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house-of-lovin · 1 year

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grouch

Wednesday Addams x F!Reader

masterlist

Summary: Wednesday barely found you tolerable. But, now as you were standing there, all dishevelled, sickly. She couldn't help but find you a bit endearing.

Warnings: you're a bit of a grouch when you're sick. swearing.

Note: just a regular sick fic

Word Count: 4.8k+

This is what death feels like.

You were aching, sweat dripping down your overly warm body; unsure if you were too cold or too hot for a blanket. There was a bug going around the school and it seems you were the latest patient of the virus. You figured you must’ve caught it from Enid when she got it earlier this week.

You should've told Enid to stay away from you with a ten-foot pole.

A groan leaves your lips when you remember the botany assignment you are meant to submit soon was left to be finished on your desk when you got too exhausted from working.

Mentally counting to three before heaving yourself up from your comfortable position and stepping on the hardwood floor; even with socks on you felt a shiver run up your spine.

Being sick sucks.

Just when you manage to sit down at your desk, a loud knock resounding through the room halts any further movements.

You drop your head in frustration, now having to lug yourself up once again to answer the door; internally cursing the person on the other side.

With slow strides and a rough yank to the door handle, you answer grumpily, “What?”

Wednesday Addams was one on the other side of the door, sporting that impassive stare that always manages to irk you. A slight uprise of her brow was the only crack in her deadpan expression as she ran her gaze up and down your figure; feeling slightly insecure under her watchful leer.

Sighing, you lean your weight against the door when she doesn’t answer. “What do you want, Addams?”

“What is wrong with you?” Was her response.

“I’m sick, can’t ‘cha tell?’ You remarked sarcastically, eyes blinking slowly.

“Now, hurry up and tell me what you want so I can be sick in peace..” You roll your eyes impatiently.

“Enid – your cousin, needs your past exam from 2nd-year potions to study for her own. She ask I come get it from you.” Wednesday replies with ease.

You are Enid’s cousin – older by two years. Although your paths don’t cross often, you were around enough because of your connection to Enid. At first, she thought you were going to be exactly like her roommate; all rainbows and sunshine, must run in the family, right?

Instead, you were snippy and quick-witted, never letting Wednesday get the last word. You acted indifferent to her threats, often throwing one back; it was infuriating not being feared.

Wednesday wanted to jab a knife through your jugular but alas, you are off limits. Enid would never forgive her. So she had to learn how to ‘get along’ with you – if that was even possible.

“Damn it. I knew she’d forget to grab it.” Shaking your head in annoyance before pushing your weight off the door to walk further into your room. Wednesday follows suit, letting the door close shut behind her as she surveys her surroundings.

This was her first time inside. Wednesday recalls tales from Enid about your cleanliness and need for order around you, but as she looks around it was anything but.

Clothes were thrown haphazardly on the floor and on the top of the armchair near your bed. She even excuses the overflowing trashcan of tissues and the mess on the floor that followed. Then the goth notes the scattered papers and opened books on your desk.

“Were you studying?” She asks; lips pulled into a tight line as she awaits your answer.

“Huh? Oh yeah… Got a botany assignment due in a couple of days. This semester is kicking my ass and this flu surely isn’t helping.” You chuckle hoarsely; distractedly looking for that exam she came here for.

“You are practically on death’s door.” Wednesday remarks, observing your weak slouching figure.

You are heaving with any sort of effort, moving in slow shuffles instead of your purposeful strides. Your voice got rougher and hoarser the more you talked; the congestion surely wasn’t helping. Even your eyes blinked much slower as if you were unable to focus on what’s in front of you. Wednesday wasn’t sure if she should step closer, afraid you’d suddenly faint on her.

“Gee… Thanks, Addams. You sure know what to say to charm a gal.” You roll your eyes with an exasperated sigh. No luck in the cabinet you just checked. “Where is that damn thing?”

Wednesday’s cheeks tinge red at your response. That was not what she meant to say. “I just mean… you are visibly ill. You should be resting.”

“I would love to do that too. But this scary-looking girl just had to knock on my door asking for something.” Glancing at her with a side-eye; teasing despite your dissolving energy – waving the paper you valiantly searched for.

How foolish of you to waste energy on a pointless taunt.

With an eye roll, Wednesday takes the paper from your extended hand.

“Now, if you don’t mind.” You gesture to the door with a sarcastic smile, “I’d like to rot in peace.”

Wednesday makes no indication of leaving. On any given day you would have put up a fight, but no, not today. Not when you, woefully, were on death’s door and had an assignment calling your name.

With reluctance, you ignore the unmoving girl and sit down at your desk to continue your work and trusted Wednesday can find her own way out of your room. But before you can sit on the chair, a rough tug on your forearm has you pushed to your bed instead.

“Whoa… too fast.” You stumble, the quick movement making you feel queasy.

“Lay down,” Wednesday says when she pushes you to sit on the bed.

“Dude, what the hell?” You sneer in an agitated tone, attempting to stand but she merely steps closer – holding a hand out, preventing you from doing so.

“Addams, I need to do my assignment.” Huffing as you stare into the warning glint in her dark orbs. She crosses her arms, unfazed.

“What you need to be doing is resting. Lay down, I will not be repeating myself again.”

A staredown ensues between you and the Addams. Wednesday unsure if you were truly foolish enough to try and disobey her. But eventually, you look away and sigh but not without complaint.

“Who made you King of the World?” You muttered bitterly as you pulled the covers over your body, getting comfortable in the warm bed.

“Quit acting like a petulant child. You are literally shaking right now.” Wednesday scolds; her tone was harsh but her touches were anything but as she tucks you into bed, making you sure you were agreeable.

She moved around the room to gather any supplies you might need close and placed a cool wet towel on your warm forehead. Any hints of diffidence on Wednesday’s side about being in your space are gone as she nurses you. And, as you lay there, tucked under a pile of blankets, Wednesday finds herself about to tuck an astray strand of hair, but her touch halts. Too soft.

Wednesday scolds herself for thinking of acting on such an urge.

“Since when’d you care about me, Addams?”

“Never. But Enid cares about you, and I care about her – so by extension, I am obligated to help her loved ones.” She responds in a quick, even tone as if she rehearsed it before.

Humming, “Obligated huh?” She nods blankly.

“You make it an obligation to tuck people’s hair back too? You know when you’re out and about helping her loved ones.” Wednesday’s hand stalls in the air, not even realizing she subconsciously tucked your hair back anyway; her efforts of restraint were futile.

The goth stands quickly; pulling away as if she was burned by something hot. Ignoring your words, she replies, “Get some rest. If I find out that you got up to do some work, I will deliver you to death’s door myself.”

“How are you gonna manage that?” You question with a challenging tone, she merely raises a brow at the defiance. “Thing will check in hourly and report back on your status.”

She walks towards the door and opens it, “I am serious, Y/N.” Warning you once again, knowing of your stubborn tendencies and a strong aversion to being told what to do.

“I hear ya’, I hear ya’” You wave off with a nonchalant tone.

Wednesday inhales a slow grounding breath to stop herself from going back over to you; unsure if she wanted to strangle you or…or do something else! To shut you up! Instead, she grips the exam paper she came to your room for and shut the door behind her; walking away.

– –

“Wednesday! How was it?” Enid asked excitedly, turning so fast in her spot when she opened the door – Wednesday would be shocked if she didn’t have whiplash at the moment. Thing sat next to the werewolf, tapping his finger on the bed repeatedly, signalling the girl to sit down.

“She is dreadfully ill.” Wednesday deadpanned, handing the paper to a grimacing Enid.

“Yikes, Y/N has never been pretty when sick. God, she’s also like, ten times more sarcastic and whiny too.” Enid furrows her brows as she recounts all the times you’ve been sick when growing up together.

Wednesday wanted to disagree. You were not…dreadful to look at. Actually, you looked quite decent standing there wearing your pyjamas. Wednesday felt… privileged …to see you in such a vulnerable state.

The bags under your dead stare and pale clammy skin were not... unattractive to someone like an Addams.

Even as you were fighting her about going back to study, you were kind of…adorable for thinking you can fight Wednesday back in your state – not even in your healthiest form could you win against her. As you lay there buried under the bed covers, you looked so fragile; it was quite alluring – Wednesday shuts that thought away. Instead, she keeps her mouth shut and lets Enid ramble about the times you’ve been a horrible patient.

In the meantime, Wednesday orders Thing to check on you every hour to make sure you truly were resting like you said you would.

– –

The next time Wednesday visited, it was only a few hours later. Thing was the one who opened the door this time, she stepped in seeing you sat up in bed with your books scattered on your lap, pen in hand – you were wearing glasses, she notes. Wednesday doesn’t know why her heart is palpitating at the sight of you in spectacles, they are a common utility for humans. But on you, it looked… slightly better.

“What are you doing?” She questions with furrowed brows once she got a grip.

“Addams!” You greet, “Doing my assignment, but in bed. So technically, not breaking your rules.” Beaming in mischief, you shrugged your shoulders.

“This is not what I meant and you know it.” Wednesday stomps closer, placing her bag of supplies for you – mostly from Enid, she would like to note – on your bed. "I distinctly remember saying what would happen if you were to leave this bed."

You sigh in defeat, “Look Addams, this is the most I’m willing to compromise. I wasn’t even sure you were serious about sending Thing in here to check on me until I got whacked for leaving for the bathroom.”

Wednesday smirks at the mental image.

“I’m not really sure why you care so much – it’s actually kinda freaking me out. But, I really need to finish this. So if you wanna deliver me to death's door yourself, you're gonna have to wait until this is finished.” You finish off with a huff, pointing to the books in your lap with pouting lips and Wednesday feels remnants of spiders crawling in her stomach.

“Fine…” She concedes very reluctantly, “But you are going to stay here as you do it.”

Taking a seat on your bed, she says. “As am I.”

You study her wearily with a probing gaze, unsure why she was being so nice to you right now. Even her threats had lost a bit of their edge. It was unsettling but not unwelcome.

“Fine with me.” You say after a couple of seconds, breaking your surveying of Wednesday.

The goth nods, taking her supplies out of her bag, an assortment of snacks, drinks and a book she managed to slip in were among some of the other items. She would never outwardly say that it was one of her favourite books and that she would somewhat like to know what you thought of the plot – but just so she can tell you how her analysis of the book is better.

“Woah! Chocolate popcorn.” Roughly grabbing the packaged snack, staring at it with childlike glee. “This is, like, my favourite. They don’t sell these around here.”

Wednesday knows.

“How’d you get these?” You look up and Wednesday detests how she feels a physical stutter in her chest when you do; all wide-eyed, grinning – you look foolish being so galvanized over a menial item.

“Unimportant… and those are for after you get better, not during. Eating these now will only prolong your condition.” You pout disappointedly but obey nevertheless, putting the snack back down.

She sees your careful glances at the medicine in her hands. “Please don’t make me drink pills.”

You were in clear fear, shaking your head. Wednesday frowns at your genuine dislike for the medicine.

“What is wrong with it? Would you have preferred the liquid version?” She looks down confused at the items in her hand.

“I… can’t swallow pills.” You admit, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

Wednesday blinks, “Oh. Well… No worries, I have the liquid version in my room.” She dismisses but you audibly huff, crossing your arms in the process, confusing the Addams.

“I don’t like medicine okay? I don't take it, never have.” You admit with a puff and Wednesday takes a moment to gather her thoughts.

“That is a childish reason.”

“No, it’s not! Lots of people don't like to take medicine when they’re sick.” You defend.

“Most of those people might not be as sick as you.” She reasons but you shrug unperturbed, slipping on your headphones. “You would prolong your illness simply because you don’t like medicine?” Still ignoring the goth’s clinched jaw and flared nostrils.

Realizing that you were going continue your childlike behaviour, Wednesday sighs, standing up to survey your room for the second time today – this time with more attention to detail.

Like the gaming controller thrown absentmindedly on your desk, the wilting plant on your bedside table, or the sweater thrown on the back of your chair. Wednesday walked further into the opposite corner of the room. A make-shift nook of carpet, blankets and pillows was on the floor – barricaded by two large bookshelves. Inside is spacious enough to be comfortable and move around; it had an inviting atmosphere and Wednesday finds herself walking closer to it.

She steps inside the reading sanctuary; the carpet was crumpled, blankets unmade, obvious signs of its frequent use. A hanging light bulb illuminated the small corner. Wednesday runs a tentative finger through the spine of some books, before landing on a cozy familiar – H.P. Lovecraft, she didn't expect you to be a fan. She pulls it out from the rest, and takes a seat on the carpet, keeping a watchful eye on you.

For a while, you two just existed in silence. Only remnants of dull pen scratching against paper, coughing and the timely flip of a page are the only sounds to be heard in the room – it was calming. You were unsure how much time had passed by the time you decided you had done enough work for the night – the familiar aching of a migraine creeping at the back of your skull.

You scanned the room, forgetting the Addams girl was still with you, having fallen trance in your own world – she was sitting in your reading corner. Her body is hidden behind the large bookshelf but you can see a glimpse of her knees tucked close to her chest as her chin rests on top, flipping through the pages as you continue to observe her. She looked kinda cute.

Wednesday was often reading during the times you were around her – unless she was hurling threats at you. Enid said she preferred it over talking to other people. What is often an evasion tactic when out in public, is instead enjoyed as she curls up reading one of your favourite books. Almost looking relaxed, you note.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

You snorted, closing your books, and throwing them to the side on the floor. Wednesday looks over disapprovingly at the thud. “I’m finished for the night, so you don’t have to worry about me sneaking off to do some work. I tap out.” You cross your arms in an ‘X’ motioning to emphasize.

“Good…” Wednesday answers, returning to her book.

You blink, unsure of what to do, “Um… what now?”

She thinks for a second before standing up, “It is time for medicine.” You groan, wincing in pain from the effort.

“Anything but that please.” You pout, hiding under the covers, hoping she spared you of this torture.

“I can tell your migraine is returning. You were wincing in pain for 15 minutes before you decided to stop studying.” That makes you halt, not realizing she was watching you so intensely.

“Don’t care.” You mumbled from under the covers. “Y/N…I know you’re in pain. Now.” She huffs impatiently, sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your usual fight and resistant attitude was dwindling with every passing moment, you’d really love to tell Wednesday to kick it but you’re half scared and half exhausted. With a defeated exhale, you pull off the covers and sit up; taking the medicine packet from her open palm. When your fingertips touched, Wednesday had to tightly curl her fingers closed when she dropped them back to her side.

You begrudgingly swallow the pill.

With an exasperated gulp, you ask, “Satisfied?”

Even while she was helping you, you were acting like a whiny brat. Just like Enid’s warnings, she recalls.

“Has anyone told you that you become increasingly whinier when you are ill?” Wednesday says matter-of-factly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really bossy when you want something?” You retort with an upraise of a brow.

“Yes, actually. A few times.” Wednesday answers honestly. And you’re not even surprised, just laughing and shaking your head.

Tossing the medicine packets and other junk off your bed, you scoot off to the side patting the open spot. Wednesday looks at you blankly. “Come on, do I have to spell it out for ya? Sit beside me, Addams.”

The goth doesn’t respond, just getting up and sitting beside you; thighs and shoulders so close that Wednesday can feel the warmth radiating off your skin. Or maybe she’s just hyperaware of you and your movements.

You lean closer into her space, not quite touching, “Figure if you can ‘nurse’ me back to health, you can also sit through a couple of movies with me?” You asked in such a hopeful tone that Wednesday would never dare say no.

So, Wednesday nods, silently and you were excited – Thing who had taken a nap sprang to grab the remote and pass it to you – before then taking his leave for the evening.

– –

You two get through a couple of movies, some Wednesday liked more than she was willing to admit. You nudge her shoulder, “Told you How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days isn’t that bad, you just have to give it a chance.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes not wanting to admit defeat. “It was…interesting, they had both lied and humiliated each other for professional gain. It was cruel…I think it was tolerable.”

Knowing that was the best you were going to get from the goth, you beam back at her. You supposed you never thought of one of your favourite movies in that way before, but Wednesday is not without interesting opinions.

You two decide to start another movie, this time Wednesday’s choice. Halfway through the movie, you found yourself burning up uncomfortably; no position was comfortable for you, you think all your fidgeting is annoying Wednesday. It wasn’t until the familiar churn in your stomach was felt that you made a break for the bathroom; legs all stumbling from being tangled in the covers.

You gagged and vomited out all of your dinner; only stopping when your stomach begged for reprieve. You closed the lid of the toilet, flushing it as your shoulders dropped. Suddenly you feel a hand rub comforting circles on your back and another holding your hair up. The touches were so comforting to your overheating body that you let out a groan at her cool skin.

“I would like to say that came out of nowhere, but you were moving around so much it was only a matter of time.”

You just groaned again, letting your head drop to the toilet cover; stomach still feeling weak and queasy.

Wednesday sighs, her chest uncomfortably clenching at the sight of your weak figure – it was pathetic. “Why did you not just say you felt sick?”

“I thought I was fine.” You grumbled back.

Wednesday rolled her eyes knowing that’s most likely a lie judging by how much you were moving around 30 minutes into the movie. She knew you were trying to hold back whatever queasiness you were feeling.

“Do you think you can stand?” You nod.

Wednesday helps you up, about to lead you back to bed when you push her helping hand away. “Need to brush my teeth.”

“I think bad breath is the least of your concerns. You can barely stand, Y/N.” She tries to usher you back to bed, but you refuse.

“I may be sick, but I am not gross.” You push her back with what little strength you have left, shutting the door in her face; she hears the faucet running.

All Wednesday could do was scoff and cross her arms over her chest as she waits for you. Of course, she would wait for you. You have been whiny, bratty, and grouchy but even still, Wednesday finds it annoying how she still can’t bring it in herself to leave.

The Addams girl would like to blame the churn in her stomach for the same illness that you have but she knows it would be untrue. Wednesday always feels this way around you; ever since she grew to accept that you would be around. Sometimes with Enid at lunch, sometimes in the library, sometimes at her dorm.

She always, without a doubt, feels the remnants of creepy crawlies all over her body, hair raising, senses more aware; even if she wasn’t talking to you directly or even if you were on the other side of the room.

Those would be the times Wednesday elects to keep herself busy to avoid talking to you, whenever you two fight it always ends up with one of you storming off. So, sometimes she chooses to bask in the one-sided silence; whether it be a book or her typewriter.

Enid and Thing think it’s pathetic, hence why they tried to send her to pick up an ‘exam’ from you, hoping Wednesday can finally have a… pleasant interaction with you. But now that was all quickly backfiring for the Addams girl as she thinks of ways to torture you after you get better – to even the playing field.

She gets swept up in fantasies of her glossary of torture methods, mentally crossing out the ones she knew would not suit you. But as the bathroom door opens and you stand on the other side with a guilty frown, Wednesday finds all her murderous urges dwindling away.

She stands straighter at your expression, uncrossing her arms.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you said, looking up at her with glistened eyes. Wednesday’s stare unknowingly softens.

“I didn’t mean to do that. I become a real grouch when I don’t feel well.” You rub your palm into your eyes, wiping away the tears. Being sick also makes you emotional, she notes.

Wednesday steps forward, bringing a cautious hand to your wrist, bringing your hands down. “I know. I have been trying to tell you that.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just let me take care of you.” She all but fretted. Finally, you give in and nod; allowing your arm to go limp as Wednesday leads you back to bed, tucking you in.

Just like before, she moves about with familiarity. This time setting a bucket on your bedside – just in case. “If I knew how terrible this sickness would get, I would have made you the Addams special tea.”

“What’s in it?”

“Just the normal medicinal herbs and a drop of liquid from a vile.”

“What’s… in the vile?”

“Its origins are unknown. My mother says it is from an ancestor who took samples of a deadly virus in the old days, though no one is quite sure. All we know is that it works.”

Your nose crinkles at the thought, having heard of the macabre tales of the Addams family and their eccentric ways. “As thoughtful as that is… I don't think I'm there yet.”

Wednesday shrugs, stepping back. “You’re all set. You should sleep, it's quite late.” She looks at you bundled up in bed once again, this time looking worse than before and she feels short-lived feelings of pity. There was a brief moment of silence as no one says anything, unsure of what to do next.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Wednesday tries to spin around to leave, but you’re grabbing her wrist this time. “Or you can stay…It’d be unfortunate for you to get into trouble for missing curfew just cause you were taking care of me.”

Wednesday raises a brow, asking ‘are you sure?’ choosing to ignore the way her heart dropped to her stomach at your question.

You tighten your hold on her wrist, “I would… like it if you stayed.” You stammered out.

Wednesday nods, removing her boots and sweater then she starts to undo her braids and it makes your brain short-circuit a bit – never having seen her without them. When she gets in beside you she scoots closer than intended – shoulders almost touching. She moves down allowing herself to get down in a comfortable position on your pillows; it smells like you and Wednesday detests that she finds the scent to be so comforting.

You, on the other hand, weren’t really sure where you got that sudden inclination to ask her to stay, but as you look down at her adjusting form in your bed, bundled up under your covers, you knew you made the right choice.

When Wednesday doesn’t feel you moving to lie down, she looks up at you. “Y/N, you need to sleep.”

“The TV is helping me sleep.” You mumble.

“It is making your migraine worse.” Wednesday props herself up on her elbow so you two are face to face. “What is the reason this time?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, playing with the loose thread of the covers to avoid her gaze. “I get night terrors when I’m really sick. Sometimes I just wake up screaming ‘cause I’m so terrified. So I try not to sleep until my fever breaks.”

Wednesday is silent at your revelation. “Would you…like to hold me? While you fall asleep.”

Your eyes widen, not answering.

As the silence grows Wednesday starts to feel insecure about her question. Then your face softens, “Are you sure?”

“I would not have asked if I was not comfortable.” Your heart skips at her words.

Then Wednesday is turning her back to you, glancing behind her curtain of raven hair as a reassurance that she was serious about her inquiry. Your body is moving closer to her before you can even let yourself think about it, carefully wrapping your arm around her waist. It should be illegal how comforting this feels, at how unearthly it feels to have Wednesday this close.

“You can move closer, I am not fragile,” Wednesday whispers into the quiet night air. She grabs your arm, bringing it closer to her chest as you fall flushed against her; your front to her back.

“Tell anyone about this and I will bury you six feet under alive.” Wednesday threats with firmness.

You chuckle, “I would never tell anyone about this, it’s embarrassing for me.”

“Good. The same for me, as well.”

“Good.” You agreed.

“Great.” She agrees.

There is silence for a while.

“Are…are you…comfortable?” Wednesday breaks the stillness that grew in the room.

“Yes…I am.” You muttered softly; Wednesday fights her body’s reaction to shiver as you whisper the words so close to her ear. Instead, she curls herself into you, hoping her movements disguised the shudder.

“Good. Go to sleep.”

You chuckle, “Goodnight, Wednesday.”

– –

The next day, neither of you mentions how you wake up with Wednesday’s face nuzzled against your neck; hand under your shirt; practically on top of you. You also don’t say anything when she kept coming back every night to ‘help you’ with your night terrors until your fever broke and then a couple more days after that until Enid was practically begging her to come home.

–

#wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday imagine

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rockpapertheodore · 4 months

Text

You are so exhausted.

It's your day off and the bag of trash by the door needs to go out. You've worked seven days in a row because of the variable weekly schedules lining up badly. Two shifts in a row became doubles because of a nocallnoshow new hire on their fourth day. The trash needs to go out to the road tonight. Your step tracker shows you've walked 47 miles over the past week.

You are so exhausted.

There's a second bag of trash now. You only had a morning shift today, which left an entire afternoon to almost have fun with your friends online. None were on when you got home, so you fell into a hole watching weird niche interest videos and doomscrolling while waiting for someone to get on. You realize what time it is, and persuade yourself to take the trash out to the road with the promise of getting high. You forget that trash pickup was this morning.

You are so exhausted.

The trash never made it to the door. It's piling over the edge of the can. You could at least take the bin out to the road, since it has last week's trash still in it. You'll do it in the morning.

You are so exhausted.

There is a big contractor bag the size of an ottoman in front of the door so you can't forget it when you go out in the morning. You should empty the still-overflowing trash in the kitchen. You do neither of these things because

You are so exhausted.

it's 11:09 when you get home. You're very tired of spending almost two hours of your day driving to and from work. You forget to take the three stuffed fast food bags out of your car. One of them is soaked with the dregs of the latte you never finished. You step around the big contractor bag the size of an ottoman and hop on your computer just in time to catch your friends before they turn in for the night. The kitchen trash spilled onto the floor, so you scooped it up and changed the bag. You set the full bag and two knotted plastic shopping sacks on top of the big contractor bag the size of an ottoman so you can't ignore it when you go out in the morning. You tell yourself that you have got to remember to take the bin out to the road by tomorrow night, so you'll get the doorway trash out to the bin in the morning.

You are so exhausted.

You mop the floors. The sun was so bright today. The doorway is clear and the bin is empty. You chuckle to yourself as if to say "aw, you," affectionately when you realize you forgot to empty the clutter out of your car. There are two knotted shopping bags, a ripped up pizza box, three empty sports drinks, and five stuffed fast food bags. Two of them are soaked with the dregs of the latte you never finished.

You are so exhausted.

You had to apologize to your coworkers for the spoiled milk smell. You had thrown the fast food bags out at the gas station, and the dregs of the latte you never finished splattered you. There is still the ripped up pizza box and two knotted shopping bags, but you brought the empty sports drinks in to use as water bottles on-shift. They were useful. The trashcan in the kitchen is empty because all the trash that should be in it is on the counter where you felt comfortable lying to yourself about not forgetting to take care of it. You spilled a can of soda that was still half-full next to your computer desk. You haven't drank pop in three months, and it's been five since it was from a can, probably. You stamp some paper towels into the sludgy puddle.

You are so exhausted.

The trash is on the floor. You pick up the sludgy paper towels, soaked with the can of soda that was still half-full next to your computer desk. You walk over to the trash can in a daze, fully dissociated from the trash you're stepping over. You feel so hollow. You don't cry yourself to sleep, but your eyes have been strangely wet since you got home.

You are so exhausted.

The trash is bagged in front of the door. Most of the trash on the counter where you felt comfortable lying to yourself about not forgetting to take care of it is still there. The trash can in the kitchen is overflowing.

You are so exhausted.

You will remember it this time for sure. The bin outside can't be closed and was too awkward to roll at the moment, so you at least put the overflow bags next to the road so that you could go in and grab the rest before you had to move the bin to the road. You sit in front of the computer and watch a funny video. You realize it would have been a better idea to move the bin first so that you could use it as scaffolding for the five bags sitting next to you. The trash on the counter where you felt comfortable lying to yourself about not forgetting to take care of it has doubled. There are only three trash bags next to your computer desk. Your room feels claustrophobic because you can only walk from the bed to the door in one clear path. You've been complaining to yourself for the past two months that you've gotta take the little can out of the bathroom because it's stuffed full of wads of hair and damp cardboard tubes and your new electric toothbrush you accidentally knocked off the counter and broke the second time you used it. You haven't had a clean dish in months. You rewash one chopstick and pull a new partner for it out of the pack. You are very high and your homemade stirfry is tasty. You don't care that you're serving it to yourself on half of a takeout box that you put a sheet of foil over.

You are so exhausted.

You hear the trash on the counter where you felt comfortable lying to yourself about not forgetting to take care of it fall to the floor. It sounds angry, but muffled by the walls of your room that feels claustrophobic because you can only walk from the bed to the door in one clear path. You have to be up in the morning. You don’t work until tomorrow afternoon, but you have to be up.

You are so exhausted.

There are two foil-covered box halves next to your computer, decorated with the rest of your disposable chopsticks. They are stained with use and reuse. You bought two plastic bowls from the dollar store so you could have some soup. They're both dirty under the takeout boxes, the one spoon you clean sometimes crusted and stuck to the bottom by bits and sludge. Your teeth have been clenching from stress at work. You need a raise.

You are so exhausted.

You wake up ready to go to sleep. You get in the car, throwing a fallen stuffed takeout bag into the crowded passenger seat to join the torn pizza box and five knotted shopping bags. You don't drink lattes anymore. Your seat is tacky. You're fifteen minutes early to being early to work, and reward yourself with sending a few messages to your friends before you have to clock in. You watch part of an interesting video before you realize with a start that you have to get out of the car. Your coworker makes a joke about your passenger seat, that the trash might kill you. If your coworker asked you if you were serious when you said, in a funny voice, that you hoped it would, you don't know if you'd know the answer. You're afraid that you do know the answer, though.

You are so exhausted.

The bin needs to go to the road. The trash needs to go to the bin. The carpet in front of the passenger seat is stained. There is so much stuff shoved into the back seat, none of it trash. You wipe the seats down with disposable car wipes. You should go across the street and use the vacuum at the carwash to clean up the crumbs.

You are so exhausted.

The forgotten counter trash is growing. It looms out of the corner of your eye, and your brain can not see it. Will not see it. The kitchen trash is almost full.

You are so exhausted.

You don't want to try to get on the computer. You just get high in your room that feels claustrophobic because you can only walk from the bed to the door in one clear path, doomscrolling on your phone. You don't feel like going out that night. You've got two days off in a row. You deserve to relax so you can get some stuff done.

You are exhausted.

The trash is forgotten.

You are exhausted.

Your room feels claustrophobic because the trash that had once been on the counter that you felt comfortable lying to yourself about not forgetting to take care of it has taken over the one clear path from the bed to the door. You pick through carefully. Your passenger seat is empty, but the carpet in front of the passenger seat is stained. There is so much stuff shoved into the back seat. You have a great day at work.

You are exhausted. When the forgotten trash begins to pile itself into memories, you can't even cry.

You are exhausted. When the memories begin to wail and sob as they are then dragged under, back into the trash and drowned, you cannot bring your hand up to feign reaching out.

You are exhausted. When the forgotten trash reaches out to pull you under, too, you cannot bring yourself to struggle or thrash. You cannot fight.

You are exhausted, and you can finally allow yourself to find some rest.

#depression gothic #theo writes #this is about depression #you are exhausted #short story

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schnuffel-danny · 1 year

Text

I know why they made Vlad a shitty mayor in the series, it’s a very obvious decision, but I think it would be so much funnier if he was actually good at the job. Like, can you fucking imagine? Vlad runs for mayor just to get back at the overgrown toddler he has beef with, plans to do the absolute bare minimum until the next elections and then he’s gonna go fuck off to work on some other, more important project. Except now that he’s really forced to examine the state of this town he’s fucking appalled at the thought of having his name tied to the place as it is. If Vlad has to be mayor of this dump, this is gonna be the best dump in all of America, this is going to be one of those nice scrap yards where all the fancy rich people leave their old luxurious rich people cars, not the overflowing public park trashcan it is now. And so, Vlad actually uses his wealth and power to help improve Amity Park. Which is absolutely great if you’re literally anyone other than Danny Phantom, because if you are, and you thought the whole town was against you before, then let me tell you - it’s so, so much worse when everyone treats the current mayor as a minor deity.

#danny phantom #thinking out loud again #can't decide if it's funnier for the townsfolk to treat danny worse as fenton now too #or if they actually treat him much better because vlad is kind of like his uncle

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adiluv · 8 months

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❥ 𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄. ˚⊹꒷

717 words, modern au, obsessive fan behavior, reader is not traveler, not edited.

superfan scaramouche who is absolutely infatuated with you. he's been one of your group's day one fans, his stan account going back even before y'all had blown up in popularity. and you? you've been his bias from the very start, too ꒰a fact he doesn't even attempt to hide꒱—obsession growing all the more rampant with time.

superfan scaramouche who collects all of your merchandise, whether it be official or fan-made. hauls have become a necessary part of his lifestyle, long having adopted the habit of shelling out thousands of mora every month in order to add to his ever-growing collection of albums, photocards, and posters. the wood of his shelves are practically curving beneath the weight of everything, trashcan overflowing from all the packaging he throws out after unboxing everything.

superfan scaramouche who streams these unboxings to his loyal follower-base, the sharp tongue he's become infamous for always being undermined by the adoring smile on his face as he flaunts everything. the sheer extent of his collection has made him a well-known name amongst your fans, merch creators often sending him their newest design ideas and samples for feedback.

he's harsh in his critiques, unhesitating as he point out even the slightest flaws to his audience—especially so when it comes to designs with you. in his mind, if they're going to portray you, then they'd best do it right. other members of your group's fanbase do call him out for this behavior, though he counters saying that creators are already well aware of his temperament when send him anything.

superfan scaramouche who uses his position and wealth as the son of an inazuman politician in order to fund this lifestyle of his, although ei is oftentimes left unimpressed with his dedication to you. as such, she'll occasionally attempt to lecture him about his spending habits, but her words often fall on dear ears as he continues reaching out for his credit card the second your group's official twitter teases at a new release. honestly? the only thing that she manages to accomplish during these 'interventions' is tiring her throat out.

superfan scaramouche who rakes in extra money by capitalizing on his appearance, aware that some of his followers are only really interested with his account because of his breathtaking features. so long as the donations are large enough, he has zero problem flirting with his audience, immediately setting the money he gains from them aside to be spent on you. ironically enough, he can't help but find his admirers pathetic for thirsting over a man that hardly even knows them... despite having the exact same attachment to you.

superfan scaramouche who will get into fights online over your name. anybody who attempts to insult you—even as an off-handed remark—are met with a barrage of harassment from his ꒰many꒱ burner accounts. every aspect of their online persona is scrutinized, attempts to expose his identity met with ever harsher abuse. nearly all of his victims have had to deactivate just for the sake of being left alone, a fact he doesn't feel bad for in the slightest.

superfan scaramouche who attends every. single. one. of your group's events without fail, always making sure to come prepared with gifts and merch for you to autograph. covered in head to toe in bagging clothing, a baseball cap on his head, and a mask to obscure the bottom half of his face—you can't help but feel a little apprehensive when he makes a beeline straight towards you, though your inhibitions are quickly forgotten when the both of you start chatting.

superfan scaramouche who appears totally innocent and unassuming during your conversation, compliments almost falling off his tongue as he sings your praises. he'll comment on the smallest details within your mvs, choreography, outfits—claiming it a shame that you aren't as popular as some of the other members within your group. you eagerly sign the photocard he presents you, telling him to have a nice day before he leaves. it's the only thing he posts about for a week straight.

unbeknownst to you, he records the entire interaction, watching it compulsively to fuel his delusions—convincing himself that you're madly in love with him. needless to say, the charges on his credit card only increase in size afterwards.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

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princessfbi · 7 days

Note

Sickfic prompts! 8 + Buck soft/sneezy/sleepy

Buck woke up to fingers in his hair and a pressure behind his nose that was spreading all across his face.

His sinuses throbbed in time with his heartbeat, pulsing underneath his eyes and into his ears. The tingling sting in his nose was worse than that time he'd very nearly taken a ball of fire to the face, his eyebrows saved only from Eddie yanking him back by his shirt collar. He could've sworn his nose hairs had been singed for like a week.

Nothing had worked. Antihistamines, cold medicine, steam, nothing! Buck had resigned himself to just give himself enough Advil Cold & Sinus to bring down the inflammation before trying to smother himself beneath the pillows and blankets and hoodie that Buck remembered smelling like his boyfriend even though he couldn't the last time he smelled anything.

But the fingers sweeping through his hair was nice. Really nice.

It took a few tries for Buck to peel his eyes open. But when he did, he almost wished he hadn't.

Tommy stared down at him with a soft smile that always made Buck's insides turn bright and warm like honey heated by the sun. His hand--- his big hands Buck was a little obsessed with--- curved down the back of Buck's head as his thumb massaged into Buck's temple where the headache was the worst.

"Hey baby," Tommy said softly, his other fingers scratching gently at the hair on his neck.

Buck hummed as he smiled. He loved when Tommy called him that.

Tommy. His gorgeous boyfriend. Tommy was there. Staring down at him and his swollen face and bloodshot eyes and wild sweaty curls he hadn't had the strength to tame.

"No!" Buck croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to bury his face into his comforter.

Tommy huffed out a laugh. "Well that wasn't exactly the welcome I was expecting."

"I'm gross," Buck mumbled, trying to hide the fact that his nose was crusty and bright red from the man who still made Buck's insides go giddy even after three months of dating.

"You're adorably gross," Tommy said, pulling away the blanket from Buck's face so he could lean down and kiss Buck's birthmark. "You also need to drink some water and eat something."

Buck would rather shrivel up and disappear before he even considered trying to get out of bed.

He squinted up at Tommy. "How did you get in?"

"Borrowed a key from Eddie," Tommy said, tipping his chin. "You owe him a couple of texts. He was afraid I was going to find you drowning in tissues."

A wry quirk of his brow was enough for Buck to know Tommy had already seen the overflowing trashcan of shame lost somewhere next to his bed. Great. Maybe if the illness didn't take him, the embarrassment would.

Buck groaned as he curled his knees up to his chest and tried to burrow in Tommy's thigh. He was warm.

Tommy huffed out a laugh and those fingers returned to his hair. "Come on sleepy head. Let's get you to the couch."

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #prompt game #anon #my fic writing #royal decree

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twst-drabbles · 5 months

Text

Octavinelle 16

Summary: You’re in bed. The sun was highest in the sky, bound to dip but you’re still in bed. You get up eventually, knowing there are seafolk pets relying on you to feed them.

(Decided to say fuck it to the funnies and write the mental state that’s been plaguing me. But yeah, just wanted to put emphasis on the fact that I'm not in a state of sadness. I just feel so tired with this constant fog over my own feelings. Oh and this is just over a 1000 words.)

You felt like a low existence, sinking into your bed sheets that haven’t been washed in over three months. There was nothing to mourn about yourself, felt useless to indulge in any sort of sadness really. A bother, basically, to try and feel anything beyond just mild annoyance at your own smells and the too loud and too bright things of the outside.

You look over to your phone, long since overcharged with sticky notifications of habits you’ve broken and missed. You haven’t swiped them away, telling yourself that you’ll get to them eventually but you don’t. You miss a day and tell yourself that it’s fine. That you need a break. Then another break. Another day of rest, another day of being still.

Day after day, day after day. You haven’t been on walk for half a year. You stopped during the winter because your shoes were torn to pieces by a teething Floyd and never had the energy to just buy new ones.

It’s not that bad, really. You’re still alive. You’re not rotting and waiting around to die. You still drink water, you still get a bite to eat, even if it is only enough to make your stomach shut up for an hour. It’s just…

It’s a bother, to wash yourself, to clean your teeth, to go outside and be blinded by the sun, to do the same things you do every day. And it’s a bother to try and do any changes. You just don’t have the energy.

You’re running on empty, and the empty have to rest, because it aches to try and do anything more.

You snuggled deeper into your sheets, piles of blankets on top of you, weighing heavily upon your entire body. And just so you can get more on top of you, you made your room even colder than it ever should be. Just made snuggling into the blankets all the more nicer.

You missed the seafolks’ first feeding in the morning. This was the first time you’ve done this, but you know them to have enough fat to survive missing one feeding. Will they be grumpy? Probably. Pissed at you, most likely. But you also know them to store away any leftovers in their little hiding places. They’ll be fine. They can let you rest for a bit.

The left side of yourself has gotten a little pinched, a bit numb. You closed your eyes for just a little bit and woke up to suddenly three in the afternoon. You’ve laid on your side for too long again. You felt annoyed and when you felt a pulse in your head and a tightening of your stomach, only then did you bother to push yourself up.

You’re tired, you’re hungry and you’re thirsty. The nap did nothing but made breathing harder and your eyes drier than anything. But it was enough. It was enough to get you annoyed with laying in bed. So you reached over and drank your water. You didn’t want to brush your teeth, so you just used your gulp of water to wash around your mouth before swallowing it. Then you drank water again to refresh.

You finished the bottle and tossed it in the overflowing trashcan filled with other empty bottles. You got out of bed and walked out your room. You didn’t bother with shoes or getting into different clothes. You’re tired as is.

The blood has finally reached your head and the pulsing came back, this time behind your eyes. You had to squint as you opened the door to seafolks tank.

You heard three distinct chirps, all much closer than you expected.

You looked to the back, seeing the tank popped open once more, then you looked down just as Jade and Floyd were bodied by Azul right before they could munch on your big toe. Ah, you haven’t clipped your nails in a while. You just noticed that.

Floyd’s little claws clicked against the floor as he struggled to Azul off of him. Jade’s usually behaved self was replaced with a growling little eel, his jaws clicking and gritting as he whipped his tail about.

“…alright,” you rasped out, putting a hand to the wall as you guided yourself to the food you stored away, “yeah, probably should’ve expected this…”

Azul finally knocked their heads together and made the eels behave. You almost wanted to laugh, but the feeling was too vague to make physical. It was only a twitch of a smile you gave out as you dragged out a bag of cold whole fish. You had a fridge stored in here since you didn’t want your regular fridge to smell like their foods.

You closed the fridge and carefully slid yourself down to the floor. Even that task was tiring. You can feel your heart pumping beneath your ribs. You had to lean against the fridge just to cool yourself down for a bit.

Azul, evidently proud of his defending of you, basically strutted towards you with a grumpy and limp Floyd and an equally grumpy Jade who was huffy, but behaving.

Azul finally looked at you, at your eyes and your greasy skin and unwashed clothes. He tiled his head. You ignored that.

“Hey,” you greeted as you ripped open the bag and watched them all perk up, “Sorry about that. Here.”

You pulled out the fattiest fish into the air. Floyd shot out of Azul’s grasp, but was grasped by Jade’s own claw. Jade pushed his brother behind him and shot after the fish. He clamped his jaws right into its belly and now you have both a fish and an eel hanging from your hand.

You gently set it down so he can rip it up in peace. Floyd, not to be defeated, sunk his teeth into the head and immediately started to pull it apart. Messy eaters. All of them.

You shivered as Azul pulled himself onto your lap. He gave a low whistle at you and opened his mouth wide.

“Ah,” hand-feeding, huh? He’s feeling rather spoiled today doesn’t he? “Here.”

You gave him something small just so he doesn’t make a mess on your lap. Fish smell isn’t exactly nice.

“Oh,” you jumped just as Jade and Floyd coordinated together to bring their meal onto your lap behind the munching Azul, “Oh, gross.”

Well, so much for that. Cold, slimy, your sense really hate you right now. Well, you suppose this is fine. They’re having fun and it’s not like showering is that bad. You needed one anyway. Well, no not a shower. A bath. A bath isn’t bad. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand that long anyway.

Well, you’ll get one right after you have something to eat. You’re kind of tired of snacks, so you might heat up some hearty leftovers. After everyone has finished eating. You don’t feel like leaving right now.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #octavinelle #azul #azul ashengrotto #jade #jade leech #floyd #floyd leech #house pet au #reader insert

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normal-thoughts-official · 6 months

Text

Please stop seeing politics as an identity and start seeing it as a collective means for change

#i am so tired of ppl trying to use 'theres no ethical consumption under capitalism' in regards to BDS #it's not about ethics it's about participating in a political strategy palestinians have spent YEARS promoting as a means for change #some things are in fact not about you #social justice #I/P #social issues #palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza #id in alt #overflowing trashcan

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arvandus · 8 months

Text

Daily Drabble #1 - Inumaki x F!Sick!Reader

Inumaki realized it instantly when you didn't show up for training. He wasn't the only one.

"Where's y/n?" Yuuji asked.

"She's holed up in her dorm room, sick." Maki replied as she spun her weapon in her hand. Panda prepared his stance for her impending attack.

"Konbu..." Inumaki muttered. I see.

For the rest of the sparring period, Inumaki's thoughts kept returning back to you. Your absence bothered him more than he liked, thoughts of you diverting his attention from blocking Megumi's advances.

By the third knockdown, Megumi paused, holding back his Shikigami.

"You okay?" Megumi asked curiously with a cock of his head. "You seem more distracted than usual."

Inumaki nodded, confirming he was fine.

But Nobara narrowed her eyes and grinned. "Are you thinking about y/n?"

That stopped all the others from their sparring to stare at him, and Inumaki began to feel the heat creep up his neck and into his ears. He glared at Nobara.

"You worried about her?" Yuuji asked curiously.

"Sujiko." Inumaki replied, his tone flippant to dismiss their curiosity and where it would lead.

But Nobara wouldn't let it lie. She smirked and tilted her chin up. "You like her, don't you?"

Her words hit like her hammer, and Inumaki's eyes widened. He spun on her.

"Shut up."

Nobara instantly fell silent, her lips closing, and her expression went from shock to anger. She stomped her foot and shook her fist at him.

"Inumaki..." Maki scolded. "Let her go."

Panda chimed in. "Your reaction already gave you away, you know..."

Inumaki glared at him too, the threat of the same sparking in his lavender eyes. But he sighed and unzipped his collar.

"Release."

Immediately, Nobara found her voice. "You're so dead!"

Inumaki raised an eyebrow at her, opened his mouth as if to use his cursed speech again.

She jumped back to put distance between them, her posture defensive. But instead, Inumaki chuckled and stuck his tongue out at her. Then he turned around and left the training area.

"Hey!" Megumi and Nobara shouted in unison. "We're not done here! What??"

The two turned on each other and began bickering, as Inumaki walked away in the direction of the student dorms.

--------

You felt awful. Truly awful. Your head felt stuffed with cotton, your stuffed sinuses causing a headache. You'd already nearly gone through the entire box of tissues, your nose sore and red. Your throat hurt and the coughing was barely assisted by the bag of cough drops you had next to you.

You laid in bed, caught in the misery of mentally being awake enough to get up and do things, but physically too tired and sick to move. You swiped through your phone, boredom clawing at your spirit.

You startled slightly when you heard a gentle knock at your door. Confused, you stood up and answered.

Inumaki stood on the other side, and in an instant you wish he wasn't, embarrassment flooding you at your current state.

"Toge!" you exclaimed.

"Sujiko," he replied, his hand up in greeting.

"Wh...what are you doing here?" you asked as you closed your door a little more to try to hide the pile of dirty tissues overflowing from your trashcan, and the messy bed with sheets and blankets askew.

"Takana?" he asked, his eyes looking you over. The action made your heart beat a little faster, your skin growing hot.

"Oh, umm.. I'm doing okay," you replied.

He tilted his head and raised a knowing eyebrow at you.

"Okay, fine. I'm miserable," you confessed as you leaned tiredly against the door.

His eyes stared at you, and not for the first time, you wondered what he was thinking.

Inumaki pointed to his throat and then to yours.

"Oh, yeah... it sucks. Trust me, you don't want this." you replied.

Inumaki held a bottle out to you, and you stared at it, noticing it for the first time. The familiar label of cough medicine peeked between his fingers.

"Oh, is this for me?"

"Konbu," he replied.

"Th-thank you!" you stuttered. You gave a small laugh. "I guess you would know the best cough syrup, wouldn't you?"

Inumaki's mouth was covered by his uniform, but his eyes smiled at you in amusement. Then he looked at you again, and you shifted under his gaze.

"Takana?" he asked. Need anything else?

"Um, no... I think I'm okay for now. Just bored out of my mind."

Your cheek squished adorably against the edge of the door as you talked, and Inumaki stared. But then you mistook his distracted gaze as hesitancy, and straightened up, your hands waving in front of you.

"Not that I'm inviting you in, or anything... I don't want to give you my germs."

Inumaki's eyes widened slightly, as his mind instantly thought of one way you could give him your germs, and that familiar heat crept up his neck again threatening to expose him.

You must have realized how it sounded too, because suddenly you were wide-eyed and stumbling over your words, your eyes avoiding his.

"I mean, not that I'd, you know... it's just very contagious, that's all. And my room is a mess and..."

You felt a hand on your head, and looked up to see Inumaki grinning down at you, a laugh at the edge of his covered lips.

"Konbu," he replied softly.

You eased under his tone, your body releasing the nervous tension from a moment before. You stared at him for a long moment and he stared back as the laugh lines faded around his eyes.

His hand gently moved from the crown of your head to cup your cheek gently.

"Feel better," he said softly.

Instantly, the sinus pressure and congestion began to ease slightly, like a receding tide. Your eyes widened, and he smiled gently at you. His finger booped the tip of your nose playfully, and he looked past you into your room and gave a subtle upward tilt of his chin.

Get some rest.

Then he turned and walked away from you, leaving you dumfounded as you stood in your doorway watching him leave.

#Inumaki #Toge Inumaki #JJK #inumaki drabble #inumaki x f!reader #inumaki x reader #inumaki x you #inumaki x y/n #soft #sfw #fluff #arv’s daily Drabble

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

AITA for telling my dorm mate that I don't think it's fair to take out the trash in turns?

I (19M) have a dormmate (18F) who creates a lot of trash from packaging, food waste, paper plates, door dash, etc. while I create very little trash due to washable utensils, plates, reusable containers, and my food is in small bags or cardboard boxes that can easily be flattened or smushed. In our shared space we have a tall kitchen trash can that we both use, though her dad bought it so it's hers. I mostly use a tiny trash can in my room for teabags or an oatmeal packet, and rarely use the shared one. She will fill up that large trash can in two days to the point of not closing, with maybe me contributing a couple gum wrappers or a plastic bag from carrots. If she was taking it out as much as she filled it I wouldn't have a problem, but she expects me to take out half the time. Today i woke up to it overflowing and unable to close the top without her trash trash falling out, so I texted her that she should take it out before the shared room started to stink. She complains that she took it out last time and that it's my turn, and I responded that since it was entirely hers that she should be the one to take it out. I kept the argument over text so that it didn't escalate into a screaming match (we can both be hotheads), but now she's full on said that I can't use it and that I'm inconsiderate for not cleaning as much as she does (I absolutely do clean, especially if she's sick, I just don't create as much mess to clean up in the first place). I took it out anyways because it's clear she wasn't going to. I thought it was just a regular dispute but she's not talking to me anymore and I'm confused. I'm not mad about being banned from the shared trashcan, I can just use my mini, it's more that I don't understand why she got so angry for something that sounded reasonable to me?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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janesociety · 1 year

Text

daddy issues

tony stark x teen!reader

type: hurt/comfort (?)

summary: you get really sick and call tony dad

warnings: reader is sick, placement of an iv, allusion to painful past events (nothing described)

notes: this is very old and kinda cringy <3

pt ii

marvel masterlist

✩ ✩ ✩

It started as a cold. Steve went to wake you up one morning when you didn’t come down for training and found you blowing your nose next to your trashcan that was almost overflowing. He gave you the day off, and then the next day, and then the next.

By the third day, the whole compound was concerned. Bucky had convinced you to try and get up and eat breakfast and so you did. You were so weak that he had to try and help you out of your bed.

“It’s okay, doll,” he mumbled as you apologized profusely as he helped you stand. The two of you trudge slowly into the main living space, drawing the attention of the other Avengers who had been waiting for you.

"Didn't think you'd want anything too heavy, so I made toast," Steve said, setting a plate down at the table in front of you. You smiled weakly at him, sitting down.

Natasha watched from afar. She was always concerned about you. There was never a moment she wasn’t worried. So this, this had her frantic. Not that she was showing it though.

Forcing the toast down your throat was harder than you thought, but you did it anyway to appease those around you. They had bigger problems, and you having a small case of the flu was not on par with everything else.

“Mornin’,” Tony said, stepping into the kitchen with a cold coffee mug. He dumped it in the sink before turning to the running coffee maker. “How you feeling, kiddo?” Tony asked you, waiting for the machine to fill his cup.

You dryly pushed the last of the toast down your throat and smiled up at him. “Fine,” you answered, trying to keep the croak out of your voice.

“Take it easy,” he said, exiting the kitchen with his new mug.

Everyone walked on eggshells around you for the remainder of the day. Instead of staying cooped up in your room, you instead sat on the couch in the living room. Different people made attempts throughout the day to entertain you, but for the most part they let you rest as your favorite movies played in the background.

Later in the evening, you laid on the couch between Wanda and Bucky. Your head laid in Bucky’s lap as he stroked your hair with his good arm. Wanda sat by your feet, listening to the goofy sitcoms playing on the tv when you began to shift.

“Make it stop… make it go away,” you muttered in your sleep. Both Bucky’s and Wanda’s heads snapped towards you. “Make it stop!” you yelled louder this time.

Wanda immediately went into your mind, trying to fish for what you were scared of. It came up blank.

“We need to get her to Dr. Banner,” Wanda said, standing up off the couch.

“What’s-“

“Just get her to Banner!” Wanda yelled, her eyes flashing red with anger and fear. Bucky didn’t hesitate to scoop you up quickly in his arms.

Him and Wanda raced across the compound, bursting into the lab where Tony and Bruce sat working on new tech.

“Something’s wrong!” Wanda yelled. The two men looked up, worried expressions on their face. You were still in your fitful slumber in Bucky’s arms, still mumbling nonsense under your breath.

“Bring her over here,” Bruce said, jumping up and gesturing over to the infirmary section of the lab. He had Bucky lay you down on one of the beds as he started to check your vitals. “Her fever skyrocketed and her heart rate is rising.” Tony watching from the foot of the bed as you kicked out your legs and your arms wrapped around your stomach.

“Make it stop!” you yelled. You rolled in on yourself, tucking your knees to your chest and still holding your stomach. Wanda was getting visibly more upset as time went on. Her attempts to go in your head were still coming up blank.

“What’s wrong with her, Banner?” Tony said, agitated. He hated seeing you in pain and it made him feel totally helpless.

“Not sure yet, I’m gonna give her an IV and get her hydrated in hopes it helps her fever,” he said, prepping the machine. “Can you hold her still?” he asked Bucky. Bucky nodded, moving closer to you. He pried your arms away from your stomach and pushed your legs straight. He pinned one arm against your chest and the one closest to Bruce he pushed flat against the bed.

“No! Stop!” you shrieked. Your eyes flew open and bounced around wildly. You were taking anything in. Your brain wouldn’t process anything around you, so as far as you knew. you were still in your dream. “Stop! Stop it! Let me go!” You writhed under Bucky’s hold as he did his best to keep you still without hurting you.

“This won’t work,” Bruce said. “Wanda, can you hold her?” Wanda looked up at him with teary eyes. She hated the idea of using her powers on you. “Please, I need her still.” She nodded, raising her hands up. Red ribbons of her powers flowed across your limbs as they went stiff at your sides. You screamed again.

“No! No! Please, make it stop!” you sobbed. Your voice was beginning to go hoarse from screaming. Tony finally moved from where he was standing and went up next to you. He crouched down near your head.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, gently stroaking your hair. He could feel how warm your head was. “You’re okay, everything’s okay. No one is trying to hurt you.” His gentle words seemed to calm you down even in your confused state. Your eyes still stared blankly around you and your breathing was still ragged and strained, but your screaming stopped for a moment. “That’s good, there you go.”

You flinched as Bruce put the needle in your arm after finding a vain and started to cry out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Tony whispered. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.” Your head turned to the side, looking at Tony, but not really seeing him.

“Dad?” your voice croaked out quietly. Tony stiffened. He looked into your eyes, them seemingly looking straight through him. “Dad?” you called out again. Wanda and Bucky both watched Tony for his reaction.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re okay,” he said, rubbing a small circle on your shoulder. “Everything’s okay.”

“Her oxygen levels are low,” Bruce said. “I’m gonna put her on some.” Tony brushed all the hair out of your face to make it easier for Bruce to place the tube under your nose.

“Dad, what’s going on?” you muttered, moving your head around after Bruce placed it.

“It’s nothing, kiddo,” Tony said softly. He signaled for Wanda to released you, which she did. “You’re okay now.”

“They had me again,” you mumbled. Exhaustion was starting to over take you again. “They were hurting me.”

“They can’t hurt you anymore, I promise,” he said softly. “Just go back to sleep now.”

#tony stark #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x teen!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers #avengers x teen!reader #marvel #wanda x teen!reader #bucky x teen!reader #bruce banner x teen!reader

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rarilight · 2 months

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Officially jobless, staring into the ocean that is my fractured psyche creatively, hands calloused and scarred from trying to fix it and knowing that now i need to write because my housing depends on it so i better suck it up, buttercup

stayed up until 4am listening to songs about someone singing at a funeral and forced out the intro to a fic about the consequences of putting all your worth into what you create for others

- - -

people pleaser

variants or less commonly people-pleaser |ˈpē-pəl-ˈplē-zər

a person who has an emotional need to please others often at the expense of his or her own needs or desires _____

Carousel Boutique had been closed for months, the lights kept on solely thanks to the money brought by old designs still being sold in other locations, far away from where their miserable creator could see them.

Once upon a time, at a party, somepony had asked Rarity who she was.

“A designer,” she’d said with a winning, lively smile. “An artiste!”

The pony smiled politely. “I asked who you are, not what you are.”

Rarity laughed, embarrassed. “Oh, goodness! Do forgive me, I’m just very proud of my talent.” And she was, which is why it came first, and only then did she say, “I’m Rarity. Pleasure to meet you.”

She loved clothes. She loved how they worked and what they said, the language they conveyed. An outfit, she always said, could say a thousand words in a single glance, which is why she made sure to weave stories into every garment she made.

It helped her be who she wanted to be. And it helped others, too. That’s what she loved the most, and in fact why she loved sharing her designs. For as long as she lived, she would never forget her very first client, when she was just starting out, unknown and inexperienced but earnest and heartfelt.

She would never, until her dying day, forget the tears sparkling in the mare’s eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, in an outfit Rarity had made, and said, “I look beautiful.” Seeing herself for the first time not as the ugly mare she tearfully told Rarity she thought she was, with uneven eyes, and scars from accidents, and a coat the color of dirt, but as the stunning mare she actually was and would always be.

It was in that moment Rarity’s identity became that of a designer. It was then she knew her purpose. Her use. The reason she existed was to use clothes as a way to share herself with others and help them see themselves as they should. Someone worthy of the world entire.

This was her use.

She was a designer.

So as she stepped into her workroom, the fabrics collecting dust and the sewing machine stashed in the corner and half-finished designs chucked into an overflowing trashcan, she felt her already hollow heart somehow crumble further, still in denial over one simple fact:

She wasn’t a designer anymore.

And if she wasn’t a designer, then she had no use to anypony.

And if she had no use to anypony, she was worthless.

And if she was worthless, she was better off dead.

“Rarity,” Twilight asked, her voice stern, and cold, and angry, and upset, and desperate. She stamped her hoof on the floor. “Please! What are you doing?! What are you saying?! Do you want to be miserable?”

Rarity, tears in her eyes, heart bleeding out, stepped back. Angry. Afraid. Upset. Hateful. Towards Twilight, and everypony, and most importantly herself.

She had a choice to make now. It is said a possibility stays nothing but a possibility unless spoken into truth, and this was that moment for Rarity.

Whatever she said next… it would set in stone who she was.

But we should start from the beginning, should we not?

______

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sister-lucifer · 1 year

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Inspire Me

Edward Nygma A.K.A. The Riddler x Male Reader

(This was inspired and technically written with The Riddler from Batman: The Audio Adventures in mind, but I feel like any version of Eddie works here)

Genre: Smut

Summary: Edward has caught an unfortunate case of writer’s block, but he can always count on you to inspire him

Content/Warnings: Riding, praise, pet names, Edward cums inside

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“Nothing, nothing, nothing!”

Edward’s frustrated voice reverberated off the walls, the echoes of his anger ringing in your ears from the other room. You sighed to yourself at the sound.

No matter how smart Edward may be, no one is immune to writers block. It is a terrible plague that befalls evil and innocent alike, an indiscriminate ailment with no real cure, and he’d caught it bad. You could hear him quickly crumple up another few papers and toss them away, groaning loudly when they didn’t make it into the overflowing trashcan.

For days now he had been pondering like this. He didn’t tell you exactly what had happened, but the Batman had done something or other that had gotten under his skin even more than usual. He’d been doing next to nothing but seething and brainstorming, but it seems nothing substantial had come of it.

You always worried about Edward when he became like this. You hated seeing him upset, even if it was over something trivial, but you also knew that his greatest breakthroughs always directly followed his worst struggles. Any time soon now he would have his “eureka” moment, you could feel it.

Of course, that’s not to say he wouldn’t need any help.

“Oh, sweetheeeaaart!” Edward called to you in a sing-song tone. Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and you immediately rushed to him.

“Yes, Mr. Nygma?” You replied, poking your head into the doorway. The sight before you was a bit jarring, but certainly not unexpected.

Edward was sitting on the floor accompanied by mountains of discarded papers, half-done drawings of possible inventions or plans of attack surrounding him on all sides. A few metal knickknacks and machine parts laid scarcely about as well. He quickly brushed some of the discarded items away with his arm upon seeing the face you made, but it did little to help.

You could tell what he was going to ask you from the embarrassed, lopsided smirk on his face alone.

You and Edward had been a team long before you became his “muse.” He had discovered your brilliant ability to inspire him through…intimate means completely by accident, but he was glad he did. He wasn’t sure how it worked—maybe it was the desperately needed stress relief, or the endorphin rush of an orgasm; it didn’t really matter—but it was more effective than anything he’d tried before. He only used it as a last resort of course (he didn’t want you to feel as though he was just using you), but you were more than happy to lend him a hand.

Or a mouth.

Or a hole.

“My darling, my love, the light of my life,” He began, gesturing for you to come closer. He always did enjoy the overuse of pet names. “As I’m sure you can tell my recent attempts at criminal endeavors have not been very…”

He flicked a paper ball away with a bored expression as he blew a lock of hair out of his face.

“…Successful.”

“Yes, Mr. Nygma, I’ve taken note.” You flashed him an understanding smile as you walked towards him, papers crunching loudly beneath your shoes. “Is there any way I can assist you?”

Edward responded by simply patting his lap.

Once you’d planted yourself on top of him he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close with a sigh.

“Oh, my handsome muse! I’m afraid that my medium has not been kind to me,” He lamented, “Try as I might, no matter how many ideas I conjure nothing is good enough. I’ve exhausted all my resources…”

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, one of your hands sliding down his arm to lace your fingers with his. You gave a playful squeeze, and you could hear the faintest giggle slip past Edward’s lips.

“Eddie…” You whispered. Your warm breath against his ear nearly made him shudder.

“Yes, my love?”

You pulled back, looking him up and down and toying with the collar of his button up.

“There’s no need to beat around the bush, you know. If you need me to inspire you, you only need to ask.”

—————————————————————

“Oh, my inspiration! You beautiful thing, you!” Edward gushed, arms holding you tightly to his chest. The praise encouraged you to bounce faster, craving the feeling of his cock hitting deep inside of you. His restless hands groped and grabbed at every bit of soft flesh you had to offer, leaving no spot on the outside or inside of you untouched.

“Oh, Eddie!” You mewled in return as you leaned in to press desperate kisses to his jawline.

“Faster, sweetheart, please…” Edward pleaded. You could feel each heavy breath he took as his chest rose and fell against your own. Your hands held tightly to his shoulders to keep your balance, nails digging into the wrinkled fabric of his loose button up. “More, my love! I can feel it— I can feel your wonderful inspiration! You are absolute perfection, my muse!”

The best part of his sweet praises was knowing that he meant each and every word.

Edward adored you. You were the very spirit of his creativity, and he was reminded of it every time he turned to you for ideas.

Edward needed you in more ways than one, and he was never ashamed to show it.

“Oh, s-sweetheart—!” He stuttered, an unusual habit for him that only you were ever allowed to witness, “Sweet boy, I-I’m close—!”

He didn’t have to warn you; you’ve done this more than enough times to see all the signs. You felt every little twitch of his cock inside of you, and he felt every subtle quiver of yours in return. The feeling of your leaking member grinding against his stomach as you rode him brought him satisfaction to no end.

“My love, please, will you give me the honor…?” Edward asked, his words soft and sincere against your shoulder.

“Of course, Eddie,” You replied eagerly. You’d never hesitate to let Edward fill you up, just how you both liked. “Anything for you.”

It was clear you were losing your rhythm now, all your focus directed to angling your hips to hit just the right spot. Edward bucked up into you in return, throwing his head back with a drawn out moan as you squeezed around him. Soon he was thrusting into you wildly, desperately chasing his release.

“Yes, yes—! Just a bit more! God, mmph—! Perfection!”

His words of encouragement were sprinkled between frantic calls of your name, which soon took over any attempt at forming a cohesive sentence. He held on to you for dear life, practically screaming for you as he came. The sudden warm rush of him filling you was enough to give you the last extra push you needed.

“Oh, Eddie!”

Your last cry was shrill and broken, barely managed between incessant noises of pleasure. Edward hummed in delight at the feeling of your cum falling across his chest.

Soon you slowed to a stop, both of you going silent as you caught your breath. You rested your forehead on Edward’s chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“Oh, my love, that was exactly what I needed…” Edward said through heavy breaths. You couldn’t help but grin at that.

“I can feel the ideas flowing, the perfect plan is in my sights— Oh, yes! That’s it! I’m so glad I have you.” The more he spoke the more giddy with excitement he became, muttering to himself in who knows what languages as you stared up at him dreamily. He was adorable when he was like this. You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, one you both smiled into.

“You have no idea how much of a help you’ve been, my love. I can’t thank you enough.”

You shifted in Edward’s lap, placing your hand over his where it rested on your side.

“You’re welcome, Eddie. I’ll always be here to inspire you.”

if you like this fic and want to support me, please reblog! its free, takes two seconds, and it’s essential for all creators on tumblr:)!

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the-marshals-wife · 4 days

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Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #ocean master x reader #orm imagine #aquaman and the lost kindgom #patrick wilson #aquaman imagine #orm fanfic #aquaman fanfic #my writing #strangers like me from tarzan is 100% orm-coded and i couldn't resist using it for the title #aquaman

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