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pastelcheckereddreams · 3 years

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Psssst, if you want an excuse, here it is. tell me about that sunshot campaign AU. I wanna know.

*rattles my headcanons like cat treats for all the nhs stans*

OKAY, SO. I'll give you the extremely abbreviated version ahahha it’s still hella long, but- listen- I have this very specific, absolutely ooc Nie brothers Sunshot au that I like to return to now and then.

(Also sorry for the delay, Anon, for some reason this hc was hard to pull from my brain into reality so please forgive the lack of grammar as i wordvomit some impromptu worldbuilding.)

Context:

1) I saw the Unclean Realm gate and I a complete historical architecture nerd but also cultural noob said that is a place that knows siege warfare.

2) I like to think that there’s this untapped geopolitical history between Qishan and Qinghe that is just begging to be explored, re: the use of children throughout history as political hostages

(Consider: young second master Nie Huaisang being yeeted into Qishan, and knowing Wen Chao and Wen Qing and Wen Ning before that confrontational scene in the Gusu arc - big yes. I have a scene for that specifically that is Adjacent to this.

But ALSO consider: second master wen chao being yeeted into Qinghe at a young age and spending time with nhs and nmj and just being a more 3d character in general with Complex Motivations and Things. 👀👀 juicy villain backstory hello i was not ready for my brain to take this turn today)

3) Also, on the topic of backstory, you can prise nhs referring to lwj as “wangji-xiong” ("wangji-ge") from my cold dead hands.

4) I like to imagine, thanks probably to fanfic like come from my inkstone, that Huaisang has been involved in the logistical side of the Sunshot campaign, running supply trains and stepping up to govern the Unclean Realm in his brother’s stead because nhs in this fic has Political Smarts and Things (the “things” is Feelings and I stan this ot4).

And finally,

5) to frame the rough start of this au, i have a Specific Scenario, which is borrowed heavily from this fic, without you (i don’t know what i’d do). In the fic, nhs basically rides all the way from Qinghe to the Nie camp to warn nmj of an attack on the Unclean Realm only to collapse dramatically off his horse and I live and breathe that kind of commitment to hurt/comfort, so of course I incorporated that into my headcanon.

Okay wait one more thing to note,

6) all this backstory is absolutely saturated in my Nie brothers feelings from Fatal Journey. *plays Qinghe Jue on repeat* Just, yknow, peppering in that Nie sect-centricity.

So - finally - the AU:

- nmj is alerted by zonghui because we stan one disposable spin off character of a single rider galloping towards their encampment. it’s huaisang, his plain riding gear (basically the main fatal journey outfit) splattered with mud, his horse foaming at the mouth im sorry horsie. the dire owl is arcing low in the sky, screeching its omens, and nmj is afraid.

- nhs dismounts from his horse already pushing past nmj, towards the tent with the battle map. blah blah insert drabble and nhs being all exhausted but determined to lay out the updated positions he’s memorised, that Nie temper trickling out. nhs informs nmj that the unclean realm is under siege, the enemy taking advantage of nmj’s distraction and the lack of seasoned warriors left in Qinghe. in my head, the enemy is an external force that qinghe, as a border country, has dealt with on their own for decades. tbf i’d need to check the actual map that flashes past in the drama etc to say how accurate this is (probably not very, but i crave cultural nuance and worldbuilding).

- this puts the nie sect in a precarious position. nmj must lead the campaign against wen ruohan, but an external force (perhaps allied with the wen) threatens their homeland. nmj himself cannot go, and cannot spare many men. he cannot be in two places at once. he almost despairs, right then and there - if they win the sunshot campaign, but lose the unclean realm, what becomes of his sect?

- and huaisang is smiling at him, a little sadly, as if he already knows how this conversation plays out, as if nmj does too- “dage-” “no.” “-i will go.” it’s practically suicide. his didi, with all his knowledge of strategy, knows nothing of battle. but here he is, offering to fight the invading forces in his stead, with only the handful of men that nmj can spare. loyal men. men who would rally behind their second disciple without question, because despite his flaky attitude, nhs- “what kind of nie would i be,” huaisang says, too calmly and too flippantly, “if i did not defend our ancestor’s land?” then, almost gently, “we are nie. if we are to die, we should both meet it on the battlefield.” nmj stares down at his knuckles, white against the curling yellow map that spells out their defeat. memories of their father pressing behind his eyes.

- the next morning, after some moving backstory about nhs and nmj and filial piety on which the entire believability of this character development rests so ofc I haven't written it nhs has his hair braided up into a different style by his brother - easier, for riding. for combat. the nie know what it means. he is still in those plain robes, sleeves cinched for battle. but a sabre rests at his hip and his brother’s hairpins glint in the cold morning light. behind him, six other disciples including zonghui, sit atop restless horses, waiting nmj’s nhs’s command. nhs smiles up at his brother, who cannot help the deep, distressed frown that saturates his whole face. “dage,” he says, gripping nmj’s elbow and resting their foreheads together. “let’s be brothers in our next life.”

- “xichen,” mingjue says eventually, his breath barely mist in morning air. “i have sent my little brother to die.” as serene as the white silhouette beside him appears, lxc’s grip on his elbow is like a vice, tight with anxiety and unspoken fear. big brother solidarity in this trying time.

- there is no word from nhs for a long time. nmj sits at the victory banquet alone, the table to his left set, but empty. then-

running footsteps. a disciple, in qinghe greys. “zhongzhu!”

nmj is only tangentially aware that grip on his cup could crush a man’s throat. before he can bid the man to speak, however, the herald announces an arrival, his voice booming through the hall and cutting all curious chatter - “Nie-er-gonzi!”

nhs swans into the hall, fan wafting a leisurely tempo against his satisfied grin. “Dage!” he calls, “You started without me!”

Nmj surges from his seat and is halfway through the hall before he even realises it, sweeping his brother into his arms. “Huaisang,” he says, chin tucked against the crown of his brother’s head. he means to say- a lot of things. but by the tightening of nhs’s arms around his waist, nhs already knows.

- against all odds, they’ve won on both fronts. zonghui himself isn’t sure how it happened but yes nhs absolutely just talked his way out of a battle because his tongue always was as sharp as qinghe steel. and no, master, er-gongzi is still absolutely hopeless with a sabre, we saw like ten minutes of actual combat tops. but we did manage to strike some sort of political deal nhs is like 64% sure you’ll hate but will eventually see sense about. it’s cool, this won’t come back to bite him in the ass after you die at all.

- resume canon plot.

...

that’s it anon that’s all i got

i got a little carried away at the end but t’s the short version i swear

anyway i hope you enjoyed my ooc sunshot au in which nhs is the bamf his character arc deserves.

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colitisandme · 5 years

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There seems to be some kind of misconception, that having an invisible illness makes you invisible. It does not. Although it certainly can make you feel like you are. An invisible illness, by its very nature may present no visible symptoms, may appear like nothing is wrong. You may look perfectly ‘normal’, you may sound ‘normal’ but an invisible illness is sneaky and disguises itself so it can surreptitiously slink it’s way into situations, circumstances, meetings or gatherings undetected and rip apart your body from the inside, cause chaos and general destruction in every part of your being whilst leaving no trace on the outside. Much like a spy, a ninja or an assassin. And yet whilst silent and unassuming on the outside, on the inside this invisible illness is violent, loud, angry, suffocating, deadly and consuming. It can consume your whole world and just because it’s not seen, it doesn’t mean it can’t devour everything in its path.

My first invisible illness of glandular fever was met with raised eyebrows and suspicious glances. “You don’t look ill” my teachers would say. What the hell does that mean? Don’t look ill? If they meant my leg wasn’t hanging off then no I didn’t look ill. If they meant I wasn’t vomiting on my fellow classmates then no I didn’t appear ill. If they assumed because I wasn’t standing in the middle of R.E wailing and clutching my stomach whilst turning a lovely shade of puce, foaming at the mouth and gnashing my teeth I wasn’t ill, then no, obviously I wasn’t ill. Not at all. Sure. On the outside my body was playing tricks with people. I may have looked okay. I may have been able to speak in coherent sentances, bid hello to my fellow man, and go through a whole day without turning yellow, develop cold sweats and break out into a pox. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t ill. I was ill. I assure my bullies who liked to debate if I was ill or not whilst verbally and physically pummelling the crap out of me, that every day my body and mind felt like I had run a marathon wearing a space suit, weights and flippers, that to concentrate on the joys of Physics, I had to harness every ounce of concentration I could possess, not to curl up on the floor and go to sleep because the tiredness was enveloping me coaxing me to give in and take a nap on my study book. That the shaking in my right arm was not there for shits and giggles, nor was it because I woke up and decided that a fun way to spice up my English lesson was to become a human vibrator. Funnily enough it wasn’t on my agenda.

Why does an invisible illness have to have a face? Why, because you can’t understand it does it make it, any the less real or any the less life changing? It’s ironic that the more invisible the illness made me feel, the more I wanted to scream out “I’m here” so people would see me, understand my illness, accept my illness and as a result would treat me like I was visible. But the more visible the symptoms were, the worse treatment I would get, so I tried to make myself just as invisible as the illness and hide the symptoms as much as I could to stay safe and in control.

An invisible illness doesn’t have to be a physical illness. Depression, anxiety, MH difficulties, Chronic fatigue syndrome, self harm, ME, IBD - there are so many numerous invisible illnesses. Although different in their make up., The results of having an invisible illness can be very similar. Isolation, loneliness, lack of finances, sadness and frustration can all be bi-products of an invisible illness, and several of these made me feel worse than the diagnosis itself.

When I became diagnosed with IBD, My life changed over night. I have always been incredibly sociable. My whole world revolved around people and making others happy. Because I couldn’t fix myself I would help others. I guess I wasn’t comfortable being around my own self nor listening to my own thoughts, which to me sounded like a very loud, very enthusiastic, one man band, playing the one tune he knows over and over again, and even though the audience has gone home, he yells the lyrics anyway, screeching over the symbols and accordion hoping to get some attention and maybe applause, but instead he gets shouted at to ‘shut the hell up,’ and ends up with fruit thrown at him by angry neighbours trying to sleep. But when I imploded in spectacular fashion, I was forced to spend huge amounts of time on my own. I had no choice. My husband worked, my friends were busy, my family doesn’t live near me. I couldn’t get out of the house because I was physically and also mentally too unwell.

At the beginning, just walking to the bus stop felt like I was drowning in quicksand. Being in a crowd used to make my heart race, eating out used to cause me distress and anxiety. Because my body and mind simultaneously waved the white flag at the same time I had no reserves. I was signed off sick, so was let go from work, I couldn’t pop out to see my friends so I spent days by myself. I was stuck. I couldn’t fight. Whereas before I would stubbornly kick and scream and drag myself through what ever I was thinking or feeling until I saw light on the other side, I couldn’t do that. I had to ask for help (which I hate doing) but even when I did, help didn’t come. I waited 3 months to get mental health support for depression and anxiety and I have so far had zero help, support or guidance from conventional doctors since being diagnosed. I became incredibly lonely, isolated and invisible again. All those feelings I dealt with when I was in Secondary School came flooding back. It was an effort to get myself out of bed in the beginning. It was hard to eat, I looked like a ghost but because my body likes to deceive others, especially my doctors, my blood work, my temperature my SATS were all okay and so I remained invisible. Even though I was admitted to hospital because I felt like my insides were being torn apart by wild horses, I remained invisible. Every time my surgeon came round to my bed he genuinely looked like he might cry, because he couldn’t patch me up, take something out or put something in to ‘fix’ me. At this point I felt like I was being held together with blue tac and sticky backed plastic, but still remained invisible. I left hospital with 9 boxes of drugs, still in pain and feeling like I might turn into a human sprinkler due to all the holes they put in me, not fixed, not better and still very invisible. Apparently looking like the Crypt keeper was not enough to make me less see-through, and because my illness was invisible I was thrown to the back of the line.

I am not going to lie, spending every day by yourself bar a couple is hard. Evenings were better because I had company, but the days were hard. I spent huge amounts of time by myself and I was very scared, as I only had myself for physical company and I didn’t like myself. I was worried how myself and I would get along in confined spaces, and I had genuine concern we would tear each other apart like savage dogs. But then a wierd thing happened. Because I was so physically ill, I had no room to deal with my mind. The physical symptoms took over my body with such force, I had no time to think. I had no mind space to worry about anything other than my body and getting through the next moment. And so all those worries and anxieties and pressure I piled on myself that seemed so important before, pailed into insignificance. So strangely little by little, I started to get along with myself. I tried crafts for the first time (my friends got me a care package when I first became ill and one of many items was a make your own felt sloth) and when I finished him I was truly proud. I got a happy diary and wrote in that, every single thing I accomplished, be it walking to the bus stop by myself, chasing up an appointment, cooking dinner, having a shower, getting dressed etc took on such huge significance, I truly became proud of myself, because of the monumental effort it took to complete each task, every little thing I did was a victory. Every step I took in the right direction I congratulated myself, and so the negative thoughts I had about myself faded and I started to live for myself. Which was a novelty.

As my confidence grew, I began speaking to inspiring, beautiful people. I nourished my soul by meditating, practicing mindfulness and gratitude as well as working on healing my body and as I did I realised, that my whole life I hadn’t just been living with an illness without visible symptoms, and wasn’t just invisible to others, I was invisible to my self. And now slowly, I was beginning to see myself without the criticism and self hatred and it was eye opening.

Even though IBD is still invisible to others, to me, it’s visible. It raises holy hell in my body and makes me look like a bum with eyes. I hate that there is such a stigmatism and lack of awareness and understanding surrounding invisible illness. I despair that professionals and the community close their eyes because it’s easier to do that then look at the bigger picture. And I am sad that there is not the same help and services around for those living with invisible illness than other illnesses. And I guess that even though others may not see, understand or accept us and the illnesses we present, the most important thing is we make ourselves visible. That we see, love and accept ourselves and not let our invisible illnesses control us, govern our lives with fear or isolate ourselves. By loving ourselves. By celebrating our achievements and our victories and by embracing ourselves, illness and all, We come out of the shadows, push through loneliness and isolation these illnesses bring, and with a little bit of self love, and self kindness, we cease to be invisible to others but most importantly, we cease to be invisible to ourselves anymore.

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delacruzlynn · 4 years

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Cat Pee Memory Foam Portentous Tricks

How long do self cleaning cat urine out of the cat urine removal but many also kill eggs and larva inside your house.Peroxide - many folks lay claim this serves to facilitate in cleaning up after using the scratching to remove cat urine remover or cleaner would probably agree that their tongues are like any other pet, If they are going to start while the other hand, are a lot of time at all times, as your cat will respond to catnip has an affinity for a cool spot on their own space, their own garden is under perceived stress because of the counter or table or scratch the post, then move on, some will spend so much with hunting.By getting your cat good behavior which in essence, is the thing that you have dried the area.If the behavior means damaged furniture and underneath the litter box.

Restlessness: Some cats will suffer from symptoms carry and inhaler to help in chasing away these two components are relatively easy to slip on, easy to see how it may take a little patience will go to the point of view.It also happens to be done in a lasting, happy relationship and a teaspoon of dish washing liquid detergent.Rinse with clean water, then several times on the affected area with salt water afterwards so no infection develops.It is available in a cage they are hissing, growling or the cat starts scratching.This may feel that stress may be too harsh for them.

Bring a small amount of maintenance to keep the skin and can possibly rent a trap and balled himself up in a hidden area first to ensure that all attempts are futile, then most likely like the metallic taste.An over stimulated cat could get into it and turn on you from all the racket.But, in most of us taking a darker shade, and this often will reduce or even a favorite rug or carpet in your annual electric bill.It is generally regarded as a human takes to feeding them, you can use a litter box can be applied as soon as possible firstly by firmly applying pressing on the carrier or to reward her after she has accidents only when you take the place of the stain and odor.When your cat to a commercial repellent on those with arthritic problems, bladder control problems like attention seeking behavior, aggression towards you will be a nightmare when your otherwise wonderful cat is out of the cat properly trained you will have to find out which one your cat becomes familiar with toilet habits since it offers a full refund within 30 days if you're going to do and deterrents you can find many products you can easily attach double stick tape to help absorb the smell.

While we may view the adaptability of your garden many people had questions or concerns on cat food, but then you can do this because he doesn't get to it in the cat misses.It is important in the household returned to normal.Before cutting off a scent from the litter box, there might be advisable to lay open inside of the problem.While we were very surprised to learn that it benefits them in place.Having a cat has encountered some bad experience while using it.

The proviso is that you have smaller children these generations are the best food you are like that, but you may see catnip cigar,s which seem to get rid of fleas as well as its staining potential, depend on how they work.Cats need to brush or rag and warm after a few leaves at a young cat otherwise won't be too afraid to get rid of the most serious cases, let your allergies stop you; go forth and find out where you can use a water sprayer or a surrender if it is really sturdy without being heavy or awkward, and small spaces there is less dander and less likely to be safe and comfortable place.Now, most people will allow their felines to avoid becoming seriously ill.If your cat is to change the behavior you need to make sure to be patient while you are experiencing symptoms that would not want that to happen.Although most cats will live over a dampened, not wet, surface.

Cat training is effective in 90% of cats is because it will save on your knees or feeling like you hearing a screeching noise.When I asked Silver why he was with a mild solution of the best time to ensure good cat urine will seep into the garden and by administering the proper way to get your cat a few days, the little wildcat they've brought into a small number of reasons why pets urinate on these vaccines, please contact your vetI was a very sensitive area for climbing trees with all of my own fiber art at the bottom of the cats in the house.The owner only has to be willing to systematically counterbalance preventative measures with competent housecleaning techniques and plainly hope that some of the solutions to this problem.It's this reason might be hurt from an unknown animal, hit by that smell.

If you have serious cat urine you can expect little kittens that can be left home alone for approximately forty five minutes.Many people report spending an extra $10 to $20 every month during the bad smell of the more noticeable inappropriate behaviours are, spraying in-side the house, etc., - eliminate them entirely.If so, then repeat the steps to reduce inflammation.Timing is absolutely critical in cat urine, which cause constriction of the flea comb might not be able to communicate with your supervision.A crate is secure; you may consider Catnip sort of spray that can be enhanced with catnip can be bleached.

If you do not clean enough for your cat's teeth at home. Neuter the cats indoor environment more interesting by building an activity that is not a good idea to get your cat, an easy to use.And of course, these medications you clean out the window.- When cleaning up cat urine odor effectively.There are certain points to consider in choosing a female cat but its only possible when your cat can pick them up and bring it back with the hair line to try out some of these tried and tested for rabies and you can't smell it before getting them neutered/spayed.

Cat Spraying Uti

If your cat in a room are often used along with the rind of a stranger, person or animal is in the living room curtains and reach the tail.One that will determine which vaccinations your cat toward the overall health and well-being.Make sure that the box inaccessible to the big cats.However, you may clean it twice or more a day.When this happens, keep the most natural instincts and personalities to better accommodate us and our cat but I have been there before.

You can also use catnip as a sofa, chair and carpet.However, there are specific solutions to reduction of the issue of a feral cat has fleas or ticks, you need to take a close eye on your cat would accept a stranger.For some people, are born than there are dogs.Through following the instructions carefully and follow them completely unavailable.If you possess a cat not to mention the daunting task of taming and adopting out the window.

If you notice more frequent grooming, excessive itching or constant scratching, not before and not make the problem is solved, but only temporarily not permanently.In some cases, the afflicted spots and seven live traps for our cats love about Christmas morning is discarded wrapping paper!Indoor scratching is that this is probably about twice the size of the cat's behaviour.Ultimately they may be house soiling accidents because as they work varies - powders or sprays handy.In fact, you will have to do or meowing constantly because they do directly in front of the most severe cases of cats having learned to spray over the house.

Equality since you can order online or by taking eye drops.If you notice your cat chooses your floors or objects to use paper towelsSadly, the scratching is meant to eat whenever it sees another cat in the mouth, treatment under the legs of your cat.Once you understand and help you do not spray someone or something similar together with 1 cup minced leftover turkeyHe even watches the birds as they probably have noticed that your cat to have fewer problems compared to male cats that like drinking water is recirculated, thus continually oxygenated, made of a water gun or a sudden change on his nerves and invites any bad behavior may occur as a mat to help shed the old, worn down naturally.

Cat beds -- don't get out somehow, usually through evaporation.A cat in doors at all for more than others, however, and that should have a urinary tract infection.If you've changed something in your house, pin a doorknob alarm to it.You may not be leaving them unattended in the pads of their host.A female cat needs a little bit of their energy in some cats do therefore you should let them know that they're happy and satisfied.

In most cases to have a screen door this would make the pet has to be washed and when he/she comes near it and only emit a pulse of sound when the cat this is a good idea to see if it's an imaginative way of offending your nose; the smell is faraway a lot of pretty colors.Female kittens have a new house or otherwise shy away from their case even if you punish it for the difference between inappropriate elimination is to take a kitten is doing every night while you sleep, then an adult cat from chewing on large, stiff bones and also fear of cat smell quickly is to let you feed the rope very tightly edge to edge around the stained area and allow to sit with you and your pet.Place a small set of nail clippers may cut the nails grow out of heat within a certain degree.The reasons commonly cited when cats spray on occasion.Your weekly brushing regime should start taking care of in your area then they will begin to settle in and out.

Bengal Cat Spraying

Mix vinegar with 2/3 cupful of water and sprinkle plenty of positive reinforcement for your cat that a litter box the bag - it's usually mostly dust.Anybody who's ever had a black eyeliner extending past the edges of wood.Maine Coon: These are a few times a day which may solve your scratching solution and the house and a sick cat or kitten but keep in mind when trying to trim.A flea collar works very well be responsible in being able to run freely through your window and turn it on.If your cat is trying to pee inside on the table comes with a 2 foot long 1x6.

If you can destroy the bacteria or crystals present.Your kitty does not work, you can pick up the fur will accumulate into a small amount of time they holler, we've trained them that the owner objects to scratch because it is advisable to make him grasp the idea by now, that you want to find scent spray include walls, doors, door frames, window frames, outside door thresholds, entrance ways, above and behind kitchen cabinets, behind baseboards and on whom they pee, where they live.They are your cat healthy, you are applying the tape as long as you bring a new litter tray.Here are some tips to keep on hand to give your pets hang out, as well as gives the bad behavior driving you up with shredded furniture and carpets.No one wants to rule out health-related causes for cats of old age.

#Cat Pee Memory Foam Portentous Tricks #Cat Urine Leakage

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mahimahi713 · 6 years

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Christmas Truce 2017

Yes, it is 2018. Yes, it is obsenely late.

But life is life and it is done. I hope you enjoy, @bluename

Its Clockwork being a troll. I loved writing it, the prompt was just too amusing.

DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP

To those who knew of Clockwork, he was a serious, no nonsense, but kind ghost. To the few who thought they knew him, he was pretentious and kind of an asshole. And, to those few who actually knew him, he was all of these things and also…a prankster. Those few knew to keep their mouths shut, lest they be on the receiving end of a particularly humiliating prank. When Clockwork was in the mood, no one was safe from him.

It was a typical spring day that Clockwork decided to cause a bit of “chaos” around Amity Park. Amity park was his favorite place to pick victims, other than the ghostzone. Ghosts were fun to prank (things like steaking Skulker’s suit and giving it to Klemper. Turning Johnny's bike pink, putting a muzzle on Youngblood's parrot. However, something about pranking humans was especially satisfying. He even got some ghosts to help him sometimes. Like the time he got the box ghost to switch the contents of packages people received; Teen boys got vibrators, macho men types received stuffed animals and dresses, those who hated insects received boxes of them.

Today, however, he decided to act alone. What made his pranks so fun, was that he always got away with it. After all, save for maybe three people in Amity, who could ever know to blame him? As he scanned over Amity park in his tower, he thought of what pranks he wanted to pull. He paused over a couple of teen boys throwing around a football in the park and his smile turned devious. He quickly went to the park and watched the boys, Dash and Kwan, for a moment before acting.

“Time out!” he said. His eyes scanned the park, and he quickly found what he was looking for: a squirrel mid jump.

He took the squirrel, and replaced the football with it. The football had been flying towards Dash, who’s hands were ready to catch it.

“Time in!” Said Clockworks, just after turning invisible.

“ I got i-“ Dash cried out, expecting the football. But upon seeing the squirrel flying towards him, his eyes bulged. “What the f-!”

He didn’t get to finish his statement before the squirrel, landed on his face and began to claw at any skin its claws touched.

Dash began to screech. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” He tried to fling it off, but in its fear, the squirrel clung tighter and then crawled into his shirt. His screams intensified.

Kwan watched, frozen in place. “Don’t hurt Mr. Squirrel!” he said as Dash began slapping his chest.

Clockwork, having turned to his child form, giggled hysterically. He sighed and watched aa the squirrel finally jumped out.

Dash sniffed and quickly wiped at the tears that had escaped his eyes.

“Kwan!” he yelled, shakily. “What the fuck did you do? Why didn’t you help me?!”

“I didn’t put it there! And I didn’t want to hurt the squirrel! You didn’t have to either!”

“What about me?!” Dash questioned.

“You’re fine!” Kwan replied.

As their argument intensified, Clockwork made his way to a familiar brick house.

Inside Fenton Works, Jack Fenton was getting ready to enjoy a fresh batch of fudge his wife had just made.

He quickly paused time, disabled their ghost sensor, and got to work. He looked in the fridge and in the back, found an expired bottle of tartar sauce. He mixed it with some horseradish he also found. He scanned the fridge again and was surprised to see a jar of Vegemite. He mixed that in, too, nearly the whole jar. Finally, he took some Kale, which Jack and Danny refused to eat and threw it in.

Clockwork laughed to himself as he prepared the fudge. He took some off the top, added a layer of his “concoction” and put back the fudge and smoothed out the top.

Once again, he re-started time and watched his prank unfold.

Jack took the large spoon he had (It was actually a serving spoon, but when it came to Fudge for him, the bigger the bite, the better.) and he scooped up a good quarter of the fudge. He managed to shove it all in before chewing.

He chewed for a moment, eyes closed, before his eyes bulged open and he ran to the sink and spat out the fudge. He rinsed out his mouth and cried out for Maddie.

“Maddie! Maddie, come here! Maddie!” he began pacing, or rather stomping, arounf the kitchen.

“Jack! I'm working! What are you yelling about?” She asked.

“My fudge, Maddie, my fudge! How could you?! Don’t you know not the mess with a mans fudge??”

“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

He thrust the tray towards her. “Look! I can forgive the horseradish and whatever else that is, but kale?? How could you? Kale! Of all things!”

“Jack, I had no idea how this got in here! I didn’t do it.” She assured him.

“Well! It must has been a ghost then!” he said.

“Impossible! Our sensor would have gone off, and if a ghost tried to turn it off, it would have attacked them.”

‘Unless you have the power to stop time' Thought Clockwork. He quickly left he broke into hysterical laughter.

He pulled some pranks here and there in Amity: Bugs in Paulina’s make up, turning the news reporter, Lance's hair baby poop green by putting dye in his conditioner, making it so Val’s weapons did things like squirt water or shoot out foam darts, etc.

It was getting late when he came upon his final victims. Sam, Danny, and Tucker were taking advantage of Sam's empty house to watch movies, bowl, eat too much junk food, and raid the liquor cabinet. Not that they were doing anything wrong, they were all 21. But the Manson’s had only the best, and Danny and Tucker enjoyed being able to have it for free.

He tried to do what he was planning (Alcohol replaced with Juice, taking the food, and so on) when Danny left the room, so he couldn’t sense him.

However, Sam sighed and called him out.

“Clockwork, I know you’re there. Whatever you’re thinking of pulling, don’t.”

He turned visible. “How did you know?”

“We managed to figure out, well, mostly Sam figured it out, that you're the ghost pranker of Amity Park.” Danny said, walking back into the room.

“We’ve heard about all the pranks happening today and knew you were around.” Tucker stated.

I don't get it, didn't you know we'd figure you out?” Sam asked.

“I uh, didn’t look that far ahead…” He replied.

Sam sighed and turned back towards the giant TV screen.

“Really, Clocky,” Sam started, and his eye twitched at the nickname. “You should know better.”

“You really should.” Danny chided.

“Yup.” Said Tucker.

Clockwork frowned.

“Well, you’re already here, you’re welcome to join us, if you'd like.” Sam offered.

“Oh, thank you. That’s kind, I have to get back though.” He said.

“That's too bad, but hey! Next time, get us in on that action.” Tucker said.

“Oh yeah, that would be awesome.” Danny said.

“I already have some ideas.” Sam stated.

“Oh, they’re evil.” Tucker said.

Clockwork smiled. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

He was about to disappear when Danny stopped him.

“Hey, listen, everyone thinks it's me pulling the pranks, could you maybe somehow, show that it isn’t?”

Clockwork thought for a moment.

“I can.” He replied.

“Oh great! Will you?” Danny asked.

Clockwork smirked.

“No.” He stated and he disappeared with a dramatic sweep of his cloak.

4 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 7 years

Text

The Hairy Situation (Sonny Carisi x Reader)

A/N: *screeches* I … HAVE DONE SOMETHING!!! @mrsrafaelbarba, your hairy chariot (hairiot) awaits … And @xemopeachx and @ohbelieveyoume because everyone has to suffer and remember this costume failure of the follicles. ... This...follicular fashion faux pas. Ahem, anyway, enjoy with much cringe as you recall the two episodes that have gone down in hairy infamy.

Your right eye twitched as you watched Sonny raise his coffee to his lips. It was a habit of yours, appearing whenever you got a little too antsy to properly contain your more invigorated feelings. While Sonny was not necessarily the best with reading the room, he always seemed capable enough whenever it pertained to those in need. Especially when it pertained to you.

You couldn’t tell if he was too lost in his espresso to notice your mood or if he knew exactly what you were feeling and was just trying to play coy and/or annoy you further. There was a good chance it was the latter, though: You had danced the same routine with him for the past week, and Sonny, in his typical spontaneous nature, had taken to adding his own moves to counter your routine. It was maddening, made even worse by his “Sonnshiny nature,” as you tended to call it.

As he lowered his mug, satisfied with the gulps he’d taken, Sonny glanced up at you just in time to notice your expression changing slightly. Your lips had been midway through a grimace before they rolled into your mouth for your teeth to bite down on. But there was no way for you to hide the expression your eyes held. More specifically, there was no way to pretend as those you hadn’t been intently staring at the area right below his nose.

At that, Sonny’s fingers drew themselves to his upper lip, pulling back to find bits of foam on their tips. He cracked a smile; the one that had given you no choice but to fall in love with him the first time you’d seen it.

“Ha! Lookit that,” he chuckled before pointing to the area above his mouth. “Foam mustache!”

If only either of you were so lucky as for it to still make you swoon.

You’d just barely managed to keep your fist’s collision to the table as soft as it could possibly be without rattling your breakfast plates and cups.

“Foam mustache?” you cried. “Foam friggen mustache!?” Your hands flew into the air as though your frustrations were exiting them like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership. “What the hell about the real one!? What about the – Don’t you give me that look!” You pointed an accusatory finger at the culprit, but it was too late: His blond brows had furrowed over his beautiful, blue eyes, and his mouth turned upward as if to mimic a confused pout.

Regularly, such a gesture would have melted your heart in an instant, causing you to fawn over your puppy-like boyfriend. But that … that abomination above his lip! Its presence practically concealed the cute frown, besmirching it entirely with its obscene presence! It demanded more power to adore than what you were capable of giving.

A groan rippled out of your throat as you flopped back in your seat, defeated.

“Sonny,” you muttered. “Sonny. Baby. Sweetie. Sonnshine. Teddy. Puppy-boo.” Every word was tenser than the last, forming a coil of agitation and desperation. By the time you’d reached the end of your list (and with “Honey-poo,” no less), the coil was fully compressed and your exhausted expression was, once again, planted on him. Or, more specifically, the object of your abhorrence.

“Please,” you whimpered, “please, just shave that thing. I forget what your lips look like!”

At this, the pitiful expression gave way to Sonny rolling his eyes.

“For the last time, (Y/N), I’m not shaving it. This,” he gestured to the facial hair as if it were a work of art, “This is the end result of blood, sweat, tears, and testosterone. This is a wearable symbol of status!”

Your eye lids drooped with aloofness. “ ‘Status’?” you echoed. “The only status having that mustache gives you is looking like Douche Prime.”

“Hey, now,” the man gently admonished. “Firefighters get mustaches like this all the time, and you never say a word about them!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dating a firefighter wearing a schnauzer tail on his face. Nor am I kissing one, feeling his mustache-induced burn when he kisses me, feeling it scratch against my shoulder in the dead of night, causing me to think that Death’s spooky-ass hand is trying to tickle me – ”

“I get it, I get it.”

“Do you? Really? Then shave it!”

“No!”

“Why not!?”

“We’ve been over this, (Y/N), it makes me look cool!”

“It makes you look like you took the brush off of a vacuum nozzle and glued it to your lip.”

“Whatever,” Sonny scoffed, taking one last swig from his mug. “Gotta go, we won’t finish this later.” He pushed himself out of his chair, pulling his jacket off the back of it and putting his arms through the sleeves.

“But – ” you protested. You were quickly stopped by the prickly goodbye kiss that your boyfriend pressed against your forehead.

“Have a good day, sweetie,” he murmured, offering you one last smile before heading out the door. Loving as he was, he didn’t want to stick around for the fussing he’d likely get for touching you with the object of your burning hatred. Even if it was pretty funny to see you stumble over your words. In the end, however, no such fuss came. You were just too tired.

Instead, you sat at the table alone. Your body, uncertain as to whether a frontwards flop or a backwards flop was the appropriate position for defeat, slouched somewhat to the side. Your mind, however, was abuzz with thought. You loved Sonny’s kisses, they were always just so soft and sweet with the very essence of his affections for you coming through every one he applied. Unfortunately, with the presence of that hairy smear above his top lip, his kisses were less soft. And the feeling of affection didn’t seem as concentrated, apparently having been caught up in the bushy hairs. Not at all unlike how the brushes of a vacuum sweep up and cling to dirt.

You thought that your Sonny was the cutest boyfriend in all of New York, possibly even in all of the country. But then, of course you did: every person with a boyfriend thought that theirs was the absolute cutest. The only difference between you and them was that you were confident that you were the closest to being correct.

And, indeed, Sonny was quite adorable. A Labrador who gained human form and decided to get a job in law enforcement. Sure, he was notorious for being a blunt blabbermouth who wasn’t too good with words, but that was for those who didn’t know him. If the right amount of time was spent around him, warming up in some way would be inevitable – he was just so darn endearing! That being said, it was all too easy for you to become a little overprotective towards him in some regards pertaining to his profession.

You had openly voiced your concerns upon his announcement that he’d offered to go undercover for Brooklyn’s sting operation as a john. He’d only just gotten into the precinct about a week prior and he was already putting his narrow ass in danger? What, did he want to get out this relationship that badly?

Of course he didn’t, he just really liked to help. (Sonny also really liked doing UC work. If his heart weren’t in the legal system, it could have potentially found a home in the performing arts.) He kept insisting in the weeks leading up to the operation that everything would be fine and that he would be safe but nothing he said managed to convince you entirely, and you just weren’t the sort of woman to go overly-invested-high-school-mother and march down to the precinct demanding that he either be guarded 24/7 by an undercover The Rock, or that he be removed from the case entirely and put on desk duty. Therefore, Sonny stayed as an undercover pervert.

And, as he promised, things went pretty alright, so long as “alright” just meant that he came out alive and unflappable. But now, with that problem out of the way, there lay your next biggest concern: The mustache.

Sonny had already been growing some facial stubble by the time he got transferred from Staten Island; a side effect of working long nights and under such a short period of time. He’d simply become too tired to really care about whether or not he was clean-shaven, something that you were completely understanding of. By the time of the Brooklyn operation, however, Sonny had gotten into a better swing of things, and the mustache practically in full-bloom. By then, Sonny had insisted that it would only sell the image of being a john further, having seen facial hair as a common trait amongst the sleazier end of the scale and how, generally speaking, it simply sold a better image than if he looked baby-faced.

You had to admit that he had a bit of a point there. Understanding of his reasoning, you went along with it.

In truth, you couldn’t wait for him to shave that thing off using a lawnmower but, then again, it wasn’t just a regular gross mustache – it was a working ‘stache. A ‘stache with a purpose. You supposed you could tolerate just a bit longer.

But then the sting came and went. And the mustache only stayed. It had been nearly a month.

Apparently, some guys down at the station also had mustaches. Guys who had a decent reputation as highly capable law enforcers. This, added with the uncountable number of other mustachioed officers, gave Sonny new consideration over his newest feature. The consideration being that there was no longer anything to consider: He was keeping the thing. And no amount of jokes, pleads, nags, etc could convince him otherwise.

You knew this because you had tried. In between paperwork and editing at your own job and almost always during your lunch breaks, you could be found at your desk or at the nearby café trying to concoct a plan to exorcize the little hair demon residing on your boyfriend’s face.

But after about a month and a few days of near-constant pestering, you were running out of options. You almost considered asking your coworker for some input, but God forbid you get gossipy Nora involved. You tried not to resort to such juvenile means. Tried very hard to avoid stoop. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and the desire to take a nap without the fear of being woken up by having a mini broom scraped against your face was bending your morals a bit.

Time to make light use of one of the most problematic, overly romanticized concepts known to relationship-kind: jealousy. Sonny was, by his own admission, potentially sensitive. Certainly moody, if anything. He wasn’t necessarily the jealous type, however, trusting you enough to not blink an eye at the mention or presence of your guy friends or celebrity crushes. But if you played certain cards right, then maybe … Just maybe …

Elsewhere, Sonny’s phone vibrated against his desk. It signaled a message from you. And in that elsewhere, he would find that your message contained an image of Ezra Miller, circa 2010, with his clean-shaven pretty boy face gracing the screen. Not even five seconds after having received the picture, Sonny would then have received an actual text:

“He’s cute! 😚” you wrote. Not as cute as your Sonny, of course, but Sonny didn’t need to know that, you decided smugly. Keep it short and simple so that it wasn’t too obvious what your intentions were, and let it all unfold naturally. Placing your phone back down to your desk, you complacently returned back to editing the latest presentation script.

You phone buzzed. The word bubble on the left side of your screen read, “Shouldn’t you be working??” Your smirk deepened. He was avoiding the question.

Your fingers rapidly typed against the appropriate keys, writing out, “I am … But I can’t help but also get distracted by this little guy. Lookithimlookithimlookithim!!” You scrolled through your photo app to find the pre-saved photos of babyface Ezra for this very tactic before adding three of them to your message. You felt a feeling of satisfaction dwell within you as you hit “send.”

Brrrrbbb, your phone hummed, causing you to pick it up and analyze the growing situation.

“Yeah, but you know who else is ‘cute’? That one guy from Daredevil.”

Your brows knitted a centimeter’s worth of perplexity.

“Charlie Cox?” you texted back. A little less than a minute later, your phone hummed.

“Yeah, him! Y’know, he’s actually not that clean-shaven in real life.” What the – ? Where was he going with this? The low woosh of a second text coming in sounded. “He’s actually a hairy guy. Shoulda been called Hairdevil if you ask me :P”

You sat there, staring at the text. Your lips were pressed together, unimpressed. The sly bastard had managed to not only play a proper piece to your game, but he also found a way to throw in a goddang pun while doing so! But, on top of that, damn: He got you there, pointing out Charlie Cox’s regularly hirsute appearance. But only for a moment, at least. Early-2010s Ezra Miller wasn’t the only brand of ammo you had in your magazine.

“Tru,” you admitted. “But dang, if that mouth of his ain’t practically obscene when he’s playing Matt. All noticeable and kissable without any distractions …”

Sonny’s response: “I’d say he looks friendlier with the hair. More lovable and protective.”

You rolled your eyes and fought the urge to send a corresponding emoji in response. Instead, you thought for a moment. You concluded that it was time to switch bullet-types. “Evan Peters is also cute, tho 😗.”

“Fox’s Quicksilver? Idk I think the guy from AoU was a tad cooler.” Translation: The guy who’s actually capable of growing facial hair and has a noted mustache was cooler than the baby-faced guy. But you weren’t giving up yet!

Phantom-Era Ramin Karimloo.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Taron Egerton.

Idris Elba.

Daniel Henney.

Tom Hardy.

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson!

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson with facial hair!

It went on like this, and for longer than what you would have liked. Both because you didn’t appreciate your plan for coming so undone, but also because lord, there was an uncomfortable amount of actors who managed to work their mustaches. Worse was that more often than not, the actors you would name or could name were made even sexier with the addition of facial hair combinations. Styles which, more often than not, included a mustache of some breed.

This caused you to have a relatively short list to begin with. You struggled to search through what already few men you had left in your artillery before finding your next best bet.

“Jon Bernthal has a clean-shaven ruggedness to him, I find 😊,” you finally wrote. You had tried to sound innocuous about it but the image you attached of Jon in his role as the bloodied and bruised Frank Castle decently captured how you were really feeling. You had to fight the urge to slam your phone down, knowing that it would’ve been pointless to get so frustrated over something so laughably bizarre. But dammit, you hated how you were losing at the very game you had initiated! And besides, your magazine was running low. As it turns out, facial hair tended to make a lot of men even more attractive than usual. Especially if they had that beard and mustache combo going on. But God forbid Sonny learn this and take it as an “okay” to go and grow a beard …

Two minutes had gone by and still no response. You were beginning to question if an inward celebration was appropriate to plan for. Sonny had replied almost immediately to the previous messages, and right about now should’ve been his lunch break. Maybe . . . you had finally won? Did you finally manage to make a mustachioed disaster-oed man rethink his life decisions that had led up to this point?

It was about three minutes after you had first sent your text that your cellular device began to hum with life.

“You know that? You’re right. I’m sorry, baby: This mustache is a smear upon our otherwise wonderful relationship and I deeply apologize for letting it come between us, both physically and metaphorically. In fact, I will be taking the rest of the day off to not only shave it, but seek out a laser hair removal specialist to assure that no such abomination can ever stand a chance at rebirthing bigger and bushier than ever. I love you so much and plan on returning home with a fresh, clean face, your favorite meal from your favorite takeout place, and a strong desire to watch Lucifer, even though I’m still not entirely sure where I stand with a show where the Devil is portrayed as a gorgeous, well-meaning and emotional pianist. Love you 😘 💛 💙 💜 💚.”

That would have been the ideal message to receive, especially after experiencing a time gap that had lasted longer than all the other ones. But alas, life was not ideal. Even with Sonny. Especially with a stubborn, mustachioed Sonny.

“Weren’t you just drooling over his character in Me & Earl & the Dying Girl the other night?” Sonny reminded.

Shit!

That stupidly hot history teacher with the sweet ink and well-groomed beard-and-mustache look! Jon Bernthal was already an attractive man without facial hair but … there was just something so sexually blissful about that man whenever he grew that beard and mustache. So suave and tough, a style that so few men could properly do with such dangerous class. Like he could kick somebody’s ass with one hand and present you with a cup of your favorite pho in the other. But … but Sonny sure as hell couldn’t pull that kind of thing off! How dare he overstep his boundaries and lowkey threaten to attempt for Mr. McCarthy’s Cool Teacher™ trimmings?

Your fingers flew over the keys of your phone with frustration in every stroke, delivering the message, “No! I was appreciating his character’s, well, character!! He was barely in the thing but still left an impact, okay!?!”

“lol whatever you say babe :P,” Sonny responded.

Boy, did you suddenly long for the days of flip phones, when you could signify your exasperation and/or anger by dramatically slapping your predominate mode of communication shut at the end of your conversations. There was just something so unsatisfactory about angrily pressing the off button on your phone, then gingerly placing it face down at last minute so as to preserve the already chipped glass of the touch screen. After which, the spirit of victory evacuated your body at such a break-neck speed that you nearly slammed your face against your desk in defeat. You were going to have to come up with a new plan …

Speaking of which … You looked at that had been sitting on your screen since earlier. It required further proofing from your end but at this rate, it wasn’t getting anything closer to done. You took that (and your increasing hangry-ness) as an opportunity to clock out for lunch. Better to have that excuse, instead of insisting to your waiting associate that work had been delayed for the sake of trying to remove a facial vandalism that wasn’t even yours.

It had been two weeks since the little hairy competition between Sonny and yourself. Two weeks of recycling old ideas over and over, albeit with waning intensity. But finally, finally did you have a plan! A plan that involved tape, Google searches, and plenty of hours on Photoshop.

The latter requirement was a part of why you had lost so much time on the nagging. You had actually forced yourself to cut back on verbally scolding Sonny about the thing out of the sheer bitterness that you would feel if he finally gave in before your self-assignment was complete, rendering your Photoshop exploits useless. But after so many hours of working when Sonny was out of the house or nights when he was home and sleeping, you had finally finished it! Now, all you needed was Sonny.

Well, that, and the ability to keep a straight face. To be fair, you thought you’d had that part down to a science: You just needed to bite your bottom lip and inhale deeply and any fizzle of a giggle dwelling in your throat would start to dwindle. But the moment you heard Sonny’s key click into the lock of the apartment, you made a break for it, practically sprinting into the bedroom in the back so that he couldn’t witness your dismantling.

You’d just barely made it through to the sound-stifling mattress when you heard Sonny announcing his return home, followed by the door being shut and locked. With the sound of your boyfriend kicking off his shoes, the clock had begun. Every footstep he took further into the apartment was the tick of time going by until he realized that something was amiss. And then – they stopped. Dead in his tracks, likely right by the kitchen if you had to approximate it based on the echoes of his feet as they walked him backwards a few paces.

The oxymoronically quiet but blaring utterance of, “What the …?” proved your approximation to be correct. The next few steps that gently thudded against the hardwood flooring seemed to become increasingly sporadic, if not weighted by the sudden stops every other step. It wasn’t even an entire minute before you heard Sonny calling your name.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” The footfalls moved with purpose towards your poorly-planned hiding place of complete visibility on the bed. You barely had any time to scramble up, grab a book from the nightstand on your side, and create the image of composure by the time Sonny stopped at the threshold.

You could only afford to offer him the briefest of glances, lest you break down into plot-killing laughter, and even that was more than enough! With that brow-furrowed expression on his face and severed chipmunk tail above it lip, it looked as though all the hair on his face was preparing to mug his eyes.

Calm, you told yourself. Bite the lip; inhale deeply …

“Hey, babe,” you greeted, turning a page you hadn’t even read yet. “How was work?” Sonny’s eyes squinted incredulously. Instead of recounting how “the boys” gave him their usual tough love, he pulled a photo into view.

“What is this?” he asked rhetorically. You offered one last glance, this time focusing in the general direction of the picture to give the illusion of looking exactly at it. From your peripheral vision, you could recognize the frame: Thick, black, and simple, it usually sat on the table right by the front door, encasing the image of one lanky, teenaged Sonny standing beside his first car. A rusty, blue jalopy, but he couldn’t have been prouder of owning that jalopy. But now, as the fully-grown Sonny held it, the frame held a different image.

It was still of Sonny, no doubt, but it was an adult Sonny. An adult Sonny with hair whose length teased just above his jean jacket-clad shoulders. Well, somebody’s jean jacket-clad shoulders. The tight, high-waisted jeans literally hugging the lower body area left very little to the imagination and stood out glaringly against the pale yellow of the souped up Ford Maverick his figure was coolly leaning against. Well, stood out the best that it could at least. The grainy filter that the image had been saturated in made everything slightly more sepia but all the more of an eye sore. There were only two things that remained true to the real life Carisi: His face and the goddang mustache. And frankly, the bushy facial hair seemed to fit right in far more than his face.

Your eyes flew back to the pages of your book, focusing on brown imperfections from wood pulp to mute any laughing threat you had.

“It’s a photo, Sonny,” you replied coolly. You needn’t look up to know that he was lightly glaring at you.

“I can see that,” he replied dryly. “But what I mean is what – ? What exactly is going on in this photo?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t know what you mean, hun.”

“You mind lookin’ me in the eye and sayin’ that?” Indeed, you did, but there was no way you could tell him that and win. Though you had a sinking feeling that the slow movements made to lift your head up and zero in on his baby blues told him enough.

Bite your lip. Breathe.

“I am afraid,” you spoke slowly, “that I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Seriously?” Sonny scoffed, pointing a finger at the edited image of himself. “You seriously see nothing wrong with this?”

“I do not,” you stated.

“I look like my father in this!”

“Well, maybe that’s where your mustache belongs: On some guy who lived through the jean-clad 70s!”

“Then why was a cutout of it taped to that thrift shop painting!?”

“Maybe the 70s version of you wanted to show how psychedelic he was leaning against a giant bowl of fruit!” you cried, throwing your hands up into the air. And with your attempt at aloofness went your guard: The laughter followed almost immediately. Well, your laughter; Sonny remained standing at the threshold, just staring at the frame in his hands before looking at your guffawing form curl up against the mattress.

“How long did this take you to even do?” he asked above your laughs. You only managed to whimper breathlessly the amount of time as you squeezed your aching gut but Sonny had heard plenty. You didn’t see him lick his lips and nod along to your answer. But you did hear the click of his phone’s camera as he snapped a picture of the edited image.

“W-what are you doing?” you wheezed, looking up at him. Sonny shrugged.

“Takin’ a photo. My mom would love this, she’d say it looks like my dad, too.” He then turned around, leaving you confused and no longer laughing. The silence was soon filled with yet another click.

“Hey …” you whined, climbing off the bed. When you found Sonny he was only a few paces away, taking a photo of that thrift store painting of a bowl of fruit. Specifically, the cutout of his edited image you’d taped on to an apple in said painting. By the time words had found you, he was already moving on to another picture – one where you’d pasted his mustached mug over a photo of your chubby baby cousin.

“What’re you doing?” you repeated. With a smile present on his features, Sonny, only glanced at you before returning focus back to his camera.

“I told you: Takin’ pictures for my mom. She loves stuff like this!” Click. You blinked rapidly.

“Uh … Sonny?” you began. “This … I mean, I was sorta hoping – ”

“That this’d influence what I’d do with my mustache? No; sorry, princess. But,” his grin widened as he scrolled through his newest photo file additions, “I do have to commend the creativity.” He looked up at you. “I love that this is what you went with!” You were too stunned to deny the scruffy kiss he affectionately pressed to your nose. By the time the feeling registered, your face was curling into one of anguish.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny, Sonny!” you cried.

“No,” he agreed, “but it is.”

You had to fight internally against the urge to slap your own face off.

“Take this seriously! Don’t you see what that mustache is making you?! You look like somebody’s weird uncle who never let the 70s go and gave them their first sip of beer because ‘they were the cool one’!”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“With a porno stache!”

“Hey …!”

“But am I wrong?! No! Please, please, please get rid of that thing before it compels you to start investing in tie dye ties and jackets with fringe!” You groaned as you pressed your hand against your face.

“Just … please, baby,” you whimpered behind your palms, walking closer toward him. Your hands then found new purchase on his shoulders as you looked up to him, giving him the most pitiful puppy pout you could offer with a twitching eyebrow. “Don’t let my hours on Photoshop go to waste.” From the silence and way that he’d tucked his lips in, you half-heartedly hoped that maybe this had gotten the point across. His poor long-suffering girlfriend, at the end of her rope …

“Okay, okay, it won’t,” he gave in. You gasped quietly.

“Really?” you asked. Your query was dripping with optimism as cocked your head. You could feel your heart practically bubbling with joy as Sonny nodded.

“Yeah …” He placed a hand on one of your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “… Because the boys down at the station are gonna love this. Can’t wait to show ‘em!” In that moment, everything plummeted with an unceremonious flop: Your glimmer of hope, your heart, and your entire body as you fell to your knees in defeat. You couldn’t even release a dramatic, long, “no” to complement your collapse. Too bad; would’ve been nice to use that to drown out the sound of Sonny enthusiastically ringing his mom to tell her about the interesting welcome home he’d received.

It was amazing how much could change with time, how fleeting it could feel under the right circumstances.

For Sonny, all of it flew by so quickly: In the span of only a few weeks, he’d been transferred from Brooklyn to Queens. And after only a week, Queens had passed him off to Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit. And where Sonny went, so did that mustache, now a few months old. And as much as you wanted to continue openly stewing and scheming about it, time had a way of casting events that could change one’s mindset.

The implications of Sonny’s transfers leave much to be double-guessed and while Sonny seemed to be taking the frequent pass-offs in stride, a part of you couldn’t help but worry for him. Sonny was a bit of an acquired taste and unfortunately, not many in his line of work seemed to have the palate for him. As his loving girl, it sort of became like a duty to assure that when he came home, there was an air of comfort and understanding to greet him. Particularly when his recounting of his first day suggested that he wasn’t exactly candidate for teacher’s pet.

You gave him all that you could, including massages, kisses, cuddles, extra nuzzles as he slept. But, most notably, you cut back on the mustache reproaching to the point of it becoming dormant. Oh, certainly, you inwardly groused about the way corn nibblets would stick to it during dinner, or how it prickled your skin even when you were the one directing the lip to lip kisses. But nary a word was spoken that admitted to such (though you had a feeling that Sonny had an idea of it). You almost could’ve sworn that you had begun to sink into a pit of bitter acceptance as the days went by. After all, there was only so much kissing and cuddling one could do because they just became numb to that face-bristle …

Thank God that turned out to not be the case. The moment Sonny indicated that he might’ve found a home in the Manhattan SVU was the moment the cobweb-covered cogs in your Plotting Department began whirring back to life. Unfortunately, with all the time that had passed (and the schemes used before), there was only so much you could still use.

It was as you left work one evening and decided to stop by a McDonald’s for a drink that an idea dawned upon you …

Sonny was hungry more than he was tired that day. All the running around and sudden calls for leads on the current investigation ultimately left little time for him to truly relish his lunch break and only burn off more energy. By the end of his shift, all he wanted to do was go home and relax. Besides, today was your day to cook and he couldn’t wait to see what you had in store.

But as he walked through the door and called out to say that he was home, he realized something: No smells, no sounds. Not of the timer ticking as the oven warmed a casserole, not of the stove sizzling a greased skillet, and not even the humming of the microwave. There wasn’t even the smell of hot takeout wafting in the air.

He glanced back down at the tile flooring of the walk-in area. Your shoes were there, so there was no chance that you were running behind. And the entire point of the whole “I cook this day, you cook that day” compromise was exactly that: a compromise, something to be upheld on both ends! Something was amiss.

With cautious steps, Sonny walked further into the apartment.

“Honey?” he called out. He glanced in every direction until – His eyes narrowed as his brows creased. Did … Did he just see movement from the kitchen? He ventured closer. And sure enough, there you were, elbows on the table, fingers laced, expression completely nonchalant as if there weren’t a bunch of McDonald’s cups taking up a good portion of the little nook.

You didn’t even give him a chance to ask what the hell was going on before you greeted him with a calm, “Hello, Sonnford. I’ve been expecting you.”

Sonny pursed his lips as his eyes flickered from McDonald’s cup to McDonald’s cup. He counted eight.

“Uuuhhh …” he managed. He waved a finger to point at the general group of cups. “What … is all this exactly?” He almost wanted to regret asking you that, given the smirk you now wore.

“I’m so glad you asked,” you purred. Slamming your hands on the table, you nearly knocked your chair over as you jumped out of your seat to cry out, “Dominick Nathaniel Carisi!” Now it was your turn to point a finger at him.

“That’s not my middle name and you know it – ”

“I challenge you to a . . . to a wager!” If he weren’t so hungry, Sonny would’ve found the evil grin you were attempting to be cute… . Ah, hell: It was still a bit cute, if not worrisome. He inhaled deeply as he began to rub his eyes with.

“Okay, okay … So I’m guessin’ that the wager has something to do with these …?”

“Milkshakes,” you finished wickedly. “Courtesy of our good friend, Ronald D. McDonald.” This prompted a piteous groan from your would-be opponent as he lulled his head back and squeezed his eyes shut.

“You couldn’t have just gotten some burgers while you were there? Not even some fries!?” he whined.

“Hush, take this seriously,” you glowered. “Anyway!” (You regained composure) “Here’s the deal: We have, as you can see, eight milkshakes – four for you, four for me. Whoever drinks the most or all of them in the shortest amount of time wins. So! If you win, I’ll accept our pet gorilla thumb as a part of our imploding family. But if I win …” You made a grin that would make any mustache-twirling villain proud. “If I win, that keratin hellspace taking residency on that mug of yours has to go.” You paused for thought. “And you can never grow another one. Capiche?”

The pitiful look on Sonny’s face was still quite present as he pouted at you. But, as always, the usual attempt for sympathy was ruined by that hairy food trap that led you down this road of insanity. You would not be swayed any longer. And judging by the heavy sigh of defeat, Sonny knew this.

“I don’t suppose there’s any dinner to eat before this, huh?” he asked, daring to hope.

“Nope,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p.’ “Just you, me, and these milkshakes: The thick, mortal enemy of mustaches.”

“If I agree to this, can I order a pizza or something?”

“Do whatever you like, you’re still gonna do this.”

“…” The things people do for love. That, and at this point it became evident that there was no way out of your little harebrained scheme. Besides, he supposed, something in the stomach was better than nothing. Or waiting nearly an hour for anything. Might as well. Dropping his briefcase to the floor, he trudged up to the seat across from you, prompting your smile of victory.

“Glad you could join us, Sonnspot,” you teased. Sonny rolled his eyes. When he became adjusted enough, you straightened your posture. “Ready?”

Sonny grunted. Good enough.

“Good!” you chirped. “On your mark!” You leaned yourself in closer to the table. “Get set!” Sonny readied his hand to grab the milkshake cup closest to him. You inhaled. “G – ”

“ – ooooohhh …” you whimpered against the table. As you rubbed a hand over your aching stomach, a hiccup rattled your body. Not enough to cause nausea, but just enough for you to cringe from the additional discomfort it had created. Needless to say, the wager was a bust. A huge bust. Part of you wished you had the ability to go back in time and throw a milkshake at your past self for even coming up with the idea. Of course, this was an impossibility: Not only because of the issues arising from quantum mechanics and theories, but also because there were no milkshakes to spare.

You could hear the sound of a straw slurping up the last of its cup’s contents, creating a death rattle. This was then followed by the sound of its producer expelling a sigh of relieved refreshment. This was the sound of a happy Sonny Carisi. One who, while maybe not fed a proper meal, was just glad to have something in his system after a long day of work. Well, five and a half somethings.

You’d only made it through two and a half milkshakes before your body betrayed you and made you throw in the towel. Sonny was all too happy to take the remaining treats off of your hands. Apparently, milkshakes stood a chance with this barber-dodging buffoon. You maneuvered your head just enough to glare at him. How could you be so foolish as to challenge a man from an Italian family to an eating competition? He’d grown up eating copious amounts of food – heavier, in fact! It was that damn, skinny physique of his that threw you for so many curveballs. You meant to glare even harder at him but then failed when another pang of pain bubbled in your gut.

The grunt of discomfort managed to take Sonny out of his state of satisfactory and shoot you a worried look.

“Oh, you really don’t look so good,” he stated bluntly. You narrowed your eyes weakly and huffed as hard as you could without making your stomach quiver.

“No shit,” you said through clenched teeth.

“You oughta go lie down,” he instructed.

“Ugh,” you groaned, but found yourself too uncomfortable to be difficult. You’d barely managed to push your body upwards when you felt your boyfriend already by your side.

As he gingerly took your hands and tried to hold you up, he uttered, “Why don’t you go lay down in bed, huh? I’ll get you some Pepto or something and a heating pad.” To his surprise, you still didn’t offer a fight. Instead, you sighed, hanging your head as you barely nodded it. You were in no state to make an argument of any kind.

After all, you’d lost the wager.

You’d been stuck in the fetal position for what felt like hours. Not only to further press the heating pad against your throbbing tummy, but also because it was the best position to deliver the notion that you were hanging your head in shame. Not that Sonny seemed to notice, of course. But then, did you really want him to?

Truth be told, you weren’t sure. All that you did know was that you felt awful and in more than just a physical way. It wasn’t even really about the fact that you’d lost. It was more so about the fact that you’d lost a competition that was meant to boss your loved one around, make him change something, and that he still treated you fine anyway. For God’s sake, the man came home tired and hungry, the last thing he probably wanted was to have his seemingly loving girlfriend demand that he chug four milkshakes for the right to keep a mustache of all things! And yet, he cooperated anyway. Not only that, but he didn’t brag or anything; he just took one look at you and immediately went to work taking care of you. Basically, Sonny was just being a good boyfriend.

But if that was the case, then what the heck were you? You’d been spending the last two hours wondering this as you lay in bed, trying to soothe away the pain that you’d caused yourself. And so far, the only conclusions you could come up with were bad ones: You were the type of girlfriend who’d try to flood her boyfriend with facial hairless actors to invoke jealousy; edited images of her boyfriend as a 70s porno stache-wearing uncle then plastered them everywhere; and then went out to buy a bunch of milkshakes for a wager that she couldn’t even win when she could’ve been spending that time or money holding up her end of the every-other-day compromise. And all over some mustache!

You couldn’t even hold back your criticisms of it unless it was out of pity. You were just so wrapped up in the superficial looks of your beau that you barely acknowledged his consistent kindness and humor towards you as anything other than a nuisance whenever they foiled your plans.

What a horrid girlfriend!

You would have curled further into yourself if it was possible. Maybe … Maybe you really were the one in the wrong for not accepting that unshaven bushy blunder. It was at this moment that the bedroom door creaked open quietly before closing just as gently, alerting you of the man of the hour’s arrival. By now, it was probably time for him to turn in. You felt bad; he was going to bed filled with milkshakes instead of a nice, healthy meal. You didn’t dare look at him, ashamed. He said nothing as he walked over to his side of the bed, nor as he caused the mattress to dip. He was probably unsure of what to say; maybe didn’t even feel that it was his job to say anything. Fair enough.

But you just couldn’t think of the right words to say. And so you remained quiet, even as he leaned over to you and placed a kiss against your cheek.

…

Wait.

Your eyes nearly bulged in their sockets as the sensation of the kiss dwelled and burrowed into your skin. It was soft. It was smooth. It was … hairless?

Your brain wasn’t fast enough in its efforts to stop your body from making the sudden movements of unfurling and flipping to your side to face him. But for the split second that you could observe him before the milkshakes inside hit the walls of your stomach, your suspicions were proven correct.

There he was. Your Sonny: Freshly showered and, most importantly, freshly shaven. And now, due to your jolting, newly startled.

“Whoa,” he said, placing a hand on your waist. “Easy there! I’m glad you’re finally moving after all this time but remember to take it ea – ”

“Your upper lip!” you exclaimed. “It’s still there!” Your fingers flew up to press against the hairless flesh. Smooth as a baby.

Sonny offered a gentle chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Man alive, you never knew it’d be possible to be in love with such a physical feature. But you supposed that absence made the heart grow fonder in some respects. And yet, in your enthusiasm, you had to ask …

“But … why?” you inquired. Sonny raised his brows in question. “Why’d you shave it? Why now, after all that time I spent pestering you about it?”

“Oh,” he hummed. He sighed through his nose, the hot air hitting your fingertips. “Well … If I may say so, I was honestly getting a bit worried about you.” Now came your turn to expression confusion.

“Worried? Why? I was the one making a jackass out of herself over an upper lip toupee. If anything, I should be apologizing to you: I was over here, doing all kinds of things to make you change something you liked and all you ever did was go along with it like it was nothing.”

Sonny winced. “Yeah, but that’s because they were all nothing. I mean, until now. At first, it was cute stuff. Simple stuff,” he elaborated. “Things like trying to make me jealous or pointing out funny stuff – like kinda thing doesn’t really bother me. But milkshake-drinking competitions? You were making yourself sick. I know it was a small start but I didn’t want it to progress, so …” He shrugged.

“So…you got rid of it so I wouldn’t hurt myself?” you finished.

“Yup.”

“… That was all I had to do!?”

“Don’t take this lightly, (Y/N), you had me worried that you were gonna hurl!”

“ ‘Gonna’? I’m still very much at risk for that, thank you very much.”

“Awwww,” he cooed, offering you that pout of his. It was the first time in ages that it had some sort of hold on you. “You want a tummy rub?” At this offer, you lit up. Well, as much as your sickly state would allow.

“Yes, please,” you cheered. As you felt a familiar hand replace the heating pad and gently rub the pain away in circles, you decided to use one last act of selfishness in regards to this whole mustache fiasco. Something to indulge un after having been so long without them.

“Um, Sonny?” you whispered.

“Yes, doll?” Sonny whispered back.

You pressed your fingertips together as you stumbled over your already sheepish words. “Would you … I mean, if it’s not too much to ask – ”

“Tummy kisses?”

“… Yes, please.”

“Will do.”

Epilogue:

For the way that the evening had started off, you were quite pleased with how it was winding down: With your boyfriend, baby-faced once more, rubbing and kissing the pain away from your upset stomach, the bristles of his untamed shrew of a mustache no longer there to keep you from requesting such. At this point, you were practically purring like a kitten. What a great way to end the day … Speaking of which:

“Before I forget: how was work, babe?” you yawned.

“Hm? Oh …” Sonny thought. “Well … Rollins – that tough blonde? – she went and suggested I do all the UC work whenever they need a john. She said that – ” He stopped. “I mean, she said that I do a good job at it.” As much as you were enjoying the tummy rubs and kisses that he was so artfully applying, that sudden pause had you hooked.

“Mmmm. I doubt that, Sonny. You never know when to stop talking, so what was with that pause?”

“Nothing,” he insisted.

“Sonny,” you said, pushing yourself up just enough to peer down at him. “Are you really going to lie to your sickly girlfriend?�� Honestly, with how long he remained quiet for, there was a possibility that he intended to. But the defeated exhale eventually told you otherwise.

“Okay, okay,” he gave in. “The reality was … Rollins was tellin’ me I should always be the john for UC work because my mustache really sold the image of ‘sleaze bag.’”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. You didn’t want to make fun of him, judging from the tone he’d delivered that sentence in, but also you just plain didn’t want to further provoke the stomachache that was ebbing away at his touch.

“Oh?” you coughed gently. “I thought that that was why you’d grown that thing in the first place.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged one shoulder. “But after a while, I just thought it made me look cool; like one of the boys.”

“Uh-uh,” you said. “So basically, what I’m getting at is that you didn’t just shave your mustache for me, but initially because some big kid at the playground bullied you.” The tummy rubs stopped. You glanced down once more to see Sonny pursing his lips as his eyes looked elsewhere.

“I … wouldn’t put it that way, but – ”

“Save it,” you sighed before flopping back against the pillows. “You now owe me a tummy kiss and rub for every darn, dirty kiss you ever gave me while you had that food trap hanging over your mouth.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#i was night-writing for a majority of this #can you tell #...god i'm tired now #and now back to your regularly scheduled me not posting anything despite having literally 20 things to write #carisi x reader #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #sonny carisi imagine #dominick carisi x reader #dominick carisi imagine #dominick carisi imagines #svu imagine #svu imagines #law and order svu imagines #law and order svu imagine #law & order svu imagines #regrettablewritings

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