications, because that’ll look sexy as fuck to potential colleges. It’s a post-apocalyptic sci-fi game where you play as supersoldiers trying to reconquer the wastelands of Earth for humanity. I’ll do a big post on it when I launch the Kickstarter, and I guess that’ll also be a full name reveal (kinda spooky since my full name is ENTIRELY unique and one-of-a-kind. More ego boost lmao).
And finally I want to talk about my art and writing. I’ll start with my drawing, and finish off with my writing, since that’s what I’d most like to be known for on here (but that’ll never happen because my caveman brain shitposts are too funny).
So I’ve been doodling for a long time. I briefly got formal art training but sacrificing my Saturday mornings to draw what someone else wanted me to make so that I could make better stuff in the future didn’t appeal to my 8-year-old brain. I draw in the margins of worksheets. I draw on random sheets of paper. Recently my parents bought me a drawing tablet, and I’ve been trying to improve at digital art. I’d say I’m getting better, but I don’t practice nearly enough. All in all my art serves its purpose. It makes people laugh and can sometimes creep people out. It’ll never go in a museum, and I’ll never make money off of it but whatever.
And finally, my writing.
How can I talk about writing without talking about reading? I’ve likely read more books than both my parents combined, and if not, it’s close (and my mom is a prolific reader too). I have three bookshelves in my room and books on every surface. You can’t follow me for long without seeing a post ranting about my latest read. I love to read and I read incredibly fast. Reading spurred my love of English class, which in turn helped me write.
And finally, we get to writing in and of itself. I’ve been writing stories since I was a little kid. I’d like to think I’ve improved a fair bit. I’m still no novelist, but I consider myself a fairly adept short story writer.
But I suppose where my writing really stems from is my bed. Every night while I’m lying in bed, I tell myself stories until I fall asleep. I work on a story until it’s done or until I get bored of it. Along the way, in the shower, on my bike, I build the world of the story, crafting the plot. Sometimes the stories are elaborate fanfictions of my latest reads. That’s probably how they started. Often, they’re unique worlds all of their own. My current writing posts are about the City of Mammon, but my current story in my head is about some vampires who hunt other vampires in Victorian England.
And now we get into the process of writing. It’s fun! I sit myself down with an idea in my head, and use all the fancy words I picked up from my books to convey the vibes I want. I honestly wouldn’t be a great writing teacher. It’s just a skill that comes naturally to me as a result of what I’ve been doing with my free time my whole life. And it’s beautiful. And every time someone compliments my writing or reblogs it, I love writing just a little bit more.
Well I guess this is it. The 100 follower special. I wonder how many of you guys will take the time out of your day to read this. Hopefully a lot!
James (or That House) signing off for the night!
<3 thanks guys
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our-smooty · 3 years
Text
Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 14
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know
Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.
Ao3 Link
It was Beelzebub’s turn to pick the meeting spot, so of course they were standing in a dark, damp back alley somewhere in the American Mid-West at three in the morning. Seemed a little out of the way to Gabriel, but the Prince of Hell had said something about an on-going project with the American political system that they couldn’t leave for a even a second, so here he was. 
“We couldn’t meet inside somewhere? he sneered, eyeing the way his designer shoes were getting ruined in the disgusting sludge coming from a dumpster a few feet away.
“Don’t want you and your lot closer to this project than necessary. You’d just fuck it all up,” Beelzebub answered, rolling their eyes at him. Gabriel huffed and straightened his collar, though it of course wasn’t at all out of place. 
“Well let’s make it quick then. Did your humans…?”
A dangerous growl that Gabriel was glad wasn’t directed at him. “No. Idiots got scared off by whatever the bastard had set up. They all ran off anyways.”
“Well mine got the job done. They sent a little… encouragement, to that ratty bookshop Aziraphale insists on keeping.” Gabriel was practically preening and he knew it. Being able to show up Beelzebub in any way always put him in a positive mood. Thwarting the enemy and all that.
“It’d be easier if we could be direct,” Beezle growled. The flies swarming around the dumpster began to make their way over and Gabriel had to swat a few away with the back of his hand.
“Get a hold of yourself, Beez. You were there, you know the almighty was clear that neither one of us could interfere directly!” Using humans as a loophole had been Michael’s idea and so far there hadn’t been any repercussions. But this had only been a test, and since things had gone well…
“We can escalate though, yes?” they buzzed, the flies zipping around excitedly and a grin breaking out on their face. “My contacts from before have been... reprimanded appropriately, and we’re ready to move on whenever you are.”
Gabriel’s face morphed into a tight smile of his own. He always had admired his demonic counterpart’s willingness to get a job done, no matter the cost. Beelzebub was shrewd and cutthroat and if they hadn’t been one of Satan’s damned, Gabriel might have hired them for a position Upstairs.
“Yes, we can move on to phase 2. Give it a few weeks, I’ll send you a memo, and a calendar invite for the pre-briefing. It’s Heaven’s turn to cater so…” Which was a good thing, since last time when it’d been Hell’s turn the lettuce on the tea sandwiches had been mouldy. Gabriel didn’t partake in the gross matter but it was the principle of the thing! “Are we still on for that event in Berlin next Saturday?”
“You’re the one who said it’d be in both our best interests if it went well, so yeah, I’ll be there. Don’t get in my way.” Beelzebub threw up a rather rude hand gesture then disappeared through a door in one of the buildings. Gabriel spent a few extra minutes in the ally, pondering whether contacting the demon to make sure their chosen apparel didn’t clash, or if that might get him in more trouble than it was worth.
-
The hunger didn’t really go away. Crowley woke up almost every morning with a strong desire to get to the breakfast table that persisted throughout lunch and supper. Aziraphale enjoyed it as an opportunity to exercise his cooking skills, even if it did require him to spend more of his day in the kitchen than was usual. Crowley repaid him for his kindness of course, he’d bring in fresh flowers (though with the changing seasons, he was going to have to switch to gourds), or later in the day bring him cocoa and biscuits while the angel was working on restoring a book. Sometimes, after a particularly good supper, Crowley might drop to his knees under the table and thank Aziraphale in a different way that the angel liked just as much as any of the others. 
The change of season brought on a change in their routines as well. Since it was getting colder, Crowley spent a lot more of his time indoors curled up in front of the fireplace watching reality TV, or in bed taking long indulgent naps. When they’d first moved in together Crowley had tried to stay awake and active through the colder months, scared Aziraphale would be upset with him for lounging about. But after 10 years they’d come to an understanding. As long as Crowley made an effort to spend at least a little bit of time-conscious with the angel every day (barring very long naps, which were usually discussed beforehand), Aziraphale was happy. And Aziraphale being happy made Crowley happy which in turn made the colder months of the year much more pleasant for the demon. 
On a blustery November afternoon, Crowley was making a significant effort to be awake as Aziraphale showed him pictures of cribs on his own laptop. He never should have shown the angel pinterest, or Amazon. 
“So what do you think? I thought something traditional would be nice, and of course money isn’t really an object, and maybe there’s someone in town who does carpentry? But what about safety?” Crowley browsed the collections of cribs, and rocking chairs, and various baby paraphilia, trying to keep himself from drifting off. He’s set an alarm to wake him up just after midday in case he didn’t wake up naturally. Of course, he’d snoozed it a few times before dragging himself out of their bedroom and into the sitting room for a cuppa.
“Think we’ve seen thousands of babies make it just fine, even without all these fancy cribs and chairs and baskets. You know we can make just about anything safe if we want to, with wards and a good talking-to.” He paused on a simple crib made of light pine with gently scalloped finishings. “I know I’ve seen signs for ‘rustic’ furniture around the village, m’sure you could find someone to make one like this.”
“That would be lovely, wouldn’t it? It’s been a very long time since I had to make use of any woodworking skills, but I’m sure I could sketch something up for a professional to take a look at. Would you like to help, darling?” 
“Sure, go get us a pencil and paper then, and maybe a refill?” There’d be no more coffee since Aziraphale insisted he keep to under a cup a day, but maybe the angel would allow him some tea. Aziraphale gave him a beatific smile then rushed off to his stacks of stationery. Crowley secretly thought it was sweet how Aziraphale still wrote letters on his own custom paper, with fountain pens and a personalized wax seal. Over the millennia he’d gotten thousands of letters from the angel, and he kept each one in a lockbox that was now hidden in the back of their closet. Outwardly, Crowley rolled his eyes when Aziraphale returned, playing the part of out-upon husband as usual.
“Alright, you get a start on here then, while I make more tea. You’ve always been better at the arts than me anyway.” Debatable, but Crowley was too sleepy to really argue. He took a pen and some paper and began to doodle out crib-shaped creations. As the kettle whistled and Aziraphale hummed to himself his drawing moved towards the more specific, detailing little flower engravings for decoration along all the legs. When Aziraphale came back with the tea and some biscuits, Crowley had less of a sketch and more of a fully fleshed-out design.
“Oh Crowley! It’s gorgeous love,” Aziraphale exclaimed as he sat down to take a look. Crowley had barely been thinking about what he was drawing, instead letting his hands take over while his mind coasted in a half-dreaming state. “I love the flowers, and the wings on the corners. “You’re so creative.”
“Thanks angel,” Crowley murmured, looking at his own drawing like he was seeing it for the first time. He took a sip of tea from the cup Aziraphale passed him, relaxing back against his angel. “But I’m sure you can do it better, if you try.”
“Nonsense. I think it’s perfect. Maybe we could do a little more research, just to make sure it’s up to safety standards, just in case, but otherwise, I don’t think I’d change a thing.” Crowley would have argued if he wasn’t already half asleep again, his teacup leaning dangerously to the side. “Are you really so tired my dear? You should have said.”
“Wanted t’spend some time w’you,” he mumbled. The teacup was gone from his hands, presumably taken by Aziraphale, and a warm blanket draped around his shoulders. “Don’t want you t’be lonely.”
“My sweet demon,” Aziraphale cooed. “Thank you, you’re always thinking of me. But I think I’m going to read for a little while, if you’re like to take a nap. You can use my lap, if you’re like.” Crowley was already sliding down so he was horizontal, his head cushioned against Aziraphale thighs. The angel used one hand to turn the pages of the book resting on the arm of the sofa, the other slung low on Crowley’s hips. That hand wormed its way under Crowley’s sweater--soft cotton, with little devil horns on the hood--so he could touch the bare skin of his belly. 
“Love you,” Crowley hummed. Aziraphale wiggled a tiny bit, either in happiness or to get more comfortable, and sighed happily.
“I love you too, dear. Get some sleep.” And Crowley drifted off.
At first he was dreaming about the garden. Not the Garden, but his garden in the South Downs, at the cottage. It was summer, peak flowering period for some of his favourites and he was down on his knees at one of the smaller flower beds pulling weeds. The sun was exceedingly warm at the back of his neck but that was alright, he was nearly done. Then he could go inside and drink some of the lemonade Aziraphale had made earlier.
The dream oozed forward at a leisurely pace and he enjoyed every second. The sun slowly sank towards the horizon and the wind got a little chilly; it must have been later in the summer than he thought. Even though the weather was turning, he still felt warm though, an unfamiliar heat spreading from his core and out to his limbs. He looked down, almost expecting to see something silly like a hot water bottle--dream logic of course; even when he knew he was dreaming Crowley’s imagination got away from him--but instead saw his own body. And the baby bump.
“That you, Sprout?” he asked, his voice echoing strangely in the hazy dreamworld. “You’re very warm, taking after your Papa?”
A familiar wriggling, and something Crowley struggled to define. It almost reminded him of when we was still an angel, and he could sense love, a glowing joy from inside, spilling out through his cracks. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the dream’s slow pace lulling him into a sense of security. Here in his garden there was just him, the baby, and what felt like pure joy.
Crowley didn’t notice the dream shifting. The garden slowly getting darker and colder, the flowers wilting, shriveling, dying. Their cottage faded away, becoming an empty field, the sky a roiling grey. When Crowley opened his eyes and saw his surroundings, the oncoming storm whipping the dead grass and flowers all around, he knew. The warmth in his stomach pulled away and Crowley felt cold.
Something was coming.
Aziraphale was startled from deep in his reread of Frankenstein’s Monster by Crowley’s shuddering. Normally when the demon had a bad dream the first sign was a noise; a whimper or a shout that would alert Aziraphale to the situation so he could intervene. But even lacking the normal markers, the angel could tell something was wrong. Crowley was a very still sleeper, even if he did cling, and the erratic shaking and shivering he was doing right now certainly wasn’t normal.
“Crowley love, wake up. Shhh, it’s alright,” he said, loud enough to wake the other but softly enough to avoid startling him. He set his book aside and brought both hands into the equation, caressing and petting Crowley’s hair and shoulders. “Come on darling, time to wake up.”
“‘Zira? S’dark.” He didn’t sound upset, or panicked and Aziraphale let out a breath of relief. 
“You were only asleep for an hour, but the suns already set, given how late in the year it is,” Aziraphale explained, still petting Crowley’s hair. “Were you having a bad dream?”
Crowley rubbed his face against the angel’s belly, dispelling the sleep from his eyes. “Strange. I was in the garden, and then it was dark out. Could feel…” He stared down at his stomach. “I think I could feel them there.”
“Really?” Aziraphale meant to ask more about the dream, but was easily sidetracked by the news of the baby communicating. “In what way did you see them?”
“Not see, just felt them. They were warm. But then it got dark, and I felt like I was freezing, and the cottage was gone--” his voice got faster and faster, his breathing more shallow. To stop him flying off into a panic attack Aziraphale thread his fingers through Crowley’s hair again, not really tugging but still a firm presence. “And then I woke up. That's it, nothing exciting angel.”
Aziraphale hummed lowly, in the way he knew relaxed Crowley. “I’m a little jealous of you. For getting to feel them, not for having a nightmare.”
Crowley wiggled so that instead of just his head resting in Aziraphale lap, his entire upper body was laying across his legs. Then he grabbed the hand the angel didn’t have woven through his hair and pressed it to his stomach.
“S’the best I can do. Maybe if you concentrate you’ll feel it too?” Aziraphale tried his hardest, willing his entire celestial self to focus in on that one small area. Underneath his hands Crowley shuddered, but Aziraphale kept on searching until--
“Oh!” He could feel something, at least. It wasn’t really warm, like Crowley had said, but there was movement. It was reassuring to know they were there, and alive, and growing. “You’re amazing Crowley.”
“What, me?” Crowley laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself. The anxiety from the dream didn’t stand a chance against praise from Aziraphale. Still, Crowley looked like he was done sleeping, because he sat up and stretched languorously.  “S’a bit late to go out, but we could order in?”
“If you want. You’ll have to take a look at your application and see what’s available.” Somehow, despite being a ways out into the countryside they always had plenty of options for takeout. And they were well known by all the delivery persons as excellent tippers, so their food usually arrived on time or earlier than expected. “I’m not craving anything in particular.”
“Good, ‘cause I am. I want fries, and maybe a ceasar salad. Oh and falafel.” Crowley was already tapping wildly at his phone, presumably making his order. “And maybe something sweet, for after…”
“Cravings dear?” Aziraphale teased, nudging Crowley with one elbow like he used to do years ago, when they would walk through St. James’ Park. That was before the end that didn’t happen, when even the smallest contact between them was taboo. Now they could touch whenever they wanted, and so Aziraphale didn’t stop at just one nudge, instead choosing to lean heavily against Crowley so he could look at the screen, “The poor delivery person is going to have an awful lot of trouble carrying all that.”
Crowley just rolled his eyes and continued scrolling through his options. “So you don’t want bubble tea? I was going to get you taro flavour but if you think it’s too much--” 
“Now now let's not be hasty love. I'm sure a large tip will make up for any trouble on the driver’s end.” Crowley giggled. Aziraphale tucked the sound away in his memory with all the other cute things Crowley did but would never admit to. 
“I thought so. You can never resist, can you?” Refusing to be needled, Aziraphale decided to fire back. Crowley was so cuddly and soft; so completely unworried now that the nightmare had faded that he couldn’t resist. He nuzzled right underneath the other’s demon-sigil where he knew Crowley was extra sensitive and revelled in the full-body shudder it produced. 
“Why should I? There’s no shame in liking nice things.” Aziraphale let the implication hang. Crowley could still be touchy about being called nice or good outside of the bedroom depending on his mood. This time however, Crowley sighed and shimmied away a bit so he could show Aziraphale the screen.
“Whatever you say angel. Does this look good?” The order list was expansive, and probably much more than either of them would be able to  eat tonight. But that was alright, leftovers wouldn’t last long given Crowley’s new and voracious appetite. 
“Splendid love. I’ll go set the table?” It was really an excuse to get up and move. As much as Aziraphale loved cuddling and pampering his husband, he did tend to get restless. Now that Crowley was awake and relaxed he could get up and bustle about, working off all the energy that had built up while the demon napped. With the excitement of the baby coming Aziraphale had been finding it difficult to sit still and not rush about, preparing everything.
“Can’t we just eat here?” Crowley asked, sprawling into the warm space on the sofa left behind by the angel. Aziraphale smiled and passed his slothful demon the telly remote.
“No, I won’t have you drop tahini and falafel bits all over the carpet. You can eat at the table or not at all.” Crowley glared but there wasn’t really any real anger in it. In fact, it was quite cute, not that he’d ever say that out loud. Crowley would not tolerate being called cute, no matter how happy he was. 
“Fine, stuffy angel.” He turned the TV on and quickly navigated to NBC where Aziraphale knew they’d be playing Golden Girls at this hour. After one last fond look Aziraphale couldn’t stand still any longer, so he hurried off to get everything ready for their impromptu feast.
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jaefluenza · 4 years
Text
Mellifluous | Mark x reader
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genre: fluff/slice of life
pairing: Classmate!Mark x you
other characters: Jaemin, Renjun, Jeno, Chenle, Jaehyun, Lami (ex SMrookie)
summary: you tried to forget music after you failed your first audition with a misunderstanding. But Mark Lee, your new classmate, helps you finds your desire to love music again.
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You walked into the empty classroom, feeling glad that you’re early. You put your bag onto the desk and lay your head on it. The breeze swaying some of your hair put you to a short nap. Minutes later, you’re being awakened by the noisy loud boys. You look up and glance at the clock. It’s 10 minutes away before the class starts, so you decide to get a drink from the vending machine.
You walk through the hallway, avoiding another student’s glance as you walk towards the vending machine. Well, one thing you hate about the vending machine is it was placed besides the music room, the only room you hate in the school. You ignored the piano sounds from inside, inserting the coin in. Once you get your drink, you flinched at one certain face in front of you.
“You scared me, Jaemin! Don’t do that again, please.”
Jaemin snorts, “Why are you in front of the music room?” His eyes lit up. “Are you going to be interested again in music-” You hurriedly close Jaemin’s fussy mouth as you glare at him.
“Stop it, Jaemin. I’m not doing whatever is in your mind now. Let’s just get back to class, it’s almost starting.”
You literally dragged Jaemin back to class. “You know what, y/n. There’s always another chance you know.”
You ignored him as you let go of his hand, leaving him to go to your own desk.
You stare at the window as you reminisce your bitter past with music.
You worked part time in order to obtain your own pocket money without bothering your parents. You got plenty of money from it, and you used them to apply for vocal and music courses. You were in love with music. You discovered your nice voice since junior year, when your friends forced you to sing at a birthday party. Your friends applauded and told you to join the music club at school. So, you did. And to work up your skills, you attended vocal and music courses. You also bought a guitar with your own money. Everything went great and you fell in love with music everyday.
“Why don’t you participate in an audition?” Renjun asked you who’s playing a piano across him. You stopped your finger play.
“Hm, I don’t know. My vocal skill is still average and I don’t have the confidence to compete with hundreds or maybe thousands of talented people.”
Lami chimes in, “You call that diamond voice average? Then I must be a dying goat then.”
You chuckled, “No, you’re just exaggerating that.”
“Believe me, y/n, you have a beautiful talented voice. And your music skills are superb. You deserve a chance to do an audition.”
You couldn’t believe that Renjun would say that about you. He has been a playful savage in the club, but now you could feel his sincerity.
“Yeah, I totally agree. I heard MBK is arranging an audition in our school next month. You should totally join it.”
You looked at Lami, Renjun, Chenle, and the others.
“Maybe I should do it.”
So you spent your times practicing for the upcoming audition. You were so sure that you’ll rock the audition. A day before the audition, you hurried your way to your workplace, forgetting your umbrella. You’ve watched the weather forecast and they said it’s gonna rain. You didn’t care though, all you wished was to finish your work and then prepare yourself for tomorrow.
And they were right. 10 minutes before your shift completed, heavy rain started to pour down and it was quite stormy. You sighed, regretting how you didn’t give a fuck about leaving your umbrella at class. So your day ended with you walking home literally drenched from the heavy rain.
The next day, Renjun and Jaemin were waiting for you to in front of the hallroom, where the audition was held. “Where do you think she is? She should be taking her number by now!” Jaemin panicked.
“Do you think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid, Jaemin. I am clearly as worried as you right now- there she is! Y/n!” Renjun spotted you weakly walking to the hallway.
Your pale face changed their excitement into worries. “Are you alright? Why are you so pale??”
“I forgot my umbrella yesterday so I walked home like a wet cat.” You said before you sneezed. “Geez, I don’t think I’m gonna make it. I’ll just give up and join another one someday.”
“No. An open audition like this rarely goes to our school, so you still have to take it.” Renjun convinced you.
Jaemin nodded, “Yeah, besides, you have practiced for a month long. You can do it.”
You sigh, “What if my voice cracks? To tell them I am sick doesn’t make any sense though.”
Jaemin shakes his head, “No, y/n. You can do it. Now, take your number and sit down in the applicant section.” He put his hand on your shoulder, assuring you that everything will be alright.
So you ended up sitting as an applicant. You keep hearing students around you practicing, while you only busy clearing your throat and drinking water to make sure your hoarse voice won’t crack. Jaemin, Renjun and some of your clubmates sit on the audience section, anticipating your turn.
You watched proudly as Lami finished her audition with positive reactions from the judges. You give her hearts and smiles as she smiled excitedly at you.
After an hour, you heard your number being called. You nervously walked towards the front, the stage, reminding yourself that this is an open audition and a lot of students are watching you right now. You bow as you hold the mic in your hand, smiling at the judges. You introduced yourself before they ask you to sing.
You start off with a nice tone, until you feel your voice straining a little bit at the refrain. You keep your tone stable until you have to reach the highnote in the end.
That’s where your voice cracks poorly, and you heard people cringing. You stopped singing, shocked at how your efforts for the last month becoming useless because of a freaking cold. You bowed as an apology and you looked down, waiting for what the judges will say.
“Woah, I’m sorry, student y/n, I don’t understand why you joined this open audition just to embarrass yourself.”
“I’m sorry, but you sounded like a strangled cat.”
“I don’t think we can accept you, maybe you have to practice for a few more years.”
You feel disappointed in yourself, but in the tiny deepest corner in your heart, you still wanna fight for it.
“I’m sorry, but I am having a cold. Can I have a second chance? I’ll do better-”
“Using cold as an excuse? This is intolerable. We are sorry but you don’t have another chance. Please leave. Next, number 124!”
You leave the stage while holding your tears. At the moment, you feel like the entire world crumbles upon you, you feel embarrassed and disappointed in yourself. How could you believe you can succeed an audition while having a cold? Are you Taeyeon or IU? Negative thoughts circles around your head, until someone yells your name across the hallway.
“Y/n, wait! I-” Renjun couldn’t finish his words as you snapped at him.
“I told you I couldn’t make it, Renjun! Why did you both push me into embarrassment like this? I told you my singing skills are average and now I discovered that I sing like a strangled cat.”
Jaemin feels guilty as he looked at your tears, wanting to erase them off your cheeks.
“No, y/n, I don’t mean that. Please-”
You cut him off, “Enough. I told you I’ll join another audition but no, I guess I won’t attend one anymore. And please leave me alone for awhile.”
That’s how you leave the music club, your vocal and music courses, and also your beloved guitar in your room. You packed the guitar in it’s bag and put it in the stockroom.
The teacher’s entrance cut off your flashbacks and you straighten your position. The teacher is not alone, he brings someone with him too, that you assume is a new student. The girls in the room squeals, well, it’s a boy and he’s quite charming, you thought.
“Good morning, everyone. Let me introduce a new student that will joining us in this class. He is a transfer student from Hanlim Art School. So, would you introduce yourself?” The teacher turns at the black-haired boy as he nod politely.
“Ah, yes. Hello everyone. I am Lee Minhyung but everyone calls me Mark. Mark Lee. I grew up in Canada, but I moved back to Korea to be a trainee in SM entertainment. Yeah, that’s all from me.”
You heard everyone wowed at him. Well, you found out why he looks so charming, he’s a trainee from a big and popular company.
“Okay, thank you Mark. Please have a sit there, in front of y/n. Y/n, please raise your hand.”
You lazily raise your hand and he makes an eye contact with you. You put down your hand and awkwardly look away. You feel his steps coming towards you. You look up to meet his smile back, as he take his seat in front of you. You return his smile with a small grin.
At recess, you planned to sit alone while enjoying your lunch, but that seems to wouldn’t happen because the minute you put your tray on one of the empty tables, Na Jaemin and Lee Jeno also put their trays on the same table as you. You looked at them both.
“I planned to have lunch by myself today, though.”
“That’s too much.” Jaemin pouted.
“Yeah, let us eat with you, okay.”
Jeno gives you his signature eyesmile as he put his hand on your shoulder. You shrugged and proceed to eat your lunch.
“You know, that new student, he was in Hanlim. Y/n’s dream school!” Jaemin exclaimed excitedly. You shake your head slowly, “It was my dream school, but not anymore.”
Jeno looked up from his meal, “But you used to like that school a lot. Well, why not liking it anymore?”
“I think you both knew well what was the reason.” You scoff.
“Well, Y/n. We care a lot for you as your friends, I just want to say, you can’t give up your dream like that-”
“Ah.. our dreams can change as time passes by, yeah, uhm.” Jaemin chimes in as you thank him with your eyes.
Before Jeno gets to reply, another tray was put gently on the table. The three of you looked up. It’s the new student, Mark Lee.
“Hey guys, can I sit here?” He asked with an awkward smile.
“Well, there’s no reason why you can’t sit with us.”
Jeno looked at you with an odd look. “What the hell? You weren’t like that to us awhile ago.”
Jaemin snorts, “I know right. Yeah, sit here Mark. I am Jaemin and this is Jeno.” Mark nods as he sit down next to you.
“I didn’t tell you to sit beside her though..” Jaemin scoffs.
After some minutes of awkward silence, Jeno decided to open up a conversation.
“Hey, Mark. You transferred from Hanlim. Why?” Jeno asked.
“Well we recently move to our new dorm so this school is the nearest one so yeah. This school seems pretty nice, though I have yet to tour around, can someone tour me around?”
“Yeah, sure. Y/n can tour you around.” Jaemin said calmly.
“What? W-why me?” You look up in panic. “You don’t like it?” Mark frowns.
You feel another panic, “N-no. It’s not like that. I mean... urgh okay. I’ll tour you around after lunch.” You agreed. “I’ll go first.” You stand up and bring your tray.
Mark smiles as he finished up his lunch, somehow feeling excited about touring the school around with you.
“Yo, a little advice, she might seems to act cold around people, but you only need to approach her gently, don’t bring her pressure. She’s actually very sweet and charming, you just have to know her well.” Jaemin explains to Mark.
“Thank you, guys. Well, she’s indeed charming though.”
So you ended up with Mark, walking around the halls side to side. And there you are, walking towards the room you never walk into anymore.
“This is the last room I’ll show you. The music room. The music club members practice and hang out here everyday. If you want to join this club, you can reach Na Jaemin from our class or Huang Renjun from 3-1.” You explained boringly to Mark.
“I’ll definitely join this club. Thank you for the tour, y/n. Anyway, what club do you join?”
“Uhm, I was- well, I’m joining the broadcast club.” You replied. “Let’s go back to class, shall we?”
You befriended Mark. He’s a gentle boy and he takes care of you a lot. He also got so close with the other guys from the music club. You never hang out with them since the audition accident but with Mark, he easily make you go out with them whether it’s going to the theme park or simply going to a cafe. He makes you feel comfortable without being pressured.
Today, you decided to invite Mark to your house. He said he missed home cooked meals so you asked your mom to cook for him. He visited your house often so your mom knows him, and he adores him. She loves to cook for him as he eats so well.
“Well, you’re lucky my brother is home. He just got discharged from military last week. You can play fortnite with him when I’m working on some work.”
“Really? Woah, why do I feel so nervous to meet your brother?” Mark touched his chest, signaling how his heart is beating so fast.
You laugh, “Are you in love with my brother or something? Why are you so nervous to meet him, you silly..”
“Haha, I don’t even know why.” Mark blushes. The red shades on his cheeks are so cute that you proceeded to squish them.
“Ouch! That hurts! What are you doing?” Mark asks shyly.
“You’re so cute, Mark. I can’t resist it.”
Your mom cooked a lot of delicious foods you can feel your stomach about to explode. After dinner, your brother asked Mark to play fortnite with him and Mark gladly answered yes. So you cleaned yourself and spend your time working on the broadcast material you need to finish until thursday.
Meanwhile, downstairs..
“So, have you heard?” Jaehyun looked at Mark.
“About what?”
“Y/n’s last audition. The reason why she quit music.”
Mark nodded, “Yeah, I’ve heard. The guys told me, but I’ve never brought it up in front of her. I know it’s a sensitive topic to talk about so I managed to never ask her about it.”
“You did great. But, as her brother who just got discharged, I wish you could push her into music again. She was really passionate about music and singing. She used to send me a lot of recording of her singing, or just her playing the piano, and I loved them. I know deep down she still has the desire to do music again, to sing again, but I just can’t figure how to help her yet.”
Mark frowned as he listens. “I just want to make her feel comfortable around me. I don’t know if I help her with music, she will avoid me like she tends to avoid others.”
“Man, you don’t know how much she talks about you. Don’t tell her you hear it from me, she will get mad. But I think she’s really comfortable with your presence. You should try.”
Mark’s eyes blink with embarrassment. He somehow feels nervous after hearing that you talk about him often. So, he decided to give it a try.
You finished your writing before you heard a knock on your door. It must be Mark.
“Yeah, come in.”
A second after, he entered the room with a bowl of apples in his hands.
“Your mom told me to bring it to you. Did you finish your work?” He asks gently as he put the bowl on your table.
“I just did.”
Mark nodded. He then sighed as he sit down on your fluffy carpet.
You joined him with the apples. “What’s wrong, Mark?”
He looks into your eyes, “There is something I want to bring up to you, but I’m not sure if you’ll be comfortable enough to talk about it.”
You know where this is leading to, but you shrug as you look away.
“Just spill. I know you’re gonna be curious as well, and because we’re close enough, you deserve to know.” You replied softly with a smile.
“Well, y/n. I spent half of my teenage life as a trainee. I came here as a foreigner, but luckily I was a quick learner, so I worked really hard to become the way I am now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about failure. I failed twice on my piano lesson. I used to hate myself because everyone is good at piano, why couldn’t I? So I worked really really hard to learn the damn instrument and I made it.” He paused to look at you. You fell into a deep silence.
“The thing is, I heard about what happened to you. The guys told me, but I really want to know your side of story. I wanna hear it from you, I want to know more of you, y/n. How did you feel.. that day?”
Hearing the sincerity from his words make you broke into tears. He flinched in panic, and then holding you closer to him as he soothes you with words.
“Oh, I’m sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No. I-i.. I just feel so.. amused that you asked about how did I feel about it. No one has been listening to me. No one wanted to know how did I feel to be humiliated in front of so many people. To be told that you cannot sing, and you don’t have any talent. Well, it could be true but.. somehow I felt like what I worked hard for was useless. I felt useless.”
Mark nods as he continue to listens.
“I avoided everything about music, because I feel like I don’t deserve to do it. Getting cursed on stage somehow had me hypnotized that I shouldn’t do it anymore. I don’t want to go on another audition, so I don’t need to do anything involved with music anymore.”
“You don’t have to go on an audition to be involved with music, y/n. You can do it for yourself. If you want to play music, do it. You don’t have to do it for others to see. But I do believe that you have the talent for others to see. You have your own charm with music, y/n.”
“How are you so sure about it? You have never heard me sing.”
“Oh, do you think I would ignore every humming sounds behind me? Even they sound beautiful. How I wish I could hear you sing.”
“Well, your wish will be granted. I will.. try to sing again, unless you’re gonna be the one watching.”
“Good deal.”
So, the next day, you and Mark sneak into the music room. It was the day when Mark received a message from the music club groupchat that there were no meeting that day. Everyone’s busy preparing for the upcoming final exams. So after waving goodbye to Jaemin and Jeno, you both made an “eating-bingsoo” excuse to go to the music room.
While Mark open the door, you hesitate to step in. You stare around the room. Somehow you miss practicing here, playing around with the guys, harmonizing with Lami and Koeun, and playing tag with Renjun and Chenle. You sigh, looking back at Mark who waited for you to step in.
You enter the room without pressure, remembering Mark’s words to just relax as if you only come to play. You walk past Mark towards the grand piano across the room, the one you used to practice with. “It’s been so long since I touch this piano.”
“I bet you’re still great at it.” Mark reassures you.
You looked at Mark before finally sit down to play. “I-i..”
Mark nods, “Go on, I’m listening.”
You play the intro of your favorite song, “Baby Baby” by 4MEN.
“I don't know the reason why I changed..
I've been thinking for a long time
After you and I met
It seems like I changed
Quite a lot
Can you hear this song?”
Mark stares at the way you sing. He’s very mesmerized by the way your fingers dancing on the piano. He’s also very stunned by your voice.
“Oh, thank you so much.. oh baby..
You are so pretty
I can't take my eyes off of you
My eyes only see you
I only want to keep looking at you..”
You closed your eyes and sigh, you finally sing again. You glance at Mark with teary eyes. He clapped proudly before walking to give you a hug. You gladly wrap your arms around his body, letting out a satisfied sigh while he pat your head.
“That was beautiful.” Mark whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you Mark. Thanks for helping me find my hope.”
Months after finding your passion in music with the help of Mark, you grow to be a lot happier. You open yourself to your friends, and they gladly welcome your old self back. They decided to respect your choice no matter what happens, as long as you’re happy. Of course you didn’t join the music club back, you told everyone that you’re gonna enjoy music to yourself, to have fun.
While Mark is nearing his debut, you sometimes help him relieve his stress by helping him with his music. You help him write his rap or sometimes you make guitar samples for him.
And now, here you are on the prom day, wearing a beautiful white short dress, waiting for your date in front of the hallroom. After greeting some of your friends with their date, you finally see him coming.
Mark walks towards you with a bucket of flowers in his hands, smiling charmingly. “Hey, you look beautiful tonight. I- I mean, you always look beautiful everyday, but tonight you look.. uhm, different. Urgh, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Mark rumbles.
You receive the bucket and smell it, “Thank you Mark, you look handsome too, you know.” You smiled.
Mark reaches for your hand, and offers you to go with him. “Shall we?”
You nod and take his hand in yours.
“Sooooo! Tonight is a special day! And we also have our dinner and now our stomach is really full of good food! But the special thing is not here yet! So, now we will proceed to see a performance from our dear friend from the music club, he will be performing a song with a secret featuring. Mark Lee, y’all!!!” Donghyuck screamed into the mic as he nods at Mark who’s ready with his mic.
Meanwhile, you stand behind Mark, hands shaking from nervousness, as you grip your mic tightly. Mark notices your nervousness. He put both of his hands on your shoulder as he looks directly into your eyes. “Are you alright?”
“M-mark, I don’t think I can do it.”
“Listen, y/n. Just pretend that the kids aren’t there. Just see it as if we’re only having fun, serenading each other. You know we love to sing together, right? It’s gonna be okay, I’m here with you.”
You look into Mark’s eyes to search for any sincerity and reassurance from his eyes, and that’s it. You find them. You quickly gain your confidence as you nod frequently.
He holds his guitar in his left hand and uses the other one to hold your hand, leading you to the stage. Everyone screamed in surprise, not believing that you are gonna sing at the stage again.
Renjun sends a look to Jaemin and Jeno, “Did they told you about this???”
Jaemin shakes his head, “No! I’m literally shook right now!”
You ignored all the hollers and looked at Mark with a smile, before closing your eyes to focus.
Mark started his intro, focusing in his fingers as he plays delicately. He started his first verse,
“She is the sweetest thing that I know..
You should see the way she holds me when the lights go low
Shakes my soul like a pot hole, every time
Took my heart upon a one way trip
Guess she went wandering off with it
Unlike most women I know
This one will bring it back whole.
Daisies, daisies perched upon your forehead
Oh my baby, lately I know..”
He smiled at you, reassuring you for the last time that it’s gonna be alright.
You look at him dearly as you start to sing,
“That every night I'll kiss you you'll say in my ear
Oh we're in love aren't we?
Hands in your hair, fingers and thumbs baby
I feel safe when you're holding me near
Love the way that you conquer your fear
You know hearts don't break around here..”
That’s when Mark keeping the eyecontact with you, as you both start singing the last part together, harmonizing beautifully.
“yeah yeah yeah,
yeah yeah yeah yeah..
Yeah yeah yeah yeah.”
Mark put down his guitar as the audience clapping and screaming for both of you.
He takes your hand as you both proceed to bow for the audience. You looked at your friends cheering loudly for both of you, and you waved at them before going back with Mark to the backstage.
You scream into Mark’s shoulder as he laughs with you. “I did it! We did it, Mark! We both did so well!”
He caresses your shoulder gently, “I know right. You did so well, y/n. I’m so proud of you!”
You let go, and smile at him dearly. “I could never thank you enough Mark.”
“You can, right now.”
“What? How?”
“By being my girlfriend. Will you be one?” Mark asks, it becomes his turn to be nervous.
You blink, “I- of course.. Mark, I.. will.”
He shows you his big happy grin as he pulls you into a big hug.
Indeed, that night is a night for you both to remember.
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