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compassionatereminders · 3 years

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Dealing With Executive Dysfunction - A Summary

(The full post with elaborate explanations can be found here.)

Being a responsible adult doesn’t have to mean doing things perfectly - it means doing what you realistically can. Can’t eat 7 fresh veggies and fruits a day? Buy some veggie juice or a smoothie and chug that. Can’t make a proper, healthy meal? Add some extra protein to your instant noodles. Can’t do the dishes? Buy some paper plates. Don’t worry about doing things “the right way”, just do what works.

It’s not cheating to do something the easy way. If there’s an easy or more manageable solution available, use it. Even if some people think it’s lazy. Don’t worry about that. Just focus on finding the methods of doing things which make life easier for you.

Fuck what you’re “supposed” to do. Yes, ideally you shouldn’t run the dishwasher twice, but if cleansing the dishes by hand is not an option and that’s the only way you can get clean dishes, do it anyways! When you’re in a really bad place mentally, fuck the rules. Do what you need to do to get shit done, even if it’s not how you’re supposed to do it.

Do stuff while you’re waiting to do other stuff. We spend a lot of time waiting, so spend the time you’d normally just waste getting some chores done. Collect the trash while your roommate is in the bathroom or wipe down the kitchen counters while you’re making coffee. You can even turn it into a game! How many dishes can you clean before the potatoes are boiling? How much trash can you collect and throw out before your load of laundry is done?

You don’t have to do everything at once. Don’t wait for the day where you’re up for cleaning the entire house cause then you’ll be waiting for ages. You can wipe down one counter and call it a day. You can put away a couple things and leave the rest. You can do one small chore and let that be it. You don’t have to choose between doing everything and doing nothing. Any progress is worthwhile.

Let go of the idea that something has to become a permanent habit to have any value. Doing a certain sport for a month is still healthy even if you then move on to something else. Exploring a new hobby for a while and then moving on to other stuff will always teach you something. What’s good for you today will not necessarily be what’s good for you tomorrow.

Don’t worry about the entire task. Just focus on the first step. Don’t worry about brushing your teeth - just get your toothbrush wet and put tooth paste on it. Don’t worry about writing the essay - just look at the assignment and open a document. Don’t worry about going to the store - just put on your coat and your shoes. Starting a task is a lot easier if you only focus on the step right in front of you.

Imagine that your body is a pet/animal you have to care for. Feed and hydrate yourself, keep yourself and your environment clean, make sure you don’t get under or overstimulated, allow yourself time to rest and relax, find ways to enrich your life (like socializing, media or hobbies) - and do your best to make sure you’re healthy and happy, even though you never actually signed up for being your own zookeeper.

Just because you can’t do it perfectly doesn’t mean you should stop trying. Packing lunch a couple times a week is better than never packing lunches. Journaling or making art once a month is better than never doing anything creative. Exercising every once in a while when you have the energy is better than never exercising. You don’t have to do something every single day for it to be important and helpful.

Put on a professional persona when it’s necessary. Try to separate the anxious and dysfunctional you from the Student You who’s sending that important email or the Client You who’s making that phone call or the Customer You who isn’t afraid to ask for help. It might feel like you’re performing a role, but to be honest, most of us do at times.

When you’re doing chores, act like you’re filming a tutorial. Narrate what you’re doing like someone’s watching. That might make it easier to maintain focus and to keep track of the various steps.

You don’t have to do anything perfectly. Wiping yourself off with some baby wipes beats not doing anything about your personal hygiene. Eating a protein bar beats not eating. Using mouthwash beats neglecting dental hygiene completely. Going for a quick walk beats not moving. It doesn’t have to be perfect to count and make a difference.

Make something you know you have to do the trigger for you to start doing something else. Tell yourself “next time I get up to pee I’ll take out the trash” or “when I get up to get something to drink next I’ll make lunch.” If you HAVE to get up anyways, you might as well.

Assign yourself a deadline. Tell yourself “once this video is over, I’ll do the dishes” or “once this alarm rings, I’ll do my laundry.”

If you struggle to be compassionate towards yourself, try visualizing your future self as a separate person who you like and want to do favors for. Try to think of your future self as a friend who is separate from your current self and do what you can to make their life easier by doing things like preparing that lunch, doing those chores, taking that shower or making fun plans. I know they’ll be grateful.

Make putting stuff back where it belongs so easy that you “might as well.” Organize your home so that placing stuff where it belongs becomes so easy that you might as well just place it there. For many people that means several laundry baskets, many trash cans and easily accessible and very visible storage options. So if you keep finding things in annoying places, make sure they get an easily accessible home!

Look into why you can’t do something. Is something about the chores you’re struggling to do actually causing you sensory distress and is there something you can do to make it more comfortable? If you hate mint toothpaste, get one that tastes like bubble gum. If old food grosses you out, do the dishes with thick gloves on. If showering makes you feel bad about your body, shower with the lights off. The problem isn’t always about self discipline, and in those cases it’s worth looking into why you’re struggling so much to get certain chores done.

Take care of yourself in order to take care of others ( whether pets or people.) Outside motivation is necessary for many people who struggle with executive dysfunction. For many people getting out of bed is easier when you know someone else is relying on you being somewhat functional. So don’t be afraid to find the motivation to take care of yourself in wanting to take care of others.

Make keeping your place clean as easy as possible. Make sure there’s easy one step access to the things you need often. Make sure that the place where a thing is supposed to be is actually within reach of where you use the thing. Make sure everything has a an easily accessible place to go, even if that means several laundry baskets and several trash cans. Examine what’s messing up your place and find a home for it where you’re likely to actually place it on a regular basis.

Choose one very specific thing to work on - like the bathroom sink or the oven or your desk. If you suffer from executive dysfunction you’ll likely be distracted, but having one specific focus point you can keep returning to will mean that in between getting distracted, you can return to your chosen project and get some shit done.

When something feels overwhelming, tell yourself to “just show up” and that you “won’t have to stay the whole time if it’s horrible.” Cause odds are that once you’ve pushed past your initial mental block, you’re likely to stay and finish what you started.

If you really can’t do something, accept your limits and find a different method. Don’t keep trying to push through via willpower alone. If you need outside accountability to get your shit done, find someone who can hold you accountable. If you know you can’t remember the stuff you’re supposed to remember, make sure to always write things down. If you keep forgetting your meds, set a daily alarm. Don’t keep expecting yourself to be able to do things you always struggle with.

Make your chores into a game. Assign certain chores certain points and make a list of fun rewards you can have once you’ve earned a certain amount of points through doing chores.

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly. Any amount of effort is better than none, so on days where you can’t do something well, do it anyways! Any amount of progress beats not getting started.

Find a momentum and use it to do that thing you’ve been struggling to start doing. You can’t get yourself together to shower? Well, find something you CAN do - and once you’re already doing something, you might be able to channel said energy into showering.

Take it one step at a time. I know a shower sounds overwhelming, but can you take your clothes off? If yes, can you turn on the shower? If yes, can you stand under the stream? Look who just tricked themselves into doing the thing by breaking it down into manageable chunks!

Don’t just break a task into smaller steps - break it into steps so small you can’t possible get overwhelmed and fuck up. “Clean my room” is far too vague - but “set a timer and collect all the trash you can in 10 minutes” is actually manageable and so is “move all dirty dishes to the kitchen” or “remove and/or sort all clothes laying on the floor.”

Don’t worry about how most people do things - worry about what works for YOU. You constantly lose your key? Make ten copies. You overlook your post it notes? Put something with the important reminder on it in front of the door. Got laundry and trash all over the floor? Get more laundry baskets/trash cans. Coping with executive dysfunction is not about learning to do things the neurotypical way, it’s about finding strategies which actually work for you.

When you’re overwhelmed and struggling, find the easiest and fastest way to get rid of some of the distress. Eat if you’re hungry, sleep if you’re tired, pee if you have to, get that thing you’ve been postponing done if you can. The more stressors you can remove, the better - and it’s okay to start with the smaller ones!

Don’t worry about aesthetics. When you struggle with executive dysfunction, maintaining a picture perfect home is probably unrealistic. So drop that dream and focus on making your space practical and functional. Remove the doors of your kitchen cabinets and closets if that will actually make you put stuff away. Get a paper shredder and a mail sorting station if you got mail and advertisements everywhere. Buy all your socks in one color if you struggle to pair them. There are many ways to make your environment more functional. Explore them instead of just trying and failing to make your home look nice.

Get started on your next task before you take your break. Write that first sentence, make that first sketch, get the vacuum cleaner out of the closet or collect the dishes for washing and THEN have your break. Many people with executive dysfunction struggle to start tasks, so for most of us it’s easier to continue something we’ve already started working on than to begin from scratch.

#kat gets serious #coping #executive dysfunction #disability #mental illness #self care #recovery

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horrorxweasley · 3 years

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Shibari

George Weasley x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Swearing!, Shibari,Bondage, Dom George, Sub Reader, Oral (Female receiving), Degradation, Praise

Word Count: 2.1K

Prompt(s) used: none

Summary: George has been practicing the art of Shibari and he now believes that he has gotten the hang of it so much that he decides to test out his new found skill on his girlfriend

General Masterlist

Kinktober Masterlist

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Over the last few months George has gotten into a new hobby that he had seen practiced online. He came across it when scrolling through an adult website which he had joined a while ago to find new and exciting things to try out in the bedroom with his girlfriend Y/N.

When he first came across it he thought it was just regular bondage but the more videos he watched of people practicing the art and the more photos he saw of completed works, his interest in it grew, so he finally ended up buying himself some rope and a mannequin to practice with.

For months George spent most of his free time in his home office where he also practiced Shibari. He followed multiple tutorials and flipped through hundreds of step by step books. In a surprisingly short space of time George went from a simple arm tie to perfecting the tortoise shell, an intricate pose where the ropes make patterns all over the torso, wrapping round the breast area and making them more prominent, tying the arms behind the back and harnessing through the female’s heat. The look was absolutely gorgeous looking, his imagination always went wild, picturing Y/N in that particular Shibari pose, the very thought in fact made his trousers tight.

After many hours, weeks and months of practicing George finally felt as though he was ready to share this hobby with his girlfriend and hopefully test it out on an actual human instead of a mannequin.One night when they both had a day off of work, Y/N and George were sat cuddled up on the couch watching their favourite TV show until George began to get that itching swell in his trousers as he thinks to himself what is just beyond his office door.

“Hey Darling?” George spoke, shifting slightly to ease the tent that has built in his trousers.

“Yeah?” Y/N replied her eyes not moving from the TV

George leaned in closer so his lips were brushing the side of her neck just under her ear before whispering lowly.

“I have something to show you”

This grabbed Y/N’s attention as she recognized that tone of voice, George was clearly not wanting to watch whatever was on the TV anymore, and she wasn’t complaining. George stood up from his position on the couch, stretching his hand out to Y/N to take, pulling her up and leading her out of the living room. Y/N instantly recognised that George was leading her to his office, confused she asked: “Georgie, why are you taking me to your office?”. She had thought he was ‘in the mood’ so why would he be leading her to his home place of work.

“You’ll see the princess just trust me” he smiled, turning the door handle down, opening the door. He allowed Y/N to walk in first, looking round the room confused, until her eyes landed on the mannequin and rope. The way the mannequin was dressed up in the tortoise shell shibari art took the words from Y/N’s mouth from it’s beauty and also caused a wet patch to form in her pants from knowing that George was wanting to do that to her.

Y/N turned swiftly round to look George in the eyes, her’s wide and doe like, he could feel his trousers tightening slightly at the look of her. His face has a knowing smirk on it and a mischievous gleam in his eyes confirming his intentions for the night ahead.

“What do you think princess?” he smirked

“I-” Y/N was lost for words, her gaze drifting back to the mannequin with the beautiful rope laced round it.

George moved to wrap his hands round her waist, resting his head on her shoulder before whispering in her ear.

“How bout I try my hobby out on a real model” his words laced with a smirk on his lips.

George swiftly took hold of Y/N’s hand and grabbed some of his nicest rope and led her out the home office and down the hallway to their shared bedroom. Their bedroom was partially decorated with the adult toys which they already used the majority of the time in the many nights they shared alone. Once inside George closed the door over with a click while Y/N stood in front of the king sized bed waiting for him patiently.

George slowly walked over to her, his pupils blown with lust, he placed the rope down on the bed behind them as his lips found hers in a loving soft kiss which gradually got rougher and needier as they melted into each other's touch. George bit down on Y/N’s bottom lip harshly causing her to gasp allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth battling with hers for dominance.

George pulled back from the kiss, his lips red and swollen slightly covered in their saliva.

“Strip” He growled, letting go of his tight grip around Y/N’s waist.

Y/N began straight away, starting with her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head to reveal her bra, George soaked in the sight as she moved her hands down her body shuffling out of her leggings. She hadn’t planned it but she was wearing George’s favourite two-piece on her.

“Fuck, those bra and panties make you look even more etheral than you do, shame that you’re going to take them off” he purred, kissing her neck and shoulders slightly.

Once he had pulled away Y/N began to strip off her underwear, she unclasped her bra throwing it to the ground, her nipple hardening with the cold air. Next to come off were her panties, sliding them down her legs and kicking them across the room leaving her completely bare in front of George. His eyes darkened as they wandered round her whole body as he paced towards her. His hands found their way to he sides, caressing her soft skin with a groan.

“So beautiful as always darling”

He reached behind her to grab the rope, showing it off in front of her.

“Now the fun begins” He smirked, kissing her lips quickly before getting on his knees. Due to George being a literal giant he wasn’t much smaller than Y/N while on his knees.

George began to weave the rope expertly all over Y/N’s body, wrapping round her waist, over and under her arms. Y/N looked down to George in admiration as he concentrated on his art. The moment that George started the lower half of the ropework, Y/N found herself whining and moaning slightly at the feeling of the rope brushing up against her wet pussy. The friction was something she had never experienced before, but she was definitely enjoying it.

It didn’t take long for George to finish what he was doing, getting up from his knees to admire his girlfriend. Her hands were now tied so she was unable to move them, the rope accentuating her breasts perfectly. The tent in his trousers became tighter and tighter with every second, he reached forward and pulled on the rope slightly causing Y/N to moan as it brushed past her clit.

“Mm you like how the rope feels against your skin darling? Not too tight is it?”

“Love it Georgie, not too tight, promise”

“Look so pretty tied up like this” He cooed kissing and sucking marks on to her neck causing her to moan as he quickly found her sweet spot, her arousal dampening the rope slightly.

“M’gonna eat out that pretty little pussy darling, bend over the bed for me be a good girl”

Y/N quickly complied, desperate for George’s tongue, she laid her top half down on to the bed, her cheek pressing against the mattress, her hands tied behind her back. George made his way over and once again got on his knees, he raised his hand to slap her arse leaving a red handprint on the skin. The sensation caused her to half moan, half scream into the soft material.

George spread her legs wider to allow himself more access and began to place sloppy kisses over her fold causing her to whine out in pleasure. He groaned against her causing the vibrations to shudder throughout her, his tongue began lapping at her folds gathering her juices on his tongue. Y/N’s whines and moans got louder with every lick and sucked against her sensitive bundle of nerves. Every time George ate her out, he made it his mission to do a better job than the last time, he ate her out like it was his last meal. The lewd sounds of Y/N’s moans, George’s groans and the wet lapping sound of George licking up her arousal.

Y/N’s legs shook as she got closer and closer to her orgasm.

“Fu-uck Georgie”

“Y’like that don’t you princess, taste so good”

George’s teeth grazed against her clit before sucking harshly, Y/N screamed out in pleasure, her walls beginning to flutter against nothing as she came. Her legs buckled but George held her tightly in place as he slurped up every last drop of her orgasm, moaning at the taste.

A muffled “Fuck” could be heard from Y/N

“Done so well f’me, taste so fucking good princess, why don’t you make yourself comfortable huh and i untie your hands, but the rest...the rest stays on” George growled as he leaned back from her cunt,he reached up and untied her hands so she could flip round and lie on her back.

George towered over her, unbuttoning his shirt, ripping it off of his torso exposing his pale, freckled chest to Y/N, her eyes roaming across his bare body as he roamed over her tied up one. The tent in his trousers now fully painful and in need of release, he took off his trousers and boxers allowing his erection to spring free, slapping his lower stomach.

The tip was red and covered in pre-cum, Y/N felt herself salivating at the sight, but as she reached up to stroke his cock George’s hand caught hers, shaking his head ”no”.

”ah ah ah, tonight is about you princess”

George crawled on top of her, capturing her lips with his, their eyes fluttering closed as their tongues brushed against each other. George reached down between them and began stroking his cockthroigh her folds, gathering her juices as lube. He pulled away to look Y/N in the eyes as he slowly pushed himself inside her, her face contorting with pleasure as a loud moan fell from her lips.

”F-fuck” George groaned as he fully sheathed himself inside her tight cunt. He moved his hand so that it was wrapped round the rope on her stomach, pulling it slightly causing friction to run up her body as he began to pound into her.

”y’like that don’t you, you like how the rope feels brushing against your slutty cunt as I fuck you” he groaned

”fuck yes Georgie, love it”

George’s pace quickened, his cock hitting Y/N’s g-spot with each thrust, her walls squeezing his dick perfectly causing both of them to moan out in pleasure. Geroge’s hand stayed firmly wrapped around the Shibari rope as the other cradled Y/N’s face, as he looked into her eyes lovingly leaning down to kiss her once more.

Y/N felt her vision become blurry with each thrust as she came closer and closer to her orgasm. George’s pace slowed as he felt her walls squeeze his cock but his thrusts became harder.

“So. fucking. tight.” George growled out with each hard thrust. The sound of their skin slapping together along with both of their moans filled the room.

“Georgie- oh god, m’so close, feels so good” Y/N moaned out

“Yeah? Can feel you squeezing me princess, fuck you feel so good”

George sped up his pace again as they both neared their release. Y/N could feel George’s dick twitch inside her causing her to moan loud.

Soon enough Y/N’s legs were shaking as her orgasm took over her body, and George’s white

ropes of release coated her velvet walls. Both of them moaned loudly in each other's ears as George held Y/N close to his body, by the ropes round her skin.

After they had both calmed down and from their highs and caught their breaths George pulled himself from inside her and laid down on the bed beside her, wrapping his arm around Y/N’s waist.

“Fuck we’re gonna have to do this more often princess”

“You were amazing Georgie, this was amazing” Y/N smiled

“But no matter how much I love these beautiful ropes, could you take them off me now, I don’t think I can sleep like this” She laughed breathily as George smirked.

“Of course princess”

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itsthewritergal · 3 years

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Don’t you ever forget it - D.M x Weasley!Reader - (ODD ONE OUT)

Can’t believe we’re at part 5 already!! I hope everyone is enjoying this story :)

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

“How was dark arts?” Y/N asked Draco the moment he, Pansy and Blaise sat down on one of the plush leather sofas “Fine why?” Pansy asked “Come on!” She wined “I want to know it all, you got to see a Boggart today” She grinned tugging at Draco’s sleeve in an attempt to make him talk

“You’ve got your lesson tomorrow” Blaise said with a chuckle

“Please Draco” She said looking up at him expectantly “I’ll help you with your homework for a week” She asked hoping to sway him

“You’re a year below me darling, not sure you could be much help” He laughed opening his book and shrugging off his robe and tucking it gently around Y/N

“I’ve read all the care for magical creature books already. I bet I know more than you” Y/N said shaking off his robe with a huff “Lovers tiff?” Blaise grinned

“Don’t be stupid” Draco and Y/N snapped at the same time, then bursting into a fit of laughter

“Please Draco” Y/N said leaning into his side so that she could read the page he was on without having to strain her eyes

“What do you want to know?” Draco asked turning the page once Y/N had nodded to say that she was finished with it

“What was everyone’s boggart? What did you do? Was it difficult? Was it really scary or just a little bit? How do you say the spell prop—”She began

“Okay darling, slow down a little. You’re going to give me a headache” Draco laughed, placing his bookmark in gently closing the book. “Well Pansy’s was herself but she had lost all her wealth and clothes and her name,” Draco paused for a second “Blaise’s was Voldemort, and you just hold up your wand and say the spell, no it wasn’t difficult. It wasn’t too scary and it’s riddikulus” Draco answered his fingers finding a way into Y/N’s,

“What was your Boggart?” Y/N asked studying Draco’s face as it contorted into a small frown

“I think we should play some exploding snap?” Blaise suggested butting in

“But—” Y/N started

“Good idea” Draco said, Y/N knew the conversation was over.

Y/N played a few games with the others but then opted instead to curl up next to Draco reading his book, she flicked past the pages as they played on. Draco draped his robe back over Y/N, it had become a habit for him. Y/N knew he only did it because she constantly complained about being cold, yet she couldn’t help but wish there was another reason. Draco winced as his hand crashed down on the table jolting his other arm

“Maybe you should stop?” Y/N suggested “You look like you’re in pain” she said gently

“I’m alright” Draco insisted

“Do you have any of that stuff Madame Pomfrey gave you?” She asked

“Run out” Draco said gruffly

“Come on, it’s not curfew yet. I’ll come with you and get some more” Y/N suggested standing up, wrapping Draco’s robe around her shoulders.

“I can go alone” Draco suggested, looking down at the cozy looking girl

“No way! Who doesn’t love strolling around Hogwarts at night. Anyone would say this place is magical” She laughed heading towards the door as Draco said goodnight to his friends.

— — — —

There was barely anyone around a few older students laughing as they headed back to their dorms from the library, a few first years laughing loudly through the halls, but not many people at all.

“Can we walk the outside way? I know it’s longer but the stars are out tonight!” Y/N asked Draco excitedly

“Definitely” Draco agreed although it was only to see the way Y/N grinned up at the stars as she named all the constellations wrong, Draco had taught her a few but she swore that she knew all of them. She didn’t.

“That one looks like a fish” She laughed pointing up at the sky

“Thats the Bootes constellation darling” Draco said

“I know that one” She exclaimed pointing up to another group of stars “That one is Draco, you showed me that” She said

“You are right about that one” Draco grinned, it was one of his favourite memories of the two of them, it had been one of Y/N’s last nights before christmas and Draco had dragged her up to the Astronomy tower and showed her all the constellations he knew.

Y/N continued walking, they settled into a silence.

“Draco” Y/N started quietly as they reached the end of the courtyard

“Yes Y/N” Draco asked, Y/N turned onto the hallway where the hospital wing was

“What was your Boggart?” She said gently, looking up to Draco with kind eyes “I know Blaise cut in because you didn’t want to tell anyone, and if you don’t want to tell me thats fine but—”

“Maybe another day darling” Draco said quietly “It isn’t something I’m proud of” he admitted

“You don’t have to be ashamed with me” Y/N assured him with a firm smile

“I know, I will tell you one day. But not just yet okay?” Draco said knocking on the hospital wing door “Okay” Y/N smiled

“Mister Malfoy? Is that arm giving you trouble?” Madame Pomfrey asked

“A little” He started

“It’s more than a little, he’s just being stupid” Y/N said giving Draco a warning look for his lie

“Understood Miss Weasley, give me a minute” She said with a chuckle

“You know you shouldn’t lie when it’s hurting you” Y/N Said firmly to Draco

“That’s why I brought you along, you always know what I need to say” Draco grinned

“Does it hurt really bad?” Y/N asked her fingers tracing the sling which had been signed by all his friends. Y/N’s name was in the middle, where Draco had requested it to be.

“I’ve had worse” Draco laughed, Y/N frowned her mouth opening then closing as if she had decided against saying anything. Draco draped his good arm over her shoulder, pulling her into a half hug. Madame Pomfrey appeared again, and placed a vial into Draco’s hand, with a curt nod she turned and Draco and Y/N were left alone again.

“We better get back, we don’t want to get caught past curfew” Y/N said gently.

— — — — — —

“Now as you all already know, today we will be meeting our Boggart’s” Lupin said with a smile, Taylor nudged her elbow, grinning with excitement. Y/N stood towards the back of the class listening intently as Lupin explained the spell and the proper wand movements. Y/N followed along with the tutorial excited to finally find out what her true Boggart really was. She had her suspicions but she wanted to know for sure. Ginny was first the Boggart twisted with a whirling sound and turned into a black diary which lay open with the gruelling face of Voldemort above it, with a shaky voice Ginny spoke the incantation as the Boggart turned into the grinning clown that Y/N recognised from their shared bedroom. Ginny’s friends clapped her on the back, and she smiled proudly as she skipped towards the back of the class. The Boggart turned into spiders, clowns, and voldemort more times than anyone dared to remember, then Y/N stood in front of the black whirling shape.

In an instant the sorting hat sat in front of Y/N.

“You really are a true Slytherin, I never thought I’d see the day a Weasley was a Slytherin. You’re parents must be so disappointed” The hat sneered

“Remember the incantation Y/N” Lupin instructed but the words fell flat inside Y/N’s head

“This is why you don’t go to any family events, they’re ashamed of you. They all hate you. You’re a true Slytherin, destined for evil”

“riddikulus” Y/N said her voice barely above a whisper

“You can do this Y/N” Lupin said gently “Once more”

“Riddikulus” Y/N said stronger this time and the hat spun and turned into the night sky filled with stars, the same one which Y/N and Draco saw last night.

“Well done” Lupin clapped as Y/N moved towards the back of the class, the Gryffindor girls giggled as she stepped towards her sister who turned her back on Y/N.

“Even her boggart knows exactly what she is” One girl snapped, Y/N picked up her books from the desks which had been pushed towards the back of the class and slipped out of the door. Professor Lupin decided against making a bigger deal of what he knew was a sensitive topic.

— — — —

Y/N hadn’t spoke to anyone, not even Draco. She sat picking at her food on the plate in front of her. Draco kept trying to pull conversation out of her but he wasn’t having any luck. Her Boggart had been the topic of conversation on all the house tables, it wasn’t often someone had to live with their worst fear everyday but of course Y/N Weasley was hardly normal.

“Y/N, do you have a minute?” Lupin asked tapping her gently on the shoulder, she nodded and followed him out of the Great Hall. The hallways were practically empty as Lupin lead Y/N down to his office, making small talk which Y/N didn’t feel the need to respond to. She wasn’t trying to be rude, she was just trying to hold her pieces together. Lupin’s office could only be described as comfy, he had two warn down armchairs which he sat himself down in, and gestured to the other one where Y/N sat tucking her legs underneath her and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“I’m sorry” Lupin said,

“What for? I don’t understand Professor” She said

“Having to live your fears every day. That takes some courage and extreme strength” He said with a warm smile, the kind of smile Y/N had seen on her mothers face when she spoke to Y/N’s siblings

“It’s fine, the Boggart got it wrong” Y/N said, she had half convinced herself it was true

“It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about playing part in here. Slytherin isn’t a bad house you know” “How can you say that?” Y/N asked

“You choose your own path, good or bad. A smelly, old hat doesn’t get to tell you whether you are evil or good,” Y/N let out a little laugh “I had a friend when I was at hogwarts, who’s entire family was in Slytherin and he was put into Gryffindor. He did everything he could to trick the teachers, his parents even his friends into thinking that the hat got it wrong, but it never worked. He was one of the greatest wizards I ever knew”

“But he was in Gryffindor, I’d rather it was that way round” She huffed “Everyone thinks I’m evil”

“Come on Y/N do you really think that of yourself? That you’re evil? That you’re destined to turn to voldemort”

“No” She said quietly,

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“How do you do it?” Y/N asked quietly

“do what?” Lupin asked blankly

“I know what you are, how do you cope with the prejudice” She said gently “I know it’s a little different with your condition and mine but how do you do it?” “You have to know exactly who you are and what you stand for” Lupin said with a smile “How did you find out?” He asked curiously

“Charlie gave me a book on werewolves when I was younger, I noticed it after the first full moon. I haven’t told anyone so don’t worry”

“You’re a very smart witch Y/N Weasley. Don’t you ever forget it”

Y/N stood up and left feeling a little bit taller than she had before.

Taglist :)

@whitewineandpizzapuffs

@planet-naptune

@thefandomplace

@sebby-staan

@witch-and-a-half

@nojamsonmytoast

@seanh-boredom

@wanniiieeee

@louweasleymalfoy

@missryerye

Odd one out taglist

@loxbbg

#Draco #draco malfoy fic #draco lucius malfoy #draco angst #Draco Malfoy #odd one out #draco x reader angst #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x weasley #draco x reader

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sumerun · 2 years

Note

hi there!! your ayato gfx was absolutely stunning i stared at it for a good minute just processing everything!! i've always been interesting in dabbling in gfx but i'm tech noob at best, an idiot at worst. do you have any advice for someone looking to start out? like resources, software etc. thank you sm and have a wonderful day/night

hello, sweet anon! first of all, thank you so much for your kind words! :)

note: text-heavy!

PEP TALK?

before we proceed, i just want to preface that getting into gfx design can be extremely frustrating. it is a part of the arts and as anything relating to the arts, it takes time and a LOT of practice. you, yourself is the biggest critic of your own work and you're also learning 21612198 tools. you will want to tear your hair out. you might have to learn theories and concepts that traditional artists learn in class to improve your own work. that being said, it is also very rewarding and fun, hehe

so what i always say to someone who wants to get into gfx design is, to just have fun. make the things you want and don't stop making them. the more you make, the more you improve. you can always learn the essentials of gfx design ofc!! but it's kinda boring so use whatever fandom as the subject to make it more fun

SOFTWARE

so the most well-known program that it's used in gfx is adobe photoshop and illustrator (there's more but those are the main two). it is not free and you gotta pay a subscription. if you can't afford it, you can always pirate it. BUUUUT, there's nice, free alternatives out there such as: GIMP (app), Photopea (browser based). it doesn't have everything photoshop does, but it's a nice way to dip your toes in!

RESOURCES

- your best resource is literally youtube and google haha! there are so many good videos you can search up and you can follow along. this is risky imo bc you can spend more time watching than doing, which defeats my points above.

- behance is a platform by adobe where you can find some resources, tutorials, and portfolios of other artists. it is a HUGE source of inspiration for me. i go on that website like at least once a week lMAO.

- pinterest is also a website i peruse often for inspirations! but at the same time, i'm torn bc there's a lot of stolen work here. so just keep that in mind

- the iconic gif tutorial by anue and this gaming gif tutorial by senka (yyh) is a GREAT way to start gfx design tbh. you'll learn to mess around with various tools when you make gifs!

GENERAL + IMPROVEMENT TIPS

i really wish i can just tell you the topics and tools you should learn but there's so much that it can get overwhelming. so take it at your own speed:

- like i mention above, learn the fundamentals. this is gonna be boring but use your favorite subject to make it fun!

- ok hear me out but as a beginner: copy and emulate. there's a reason why artists do master studies. you learn how the old and new masters paint, analyze their techniques and apply them to your own. it's pretty much the same in gfx design. emulate your favorite designs, learn why they use the colors they do and why they placed a certain font there. try to remake your favorite posters that you've seen and ask yourself why did they do that?

but ofc this is strictly for studying! this does not mean should plagiarize and post the same poster, but ayato version or something LOL. the line between plagiarism and inspiration/homage can be blurry but you need to make sure you are using this chance to learn and develop your own style! :)

- write down your ideas! sketch them out! whatever is in your brain might come out completely different on paper. and that's natural! it just help to visualize things

- PEN TOOL IS YOUR BEST FRIEND. i use this shit for EVERY single project so know it like the back of your hand.

- keep your past works and use it for self-critiques or just to look back and see how far you've come

CONCLUSION

remember, it will suck for a little bit while you learn all the tools in your software. you might not be able to materialize your ideas bc you don't know how to do something. it's ok!! you will get there once you're more experienced. just keep making gfx and ask for critiques. you will learn a ton! or sometimes, just walk away and let your brain rest. sometimes, we make a better product when you let it sit for a bit.

you got this, anon :) shoot me an ask/DM if you need anything else!

#letterbox #anon #sorry this took so long!

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snoffyy · 3 years

Text

@zhaozaipalooza

Heyyyyy wow why am I not surprised my first post on tumblr already contains problematic content ANYWAY I’ve tried to write something beautiful and eloquent and flowy but this is all my brain has spat out oof -

Filling the modern au prompt with TA!Zhao in an introductory maths course. Started out as Zuko/Zhao, turned into Yue/Zhao (I believe the ship has been coined fried fish??) and then for some reason settled on Hakoda/Zhao (at least, the setup for it). It’s a little hastily put together (could it be??? My word counts somewhat under control???) and I have no idea what I’m doing so I’m keeping it on tumblr. I’m so sorry for being horrendously late, but a huge thank you to the mods for all their time and effort!!

Despite the many grievances that came with being a TA, Zhao did find the job rather fulfilling in some respects. Tearing through assignments, breathing down people’s necks while invigilating exams, getting paid to answer algebraic questions he could do in his sleep…

And then, out of the blue, he would be reminded that there were a few but significant downsides.

Such as now.

Sometimes, students thought they could waltz into his office and expect him to bend rules to their whim.

“Sokka…” Zhao said carefully, sliding his pen down the enrolment list. “I thought this would be the first time I received everyone’s assignments on time, but it looks like I’m still waiting for that day to come. So, what’s your excuse?”

“It’s done!” Sokka yelped, waving his hands about in a flurry of panic. “I swear it is, I’ve got it in my bag right now. Just, uh, could you possibly, pretty please with cherries on top, let the late penalty slide? Please?”

Zhao arched an eyebrow. “And pray tell, why should I do that? The guidelines clearly state that a penalty will be applied for late submission, increased in increments of five percent for each day that it is late until it reaches a total deduction of forty percent, in which case you will receive a zero instead. You’re six hours past the deadline. If it were six minutes, I may have been more inclined to let it slide.”

“Please,” Sokka begged, clasping his hands together. “I’ve been doing so well in this course! But today was super busy and I tried, I really tried to get it in on time.”

“Look,” Zhao sighed, scrubbing at his face. “If I let this one go, there’ll inevitably be a next time. Not for you maybe, but someone else. That’s just how these things work and –”

“I swear I won’t let anyone know,” Sokka promised. “And… and…” his eyes sidled to the empty coffee cup on his desk. “I’ll get you a coffee! As a token of my appreciation.”

“That sounds more like bribery than appreciation.” Zhao scoffed, flinging the paper cup into the bin. “Just give me your assignment so we can call it a day.”

“And a cookie.” Sokka tacked on, evidently refusing to go down without a fight.

“… A cookie.” Zhao repeated flatly. “You’re trying to bribe me with a coffee and a cookie.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“But…” Sokka said, a crafty look in his eye. Zhao would be more impressed if he hadn’t seen that exact expression for most of his upbringing. “I know for a fact that you’re a crazy fast marker. You always get our results back to us within a week. No one can do that without binging coffee and sugar… aren’t you in need of a fix?”

He was a fast marker because there were only two teaching assistants in this course, and Jee was woefully slow-paced, so obviously someone needed to pick up the slack. What usually happened was that Zhao would tackle the stack of assignments nearly solo and leave grading input and moderation to Jee, before happily returning to other pressing matters.

“Actually,” Zhao said, picking up a second, smaller stack of papers on the other side of the desk, holding it up for Sokka to see. “I’ve already graded these, and I’m doing just fine.”

The horror on Sokka’s face nearly made Zhao smile. Nearly.

“But…” Sokka protested feebly. “How… how are you nearly halfway done?”

“Trade secret. Now, assignment. Gimme.” Zhao held out a waiting hand.

“Large coffee.” Sokka pleaded once more with newfound desperation. “Anything you want. And a cookie. One of those massive ones.”

“Not that interested.” Zhao said. “Come on, come on. I’m planning on getting these done by tomorrow.”

“And,” Sokka pitched forward. “In the next tutorial, I’ll answer all your questions if no one else puts their hand up.”

Oh. Now they were talking.

“Next three tutorials.” Zhao leaned forward, a sharklike smile spreading across his face. “And I want that coffee and cookie.”

“Done.”

“Very good,” Zhao grinned, “you can give me your assignment now. No penalty will be applied. I’ll mark it now while you get the goods, and once you’ve come back, I’ll input your grade into the system.”

The relief was palpable in Sokka’s face. “Yeah, yes. I’ll do that. What kind of coffee and cookie do you want?��

Zhao hummed, taking the assignment out of Sokka’s hands. He got started on marking immediately, red pen working furiously as he tore through the questions. The answers have practically been imprinted behind his eyelids at this point and thankfully, Sokka almost always got full marks, which meant he didn’t need to spend time picking through the working. “The coffee? Surprise me. I want an oatmeal raisin cookie, though.”

Zhao decidedly ignored the muttered incredulity under Sokka’s breath about his taste in cookies, and pointedly flipped the next page to spur him into fetching his bribe.

By the time Sokka scurried back into his office, Zhao had already made another dent in the pile of marking. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening, and the sight of Sokka’s triumphant face tempted him into changing his mind about accepting the bribe, if only to pour cold water over his excitement.

But, as Jee had pointed out earlier this morning, he’d already reached his maximum quota for assholery today.

“Here,” Sokka presented the cup and a small, brown bag that smelled heavily of baked goods.

“What did you end up ordering?” Zhao asked, taking both items from his hands.

“I asked my dad to make something for my grumpy TA,” Sokka grinned cheekily.

“Need I remind you that your grade’s fate is currently held in the hands of said grumpy TA?”

“Right, yes. Sorry, sir.”

Something else about the statement had caught his attention, though. Zhao examined the logo on the cup, tilting his head as he asked, “Your dad made this?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Sokka scratched his head sheepishly. “My dad co-owns a café with his best friend. Anyway, uh, he says he’d like to apologize on my behalf for annoying you and that he hopes you’ll enjoy the coffee and cookie. He said it’ll knock your socks off.” Sokka puffed his chest up with pride.

“I’m hard to impress.” Zhao drawled, a bit derisively, but he reckoned he was entitled to a little haughtiness.

“That’s what I said, but Dad’s confident you’ll like it.” Sokka shrugged. “Said you’re welcome to stop by the café anytime. He’ll hook you up with a treat.”

Zhao rolled his eyes and shifted his attention back to his end of the deal. He turned his desktop around so the screen was facing Sokka and pointed out his name. “There. Ninety-seven percent. Congrats.”

And before the fool could do something intolerably annoying like celebrate in his office, Zhao growled out a dismissal, pointedly picking up his cup as Sokka waltzed out the doors.

Alone again, Zhao popped off the lid, peering down with slight confusion when he caught sight of latte art. A classic heart, which he barely managed to rein in another scoff at. At least it tasted… decent. Surprisingly strong notes of espresso, none of that flavoured syrup shit he couldn’t stand.

The cookie wasn’t bad, either.

Well. Colour him slightly impressed. Slightly.

Making a note to stop by the café sometime, Zhao turned back to his marking, mood lighter for some strange, inconceivable reason.

#zhaozai palooza 2021 #hakoda/zhao #what is their ship name #my writing #zhao only has 2 moods #caffeinated and uncaffeinated

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waltnut · 3 years

Note

First of all: damn I love your art so much, I can’t put it in words😩

Are there any artists you admire or draw inspiration from? What inspires you in general and how do you keep being creative over a long period of time!

Thanks for opening asks and have a wonderful week ahead! ✨

Thank you so much!! That really means a lot, you have no idea.

Artists: There’s really so many. I’m usually drawn to artists who have unique shapes or are very expressive. But some I can name who are long time influences are:

These don’t do their art justice, but here’s them on Twitter. TBChoi is a master at using style and shapes and she gives great tutorials. Nesskain is a big inspiration too. I love their comic work especially. Western Comics have always been an influence of mine specifically. I read a lot of super hero comics as a kid (mostly why I love muscles I guess lol). Ziggyzagz has great character movement and expression. And Canary has that beautiful blend of western style, not quite Disney but I love that also.

I love art that makes me laugh especially. I also love comics or things that show a story to a character. My main goal is to make art my living, and my goal this year is to quit my day job and do just that. I want to either be a freelancer at home artist or concept artist for games, so really when people online leave comments like yours....that’s what keeps me going.

Comments, reblogs, follows, etc...They do help me stay motivated. I know “numbers don’t matter” but it shows to me that my art is worth it. That people like it, that I’m doing what I love and it’s worth it. I get emotional talking about it but there’s nothing else I see myself doing. And if I can’t do art well...I don’t know. But I also look back at the years before to remotivate myself. I’ve done a lot of art last year. More than the year before. So being better than the past me is also motivating.

#ask

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the-melting-world · 3 years

Text

The Empress | Side B: “Evergreen”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener goes on a retreat…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel

Track Origins: “Evergreen” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 1.2k words

Ozy tries to talk to Kipling about the past, but she isn’t ready to have that conversation with him yet. She flees and manages to locate Nadia and Asra. Asra leads an overwhelmed Kipling somewhere private and Nadia stays with Ozy. After talking it over with Asra, Kipling decides that she needs some time away from Ozy to process everything.

Kipling entered that pocket of stillness where everything was, is, and will always be. She floated there, wishing she didn’t have to leave, but knowing that nothing was forever. She heard the nature that existed all around her. The birds, the rustling of the leaves, the wind. And at the same time, she heard nothing.

Kipling was not meditating in her shop. Nor was she in her garden. In fact, she was far from the shop. Far from Asra, Nadia… and Ozy.

An abrupt scuffle and familiar chirping broke her stillness.

Taro, please stop harassing the chickens.

Usually, the words would fly right out Kipling’s mouth without a second thought. But she was still coming out of the daze of the meditation. So while she acknowledged that Taro was being annoying, she wasn’t quick to snap about it. Instead, she stood up and gently scooped Taro into her arms. She walked slowly back to Muriel’s hut, pondering on everything that had been bringing her stress lately. But now that her mind was clear, these thoughts didn’t make her so emotional.

Kipling suspected that in her absence, Ozy had filled Asra and Nadia in on what had happened that made Kipling leave for Vesuvia. Kip dimly wondered what Asra would think of her for breaking Ozy’s nose and leaving him behind a year later. Kip didn’t expect Asra to hold something like that against her the same way Ozy hadn’t. But it still made her cringe every time she looked back on that moment. Kipling barely recognized that girl and not only that, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with her either.

Muriel was outside crouching by the rest of the chickens when Kipling approached him. He looked in her direction, his mossy green eyes and gentle expression steadying the storm that threatened to build inside her.

“How was meditation?” He asked with genuine interest. Kip knelt down beside him and pulled a chicken into her lap.

“The session went well, but it was cut short.”

She shot a pointed, but teasing glare at Taro on her shoulder. Muriel smiled and reached up to scratch behind Taro’s ear.

“Are you hungry? I made lentil soup with a little rice.”

Suddenly realizing how hollow her stomach felt, Kipling made an enthusiastic sound. Muriel looked like he wanted to say something else, but he hesitated. Kip let the chicken go.

“Muri?”

He swiftly stood up, helping to her feet as he did. Kip would never stop being in awe of the way he balanced his immense strength with such gentleness and care.

Still holding Kip’s hands, Muriel said, “I was hoping to give you a reading. I haven’t done one in a while and would like the practice.” He briefly scanned his modest hut. “Not sure why, but I don’t get a lot of visitors.”

Kip felt the tension leave her shoulders. She allowed herself a soft laugh. The thought of a reading made her uneasy, but she trusted Muriel would help guide her through it.

“Okay. But only a single card reading. And only after we eat!”

Muriel’s tentative smile was back. He said no more as he led Kip by the hand, the chickens eagerly crowding around their heels.

After Kip and Muriel’s insides were warm with lentils and their mouths zinging with herbs and lemon, they sat down before Muriel’s hearth with his own personal deck. Between sporadic tutorials from Asra and Kipling over the years, Muriel had become fairly comfortable in the readings he did with his friends.

After he had Kipling cut the deck, he pulled a card and studied it first before laying it down before her.

“The Empress. Reversed.”

Kipling felt an unexpected lump form in her throat as she stared down at the woman relaxing on the throne. She had a wreath of flowers adorning her head much like a crown. Ivy, ferns, and wet floral life encapsulated her world. There was no question that she lorded over it all. She had everything she could ever want. Additionally, she would never stop creating the things she desired.

But reversed… it gave the illusion that the Empress was set to tumble out from her throne.

“Is there something you feel you might be neglecting?” Muriel asked, straight to the point this time.

Kipling kept her eyes on the card. She nodded as Ozy’s face came to mind.

Muriel probed a little more before letting her speak. “This thing that you’ve been neglecting… is it possible that it’s something that you want?”

Kip sighed. “Ozy and I, we had a rocky start, but we used to be so close. He was more than a friend to me. He was family.” Her hands curled into fists. “But I let my emotions get the best of me and messed all that up. I want Ozy and I to go back to what we had, but I just can’t see that happening. I don’t deserve it, Muri.”

He reached out and found her hand. Held it while she pulled herself together. When Kip’s breathing had steadied once more, Muriel said, “The Empress in this position also points to dependence, and over-reliance sometimes to the brink of smothering.”

Kip met his gaze. Muriel didn’t shy away from her defensive expression like he might have in the past. Rather he dragged his thumb over the back of her hand, as if to reinforce the fact that his candor was only meant to help.

“If you take so much energy away from reconnecting with Ozy, it has to go somewhere, right? Think about it. Is there something or someone you’re depending on a little too much? Something you keep returning to in order to stay distracted?”

Kip broke eye contact with Muriel, but she took a good look at herself and confessed. The gardener hadn’t once stopped thinking about Khleo since Ozy showed up. She only thought about Doors and going through them as means to get to Khleo. The meditation today wasn’t just a means to detach herself from her guilt with Ozy, but also her obsession with finding a way back to her best friend.

At this point, Kipling did not even fear the lioness guarding Khleo. Kip would find a way, she must find a way around it.

“Kip?”

The look in Muriel’s eyes suggested that this reading didn’t go as well as he planned. Kipling plastered on a smile and squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go.

“Thank you, Muriel. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” She stood up. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me.”

Over the rest of the afternoon, Kip picked from the lemongrass plant she kept in Muriel’s garden, washed and separated the bundles so he would have fresh tea to last him throughout the week. She watched Taro play some more with the chickens. In the evening, she sat by the hearth and wrote some poems while Muriel whittled and carved figurines. Kip ended up writing a little poem for him that she slipped under one of his carvings on the mantle when he wasn’t looking.

The day had been slow and languid. The perfect retreat and exactly what Kipling needed. But it had left her very tired. She fell asleep in front of the hearth long before Muriel called it a night. He gave up most of his furs for her and tucked her in while she was already dreaming of Doors.

#kipling the apprentice #muriel #muriel the arcana #the arcana fic #the arcana #arcana albums #kipling bronne #my writing #arcana albums: the empress

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catboymingi · 3 years

Text

daddy

navi/masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: fluff; somewhat family au

word count: 3k

warnings: i don’t think there are any!

a/n: literally this is the purest fluff ever don’t assume freaky things - also this is inspired by @latte-fairytaekwoon s super soft scenario!

sometimes the biggest gifts are ones you don’t even realise you’re giving

sometimes, you suspected that mingi loved your daughter more than he loved you. she wasn’t even his daughter, yet he would give her the entire world if he could, absolutely in love with her. and though you’d pout at him and tell him that he was your boyfriend, not hers, you secretly were just glad that he’d accepted her as part of his family so readily, even when he’d been far from ready for a child when he’d first gotten to know you. but he’d fallen for you, for you and your positive attitude and the way you managed to see something good in everything. and when he’d met your daughter - of whom you’d informed him right away, just so you both wouldn’t waste your time - he was sold, entirely in love with that little bundle of joy that had immediately found enjoyment in the zippers on his pants when you’d brought him over, your mum smiling at him brightly when she saw him coo at the much much smaller human, not even caring that if your daughter was just that tiniest bit taller she’d probably have unzipped his pants all the way up to his waist, revealing his underwear for all to see.

the first weeks after that he’d often be found watching baby tutorials on youtube, leaving him to be teased by his friends that told him they hadn’t known he was into milfs, at which he’d defended you, saying that you weren’t just a milf but an incredibly kind, strong, amazing, beautiful, impressive, inspiring-

at which point his friends had interrupted him, saying that they were just joking, but that they’d love to meet you someday, which is how you’d found yourself accidentally collecting seven uncles for your daughter without any conscious efforts from your part.

and all eight of them had stuck, the boys even offering to play babysitter when mingi and you wanted some time for yourself, wanted to go on dates or even just wanted to relax. you were grateful for all of them, but you were the most grateful for the man who’d become your boyfriend and had accepted your daughter as a part of his life just as readily as he’d accepted you. he’d tried his hardest to support you, to take as much of the father role as was okay, he’d done all he could to catch up on all the things you’d learned in those two years you’d already had her. he’d supported you in your studies - which you’d thought you’d have to put off at least until your daughter was in school, but mingi wasn’t having that, giving you the option to study as soon as you moved in together at age 20, a year after you’d started dating -, he’d supported you financially, and most of all he’d made you feel like you no longer had to handle everything by yourself. he maybe wasn’t perfect, but he tried his best, and that was as close to perfect as even a biological father could ever get.

and he stayed. even when you argued - which you did sometimes, it was inevitable with all the stress and all the insecurities both of you held - he’d never not once threatened to leave, never not once told you that he wanted to break up, never not once even hinted at it during your arguments. instead he’d waited until both of you were calm and able to think clearly, and he’d asked you if you thought it might be better if you ended things, and both of you had talked about things without upset emotions, calmly and rationally. and every single time you came to the same conclusion - you were the best thing that had ever happened to each other. so you stayed together, and over time both of you got more secure in your relationship and in being good enough for the other, even when he wasn’t your daughter’s father and even when you came in a package deal with a child from a past relationship. you made it work, you loved each other, and mingi loved your daughter just as much as you did; it didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t her biological father, because over the years he’d come to feel like she was his daughter, even if only emotionally. it didn’t matter much to him.

your daughter loved mingi, too. adored him, adored the sweet giant that had her win all the fights in kindergarten by just threatening to get him, because his height and his deep voice were enough to scare off the kids that didn’t know that he’d happily bought himself princess-adjacent clothes so he could play royal tea party with her, that only knew how intimidating he looked. he made sure she never had to miss anything, and it seemed like she never did.

“will daddy be here soon?”, she asked on her seventh birthday, though, surprising you a little because she hadn’t asked about her father ever since you’d told her, once you deemed her old enough to know, that things hadn’t worked out with her father, but that you hoped that mingi, who’d been your boyfriend since she was two, could be enough for her. it was obvious he loved her, absolutely adored her, so it was not a matter of him accepting her - she’d just have to accept him as the man in your life, too. and she did seem to, still seemed to even after she knew that he wasn’t her actual father, which was why asking about her father more than a year after she’d last mentioned him striked you as especially odd. it worried you a little, to be honest, made you sad to feel like you couldn’t give her what she wanted for her birthday, couldn’t have her daddy be there with her.

“no, i don’t think he’s coming at all, darling”, you told her, patting her head softly, trying to comfort her.

“who’s not coming?”, your boyfriend (who had taken the day off because he couldn’t miss his little gem’s birthday, absolutely not) asked, having overheard the last part of the conversation from when he passed by in the hallway, and now his party hat-clad head was poking into the living room curiously.

“you lied!”, your daughter told you accusingly, “daddy’s already here!”

the emotions both you and mingi experienced in that moment could not be put into words. you were so indescribably happy about this, happier than you ever thought you’d be, because she’d accepted the man that had been there for you since you were nineteen and still struggling to figure out how to deal with the whole teen mum thing as a part of your family, a real part of it.

and mingi? he was proud, mostly. happy, touched, but mainly proud. proud that he’d managed to make her feel as loved, as appreciated and as important as a biological parent would have. proud that he’d been doing a good enough job at taking care of his little family for your daughter to fully accept him. proud that she’d made this choice, and it was a choice, because she knew he wasn’t her biological father, she was old enough to understand this, old enough to understand that technically, he wasn’t her daddy. but now he was.

“oh, you meant mingi?”, unable to hide the surprise in your voice as you tried to play it off as if it was no big deal despite the way your heart was racing.

“of course, i don’t have another daddy”, she just explained, then got up from the sofa to run over towards him who was now fully in the door frame, holding out his arms to catch her little form because from the way she was running he could just tell she was going to jump into his arms.

“happy birthday, princess”, mingi said after he’d peppered her little glitter-covered face in kisses, having to stop himself from ruffling her beautifully braided, tiara-adorned hair because she’d probably be angry if he ruined her hairstyle.

“why are you home?”, she asked, knowing that he was usually at work at this time, when she came back from school.

“i had to cook my princess a birthday meal”, he informed her, bragging a little by calling it a meal when it was really just a huge portion of her favourite instant ramen and a few cups of mug cake - which he’d covered in sprinkles, the most cooking he’d actually done by himself without a recipe.

“don’t get your hopes up”, you teased him by warning your daughter, “you know he’s not good at cooking.”

“but daddy tried! that’s what counts”, she insisted, and there it was again, that little word that made his heart skip a beat or seven when she said it. still, he wanted to be sure that she didn’t feel pressured to call him dad if she didn’t feel comfortable with it, if she didn’t want to.

“you know you don’t have to call me dad, right, princess? i’ll love you just as much if you just call me mingi.”

“do you not want to be my dad?”, big round eyes staring at his face insecurely, scared she wasn’t good enough because she wasn’t biologically his, and he immediately went to reassure her, because he couldn’t accept it if she even for a second doubted how much he wanted her to see him as her dad.

“no, princess, i want to, don’t worry! you’re my little girl, have been ever since i saw your cute little face for the first time. but i know i’m not actually your father, so i don’t want to take that spot if you don’t want me to, you know? just in case you’d rather have a real dad.”

“you are a real dad”, she shut him down, little hands clinging onto his shirt tightly as she continued.

“you’ve always been with mommy, and you bring me to school every single morning and cut my sandwiches into silly shapes” - an art he’d secretly practiced whenever he’d had the time - “and you cuddle me when i’m sad and protect me from the closet monster. if that’s not what makes you a real dad then i don’t need a real dad.”

these words were incredibly serious for a seven-year-old, but they came from the heart, and they left both you and mingi furiously blinking away the tears that were threatening to spill.

“thank you”, he told her, even though she didn’t fully realise why yet. she didn’t fully realise just how much these words meant to you two. in all honesty, she hadn’t thought about it much, it had kind of been obvious to her that mingi was her dad - he’d acted like it ever since she could remember and probably longer.

“stop crying, daddy”, she ordered him in reply, because he’d apparently not been fast enough at blinking his tears away, “it’s my birthday so you’re not allowed to cry.”

the sternness in her little voice made him laugh, her shaking in his arms as his body vibrated, both her and you quickly joining in on his laughter, so that the somewhat serious atmosphere returned to one of bubbliness and excitement.

“i want my cake now” was her next order, telling mingi, her noble steed, to bring her to the kitchen, which he immediately did, no hesitation, no complaints even when she used his ears as the reins, pulling on them to urge him to move faster.

“you get to pick which one you want, that’s why there’s no candle yet”, you explained once in the kitchen, your boyfriend proudly showing off the mug cakes he’d made and maybe talking about himself in third person so he could call himself her daddy, though if you’d comment on it he’d without a doubt deny it.

she picked the one with the most sprinkles - you swore if you hadn’t been there when she’d been conceived you wouldn’t be able to say without a doubt that mingi wasn’t her dad, because by now she had more of him than she had of you -, eyes shining brightly when he lit the candle for her, blowing it out with way more force than was needed for a single candle, but it was just so incredibly adorable that you of course had to clap for her to show her how proud you were of her birthday candle blowing skills.

“let’s eat, shall we?”, and only because it was her birthday was she allowed to start with the mug cake rather than the actual meal, eating it at a speed that had you worried she’d get a bellyache later.

and as if mingi could read your thoughts he asked her to eat a little slower, so she’d be able to enjoy it longer and so her upset tummy wouldn’t ruin her birthday. he really did act like her father, having learned all the essentials about raising children in the time you’d allowed him in your life already. it only made you love him more.

and you swore your love for him couldn’t have gotten bigger when soon after he leaned in to you, mouth close to your ear to ask a question he’d secretly wondered about forever now, but had never dared to bring up because he didn’t think your daughter would ever want it.

“do you think she’d let me adopt her?”, your love asked you quietly, though apparently not quiet enough for her not to hear.

“you could do that? even though i’m already big?”

“if your mommy lets me then i could do that. you’d just have to want it, too”, smiling across the table at her chocolate-covered face as she looked at him curiously.

“and then you’d be my dad for everyone else too?”, and the rest of her mug cake was momentarily neglected as her bright, hopeful eyes looked at him, excited about the prospect of being able to show him off as her dad; because while he most definitely was her dad to her she wanted him to be her official dad, to be her dad in a way no one could argue with.

“yup. i’ll even still be your dad if your mommy doesn’t like me anymore.”

“don’t say that”, you told mingi, not even wanting to imagine a day where you’d not be with him anymore, the thought alone enough to make you sad.

and mingi seemed to notice that, the little bit of residual insecurity about him not actually wanting to stay with you long-term, so he added on: “though i won’t make it that easy for her. i’m going to stay with you two unless she drags me out by the ear. which she won’t, because she can’t reach my ears”, joking only so your daughter wouldn’t notice how he was trying to reassure you that he didn’t plan on leaving, and especially not if he did adopt your little gem.

“when can you start adopting me?”, the little girl asked, her birthday seemingly entirely forgotten about because this was so much better.

“i’ll have to talk to mommy about it, but we can do that tonight after we brought you to bed, and then we can see what we need to do. does that sound okay?”, a question directed at both her and you, to which you were the one to answer.

“that sounds perfect.”

“you have to say yes because it’s my birthday”, a stern little voice told you, causing yet another bright smile to appear on both you and your boyfriend’s faces.

“i’ll keep that in mind. want to get your presents now? and we can eat the ramen afterwards.”

her small head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, tiara almost falling off, and then she was running to the living room, looking like a little bunny because her step was so bouncing that she might as well have hobbled there.

“which one is daddy’s?”, she asked, carefully examining the two presents - one big, one small - to figure it out for herself, though without success.

“we got both of them together”, he explained while you pouted at her, because not only did your boyfriend like your daughter more than he liked you, no, your daughter also liked your boyfriend more than she liked you. what an unfair fate.

“i’ll start with the big one!”, ripping at the paper with an enthusiasm you could only wish she’d ever have when it came to her homework, quickly revealing a princess dollhouse - dollcastle? -, which made her squeal in excitement.

“this is so cool! thank you, thank you!”, one of her tiny arms wrapping around one of your and one of mingi’s thighs, pulling you into a kind of awkward but incredibly precious group hug.

“we have another one, angel”, you reminded her, which caused her energy to be focused back on opening the second package, though you told her to be careful with that one because if she wasn’t she might break the present, the only warning that worked as she now carefully unwrapped it.

“what’s this?”, holding up what looked like a reading exercise to her with a bewildered expression, and maybe it was a reading exercise, but an amazing one.

“read what it says”, smiling down at her with your love’s arm around your waist as he watched her just as fondly as you did.

“amusement park?”, she asked, her head shooting up as soon as she’d made out the most important words, and when you nodded she placed the tickets back in the box, with all the self control she held in her little body, before she started jumping up and down excitedly, grabbing one of each of you’s hands as she tried to get you to jump along.

“amusement park with mommy and daddy! this is the best present in the world!”, little hands clapping excitedly as she smiled up at you, and in that moment it seemed like she had more energy in her significantly smaller form than both you and mingi probably held combined.

little did she know though that no present you could ever get her would be better than the one she’d given you today.

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a-la-la-llama · 4 years

Text

The One Where Marinette Meets Her 2nd Wayne #6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Panic. Panic wasn’t an uncommon feeling but one that was not welcomed. She had felt it everyday in Paris. The alarms with their high pitched screeches alerting everyone of the danger. That it was time for their heroes’ to come out and save the day like every time beforehand. Akuma alarms were something she was all for but the sounds they made terrified Marinette to her core. Yet, this wasn’t what was causing her to freak out. No, it was something else entirely but the same amount of panic.

Marinette was running late to school. Her first day of school.

You would think she would have kicked the habit but Marinette still couldn’t get her life together enough to wake up with her alarm.

‘Maybe she should change the ringtone to an akuma alarm? That would surely get her out of bed.”, she thought while hopping down the sidewalk pulling her sock up.

Once secured just below her knee, Marinette took off into a sprint towards her school.

‘If I changed it into an akuma alarm I might transform and jump out my window half-asleep.’, she reasoned with herself.

Slowing her speed down to a fast walk, Marinette started her way towards her first class. She had just toured this god-forsaken building and couldn’t remember for the life of her where to go! Everything looked so different with students now in the hallways, most taller than her. Seriously, what did people in America eat? Everyone looked like they grew like weeds.

Focus! She stared at her schedule shuffling her feet to ensure she didn’t trip. Shifting her gaze just above the paper to avoid bodies coming towards her Marinette began to commit it to memory. There must have been a crowd because she got stuck behind people not walking and had to maneuver her way past all of them. What she didn’t realize was that they were surrounding someone. Then she walked straight into that someone.

///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~///~

Damian was anything but a ‘happy camper’ this morning. Jon had left that summer on some out of this world mission for who knows how long. His father no longer wanted him to attend the school the two had previously gone to and transferred him to one closer to home. It was his first year of high school and to add to it, he was given the task of babysitting one of Selina’s pets. So no, he was not looking forward to this school year. As if it couldn't get worse, many of Gotham’s Academy's students knew of his name and decided that the best way to interact was to gawk. Seriously, Damian was only rich; it's not like he was an idol or something. He was trudging his way to his class when he felt something ram straight into his back.

‘Breath. Father would be disappointed if you snapped at a fellow student on the first day’, he told himself. Luckily, the person who ran into him spoke before he could insult her.

Marinette was panicking. Again! Isn't she carrying the goddess of luck in her backpack? Why is her life so unlucky? Not only did she bump into someone, they were super tall compared to her. They were also the person the crowd had been surrounding. Which in turn meant they were important. So what did Marinette do?

“Je suis vraiment désolé monsieur! Je ne voulais pas faire ça, mais je dois y aller!”, she rushed out before walking past him.

( Translation: I'm very sorry sir! I didn't mean to do that, but I must get going! )

Why did she speak in French! Stupid fight or flight instincts making her switch to her native language. Hopefully no one paid attention and wouldn’t question her on it. Cover story, cover story, think of your cover story. Oh who was she kidding, Marinette couldn’t lie to save her life!

She calmed down before entering the classroom. The desks were the standard science class tables and you were supposed to sit with a partner much like Ms. Mendeleive’s class back in Paris. Most students already knew others from previous grades so it would be easier for her to stay out of peoples ways for now. Her mind drifted back to Paris as she claimed an empty seat. They would have already started school last week. Could they be struggling on the information? Hawkmoth interrupted a lot of school days with his akuma’s. Then again, it was only Ms. Bustier’s class that ever ran off then followed the school's protocols. Alya who would risk anything for the scoop. Lila or Cholé would run because they would be the main targets. Her and Adrien would have run to transform and defeat them.

Marinette knew the Kwami magic protected their identity but she still kicked herself for not recognizing it until Adrien detransformed in front of her. He was very upset that she took his ring without giving him her identity. Adrien eventually understood that as Grand Guardian it would be a liability.

The bell ringing drew her back to reality as she turned back to what the teacher was saying.

“ Good morning, everyone! I’m Ms. Jones and I’ll be your Pre-AP Biology teacher this year. I’ll call roll while you guys get out your science journals! Be sure to say ‘here’ when I say your name.”, she explained.

Marinette pulled her black bag onto her lap and smiled as she took out the 3-subject spiral. The Kwami’s had encouraged her to make a bag to carry the box back in Paris. It was a simple backpack but had the symbol for each Kwami. Tikki explained the symbols were forms of blessings. Like how Master Fu’s box actually represented prosperity in Chinese culture. Each Kwami symbol gave her blessings, like good luck and protection with Tikki and Wayzz. It even had a false bottom where the condensed version of her Ladybug egg fit. Neither she nor the kwami’s wanted to leave it at the apartment all day. So she sewed some extra material to cover it and put all her school supplies on top. Setting it back down under her desk, she flipped to the first page of her journal. She said here when her name was called and tuned out until Ms. Jones started speaking again.

“Now that I have taken attendance, feel free to talk to your neighbor while I hand out this year's syllabus! These will be your seats until the end of the six-weeks.”, the teacher announced. This would have been fine for Marinette if it wasn’t for who decided to sit next to her. She turned in her seat to meet the boy from the hallway.

“Je m'appelle Damian. Ravi de vous rencontrer.”, he said. In French.

“I can speak English. My name is Marinette, again sorry for running into you! There were just so many people, some weren’t even moving and I wasn’t paying attention and I am rambling. Sorry.”, she muttered with a shy smile at the end.

“It’s quite alright. May I ask what caused the language change? Usually I make the mistake when I am passionate about something. Though, I don’t think you are passionate about apologizing.”, Damian asked.

This could go two ways. She could admit she was terrified of him or play it cool and stick to her backstory?

The latter of the two for sure!

“This is my first time in Amer- real school! I have been homeschooled until now. I got nervous about what I was supposed to say, overthinked, and reverted to my first language.”, Marinette explained.

He let out a hum as the teacher put the syllabus on their desk with information on the class, tutorials, and how to contact her. They were told to glue or tape it onto the first page.

“So, your language trigger is the feeling of being overwhelmed. How many do you know?”, he asked.

“I guess you could say that. For sure French, English, and Mandarin. I learned the basics of Japanese and Vietnamese for old acquaintances. Oh, and Italian because of my grandmother!”, she exclaimed. The Guardian language couldn’t be mentioned but that made seven.

That’s what they did in their free time. The two talked about everything they knew and had learned. Turns out they both were ahead than normal students, but Marinette knew she was anything but normal. They actually had five of the seven classes together. Neither he or she knew sign-language so that was deemed a fun class to Marinette. American school was not as bad as Marinette had thought it would be as she walked to work.

She tied her apron on before starting her task of meeting each plant's needs. The Daisies were already complaining about how thirsty they were and begged to be water.

“Ah, Hello Mari-gold! Wasn’t today your first day of school?”, Ivy questioned.

Marinette grabbed the water mister, “Yup!”

‘Well, how was it? Harley and Selina would want to know.”, she continued.

“Hmm. It was great! The clubs will be opening in two weeks so I plan to join an art one. Do we have more plant food in the back?”, Marinette said.

“Yes, just behind flower pots. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”, answered Ivy.

“I think I’ll have to start packing lunch, however. I know it’s an academy but the cafeteria food is still terrible.”, she joked.

“Yeah, I think it’s just a school thing. Oh, that reminds me, Harley wants to bake more of those cookies with you. I quote, ‘I would totally adopt her if we had more room at our place just for cookies.’ She has a serious love of chocolate chips!”, sighed out Ivy.

“While the thought is nice, I have to decline the adoption. How does Friday sound?”, Marinette laughed.

“Perfect!”

Guess What! I actually have the outline for this story and how it will end and everything! Now I just have to write it all... T . T

Tag List

@legallyspawned @chocolate1721 @spartanxhunterx @dreamykitty25 @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @loveswifi @amayakans @jeptwin @thewonderlandartist @buticaaba @books-and-left-behind-journals @gigibnl @aegyobutpsycho2 @crazylittlemunchkin @maribat-is-lifeblood @myazael @abrx2002 @pawsitivelymiraculous @silvergold-swirl @chaos-inperson @marichatcameback @olynix @ash-amg @elmokingkong @kitsunebell @yin-390

#maribat #The One Where Marinette

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

distracted art appreciation | Ethan Ramsey x MC

Summary: It takes him fifty-six days in the jungle to get over her. Or, well, so he thought.

WC: 3k+

Warnings: N*FW

She’s been staring at the same painting for the past fourteen minutes.

Though, she uses the term ‘painting’ loosely -- whatever she’s looking at is made of twisted straw wrappers and crumbled pages of an IKEA manual. The placard next to the work features phrases like ‘a work of action’ and ‘an introspection into rampant consumerism.’ To her (admittedly untrained) eye, it looks like someone dumped a trashcan over a canvas and spray-painted it with viscera and glitter. Taking another sip of her wine, she glances down at her phone to see that only another minute has passed.

“Two more hours,” Sloane mutters to herself, hopelessly wishing again for time to speed up.

It’s not that she isn’t happy for Kyra, who started out with painting tutorials on YouTube and worked up to a modest following in Boston’s art community, which led her here to her first gallery show. She was excited for the first hour, sticking close to her friend as Kyra chatted with fellow artists about mediums and superatism and juxtaposition and a hundred other terms Sloane didn’t understand. But as conversations flowed, Kyra’s nerves settled down, and she waved Sloane off to go get some air and peruse the other artwork.

Which is how she came to standing in front of The Shopper’s Sediment, waiting for the event to end so she can help Kyra haul her paintings back down the block to her car.

The pleas for company that Sloane sent to the group chat have gone unanswered; they’re probably all still out at the new fantasy-themed bar that she skipped on to be a good friend who keeps her promises.

She’s so concentrated on the ugly artwork that she doesn’t realize there’s a person standing beside her. In fact, she only realizes they’re even there when she lifts her wine glass and ends up whacking them in the side with her elbow.

“Oh, my god! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, I--” she swallows back the rest of her panicked apology.

Ethan smirks down at her. His hand is clasped around her offending elbow.

“It’s all right. I won’t be pressing charges.”

“Thanks,” she says around the dumb grin on her face.

She admires the cut of the jacket he’s wearing; it’s some sort of tweed fabric with patches on the elbows, as if he’s just stepped down from behind a podium at Boston U. For a long moment, they stare at each other, and then down at his hand, still wrapped around her arm. He yanks his hand back as if he’s been burned; the dumb grin falls from her face.

“Um,” she hides the wince that wants to form, “why are… sorry, what are you doing here?”

“I missed out on a few First Fridays while I was away,” he explains. “Besides, Les Mis is running through the fourteenth, and I’ve seen enough of it for a lifetime. I thought I’d peruse the galleries tonight instead.” Taking a drink from the glass in his other hand, he glances about the room. “And you?”

Sloane tips her head in Kyra’s direction, explaining her role as both a social crutch and moving help. An awkward silence follows her words; she switches her glass from one hand to the other, mentally cursing at herself for fidgeting.

She’s a grown-ass woman! There’s no need for her to fold like a goddamn lawn chair around the man next to her. They’re both adults. They can interact in a public place without acting like idiots.

“Well,” Ethan starts, and then pauses to clear his throat. “You heard all about what I was doing down in Colombia, but I’m… curious. What did you do for the two months I was gone? Besides breaking up bar fights for Reggie.”

“Worked,” she answers with a smile. “And worried, of course.”

He quirks an eyebrow up at her response. “About you,” she clarifies.

“You didn’t need to.”

“I know. But I did anyway.” A smile flickers across his face at her admission. “I kept a close eye on the weather conditions down there. You were there during one of the wettest seasons on record. And now I find out that you were wearing a leather jacket the entire time for protection? Something about that just doesn’t add up. And you know what I think? I think you bought it in Bogota before your return flight, so you could come back with some new… down-to-earth vibe.”

That small smile of his grows; the sight of it makes something flutter in her throat.

“You’re not considering the bigger picture,” he says.

“Which is?”

“How I look in it.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Only when they’re yours.”

Sloane makes a show of taking a drink, if only to hide the blush that’s likely (most definitely) coloring her cheeks. She’s bedded the man twice, yet he can turn her into a mess with a minute of flirting. If hope is the thing with feathers, as Dickinson wrote, it’s flown well beyond her reach now.

“In the interest of continuing our, for a lack of a better term, in vino veritas,” he says, “I… worried about you, too.”

The admission causes her to perk up.

“What for?”

“I chose a poor time to leave. Everything was in an upheaval, with Naveen and Harper and I moving positions, and you having won your trial, and then you were awarded the position on the team, and…” he trails off, brow furrowing as he attempts to corral his rambling. “Naveen told me about Doctor Olsen, about how he tried to sabotage your standing.” At his side, his hand clenches into a fist. “And if you let that slide by, what else were you holding back from me?”

“I’ve dealt with bigger snakes than him. You don’t need to worry about--”

“But I did,” he cuts her off. “The entire time I was gone. All fifty-six days.” His eyes drop from hers, going instead to his glass and feigning interest in it. “Some reset, hmm?”

She should walk away; bid her goodbyes and return to Kyra’s side, let him walk out the door and move onto the next gallery. Let him have his reset. But, then again, she’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

So, instead, she tucks her arm up into his. Her offending elbow nudges his side.

“Come on. I’m tired of staring at this.”

Ethan gives the piece a look over his shoulder as they continue into the space. “It is a rather… visually-challenging take on mixed media.”

“See? I’ve circled this place four times and don’t understand what I’m supposed to be looking at. You’re just the man I need.”

“Then, by all means, lead on.”

By the near-end of their excursion through the gallery, Sloane learns more art terms than she did in the one art history class she mistakenly took in undergrad. The one that she barely passed, though she doesn’t mention that particular detail when Ethan asks.

Art is something she appreciates as one would appreciate good food -- she doesn’t have to know every ingredient in it to enjoy the taste. Ethan, as he is inclined to do, argues against her logic, claiming that knowledge behind every brush stroke (and, thus, every pinch of minced garlic, if we’re using food as a comparison, he added with a sigh) makes the artwork that much more meaningful (and, thus, tastier).

“It’s a moving piece that calls back to the Impressionist period,” he tells her, as if the third time’s the charm, and suddenly she’ll be awestruck by the boring landscape before them.

“It looks like something that would be bolted above the bed at a Best Western.”

He barks out a laugh at her comment, quickly smothering it when it draws attention from the other art patrons. They move away from the Monet copycat and down a long hallway, where a selection of lackluster acrylic paintings hang in a row. Sloane can feel her eyes glaze over as she examines them.

It’s no wonder that there’s no one near this end of the gallery. The conversations that reach them are muffled, just the droning buzz of voices. Not even the contemporary jazz music is piped down this far, leaving only the creaking floorboards and their own footsteps to accompany them. They reach the end of the hall, where a little table holds a handful of empty plates and glasses, abandoned by those that came before them.

Above the table is a painting of a woman. Draped around her shoulders is a red robe, patterned with messy strokes of amber-colored flowers. Her short, dark curls are pinned back, showing off the strong line of her jaw and the soft contour of her lips. Her right hand is raised, her fingers curled towards herself, as if beckoning to someone out of frame. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted up as she waits for her kiss.

“She’s hot,” Sloane blurts out.

Ethan raises an eyebrow at her blunt summary of the artwork, though he concedes with a nod. “She is rather lovely.”

“It’s kind of weird, though,” she steps closer and scans the woman’s face. “She reminds me of a woman I went on a date with.”

“Oh. When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he repeats, but his tone is different this time.

Sloane looks him over, unable to suppress her grin. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he says, then grimaces. “Maybe. Yes. Of course I am.”

“You shouldn’t be. Her name is Reese -- she’s a pediatric surgeon over at Children’s. Very attractive, great work ethic, good kisser, cute dog.”

“I fail to see how you reciting all of her best qualities is preventing me from feeling jeal--”

“Simple,” she interrupts. “No spark.”

“Not one?”

Sloane tips her head from side to side, pursing her lips as she considers. “Okay, maybe a little one. Not enough for a fire, though.”

The quiet of the hallway hovers between them as they gaze up at the painting. The placard hanging next to it lists the artist and the artwork’s title: la voglia.

“Is that Italian?”

“It means ‘the wanting.’” He tips back his glass and swallows the last of his wine. Liquid courage, and all that. “What about… us?”

“Hmm?” The question pulls her from her study of the painting.

“What was our ‘spark’ level?”

“Oh, we were a bonfire.”

“I see,” he says, his eyes blazing as he watches her. Sloane bites down on her bottom lip. His gaze flickers down to watch the movement; the flame that’s been simmering in her stomach all evening ignites under the attention.

“Did you want to kiss me?” she asks. “The other night at Donahue’s?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to kiss me now?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you would.”

The loud clink of his glass meeting the table is lost under the sound of his footsteps crossing the few feet between them. His hands come up to frame her face and his lips crash against hers. Her glass smacks against the table from where she hastily drops it; wine sloshes and drips down onto the floor. Sloane ignores the mess in favor of grabbing any part of him she can reach and pulling him close. Ethan breaks the kiss to surface for air, moving his hands to her waist; she adjusts her grip to his tie and yanks him down for another kiss, tilting her head to deepen it. Pleasure hums through her as she teases his lips to open for her, sweeping her tongue against his own.

Her back hits the wall; funny, because she doesn’t recall moving at all. The rough brick catches at her blouse and hair as she tilts her head up and arches her back, offering more of herself for him to explore.

“Sloane,” he hisses, trailing Syrah-soaked kisses along her throat and up behind her ear. He nips at the soft skin there, the marks hidden behind the curtain of her hair that he wraps around his hand and tugs. The moan tumbles out of her before she can swallow it down. “I can’t decide what I missed more,” he says with a smirk. “Your touch, or those sweet noises you make for me.”

“Can I tell you what I missed most?”

He pulls back to look down at her, blue eyes alight with arousal. “I’m all ears.”

Flashing a smug grin, she shifts to put her leg between both of his and brings it up as high as her skirt will allow. She rubs her knee against his thigh, and then higher, smirking when he growls out her name.

“That,” she tells him.

Ethan shakes his head at her as he grabs the offending leg and wraps it around his hip. She retaliates by hauling him closer and rolling her hips up to tease him.

“Sloane--”

“Yes?”

“We can’t… not here. Someone could come down the hallway any moment.”

“I know,” she purrs, running her nails through his beard, pleased at his sharp inhale. “We should go somewhere more private.”

“We… my apartment, it’s not too--”

“I’m not sitting through that forty-minute taxi ride you call a commute. I can’t wait.” She brings her hand down and presses it against the swell of his visible arousal. He emits a helpless groan at her touch. “And neither can you.”

“What do you have in mind, then?”

Her only response is another grin that he meets with a look of worried confusion. She decides that she likes the look, especially when she gets to watch the understanding dawn on his face as she guides him to the open door of a nearby stockroom.

Sloane kicks the door closed and locks it behind them, smacking Ethan’s hand away from the lightswitch. Warm light from the street lamps outside pours down out of a high window, diffused with the multicolored strobes of the nightclub across the alley. Shelves of cleaning supplies crowd in next to a pile of stanchions and a stack of easels. The bass from next door thrums along the brick walls, rattling the glassware that’s tucked away in the cabinets. The countertop underneath them glows red from the club lights.

Ethan picks her up easily and sets her on the counter. The laminate is cool under her heated skin, causing a shiver to course through her. His hand curves around her throat, his thumb brushing along her bottom lip. His breath turns ragged when Sloane turns her head in his hold and takes his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the digit before releasing him with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Let me see more of you.”

She reaches down and untucks her blouse while he attacks the pearl buttons, popping them open and pushing the cloth from her shoulders, chuckling at her threat of injury should he ruin her shirt. The cool air of the stockroom is soon replaced by his warm breath as he drags kisses down her chest; unhurried and uncaring of her complaints as he takes his sweet time.

“Ethan--” the rest of her complaint is lost to time as his mouth closes over the lacey fabric of her bra. His tongue traces the peak of her nipple, over one breast and then the other. She drags her nails through his hair and grips the strands tight, begging him to never stop kissing her.

In true fashion, he does stop and flashes her a self-satisfied smirk before dropping to his knees. Hauling her closer, he shoves her skirt up, the fabric bunching around her waist. She waits with bated breath, trembling slightly with anticipation, so sure that he won’t bother to tease her now, not when she’s--

“You bastard,” she croaks out when he starts further south than she wants.

That smarmy chuckle of his is somehow deeper than the nightclub’s bass; he ignores her insult and continues tracing wet kisses along the curve of her leg. His beard scratches at her knee as he makes his way up, higher and higher, until he’s so close that the puff of his breath is nearly enough to set her off.

“You’re one to talk,” he says, tilting his chin to let his beard scrape at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “If I’d known you weren’t wearing anything under this skirt, we would have been here hours ago.”

She opens her mouth to serve him something snarky right back, but he chooses then to press the flat of his tongue against her and lick a long stripe up her sex. The noise that escapes her isn’t anything close to the English language. With one hand holding her leg up to keep them spread, he uses his other to slide two fingers into her wet heat. The pace he sets is punishing; Sloane barely manages to reach up and grab at the cabinet handles behind her head, holding on for dear life. The warm heat in her belly flows outward into her limbs, burning through her veins; her hips make aborted little thrusts into his mouth as his tongue works her open.

“Oh, god, oh -- god, Ethan!” she cries out. Then his thumb finds her clit and she’s a goner. Her legs snap closed, holding him there as she rides out the wave of her orgasm. Escaping from her hold, he gets to his feet and steps between her splayed legs. He cups her chin and coaxes her up to meet him for a kiss.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Sloane works at his belt buckle, the leather creaking under her grip as she yanks it from the loops and throws it to the ground.

“I don’t think you needed to--”

“Shut up,” she orders, covering her mouth with his. For once, he listens, kissing the fuck out of her while she pops the button on his pants and dips her hand inside his underwear. His breath catches and his head drops to her bare shoulder, his hips thrusting up into her touch. Heady pants sound against her ear, spurring her on.

The hand not splayed against the cabinet above her head disappears between her legs and palms her sex, rubbing circles against her there. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice hoarse, “god, touch me.”

“Do I…” he starts, then stops, choking back a groan as her wrist gives a little twist. “Do we need…?”

Through the thick fog of oxytocin clouding her brain, Sloane catches on to his fumbling attempts. To give him the chance to form a coherent thought, she lets go of his cock, busying her hands by skimming them up his body and underneath the button-down he still wears.

“I presume you got every test in the book before being let back into the country,” she says. “And my IUD is still in working order. And, besides that, I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

He shifts to look down into her eyes. By the primal glaze covering his own, it’s obvious to her that the notion pleases him.

“Not even with the surgeon with the great work ethic and the cute dog?”

Stretching up, she captures his lips with her own -- mostly to shut him up again, having found the technique rather effective.

“Like I told you: no spark. Now, if you can get over your jealous streak and--”

“I’m not jealous,” he protests while still grabbing her knees and tugging her that much closer.

“You so totally are,” she laughs as she wraps her legs around his hips. Her knuckles scrape against the cabinet when he forces her hands up beside her head; she links her fingers through his, holding him there.

“Not anymore.” A wolfish grin spreads across his face before he drives into her.

Any chance of continuing their banter is lost to the heat between them. His hips crash down into hers; her legs quake around his. Their chests heave with every breath, their kisses little more than frenzied brushes as the flare of pleasure grows and grows, burning white-hot under their skin.

Ethan drops one hand to where they’re joined and passes once, then twice over her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her body arches as the delicious, surprising heat of her orgasm courses through her. Unable to withstand the rhythmic clenching of her, he follows, muffling his shout by burying his face against her throat.

“How was that?” he asks once the ability of speech returns. Despite the sweaty mess of each other they’ve made, he nuzzles close, sighing when she wraps her arms around him.

“A house fire.”

Though it defies all laws of medicine and the universe, she can somehow hear the frown of consideration he wears.

“I was thinking forest.”

“Okay,” she concedes. “That works too.”

From somewhere in the dark room comes a buzzing sound. Before she can seriously consider whether or not her orgasm did knock her hearing out-of-whack, Ethan scoops her phone up from the floor.

A stack of missed texts from Kyra fills up her screen:

6:28 pm: come back there’s a hot girl I want you to see

6:28 pm: she’s a sculptor and welds and has tattoos please i’m weak

6:43 pm: where did you gooo

7:02 pm: if you left because of the creepo photographer let me know and I’ll kick his ass

7:04 pm: creepo says he never saw you which i DO NOT believe considering how hot you look tonight

7:39 pm: Lmao nvm

7:39 pm: you are the least subtle person i know but no worries i’ve got your back

7:40 pm: I trust that doctor ramsey can take care of your front ;)

8:24 pm: Devon the hot welder you missed out on meeting is going to help me w paintings and then take me out for a drink. make good choices!! text if you need anything love you

“What are those little pictographs next to her name?”

Sloane glances down at the tiny flexing bicep and pink heart next to Kyra’s name and rolls her eyes.

“This grumpy, outdated persona of yours can only go on for so long, you know. You did grow up during the birth of AOL and AIM. You’re not a Luddite.” She hops down from the counter and taps out a reply to her friend before buttoning up her blouse. “Besides, you know it’s rude to look at people’s messages, right?”

A red flush returns to his cheeks, though he tries to hide it by crossing the room to switch on the light and searching for his belt.

“Well, I had to make sure it wasn’t the pediatric surgeon, offering to take you out again.”

Sloane lets out a snort, her attention on her reflection in the mirror propped up against the back wall. “We both know by now that there’s only one persistent, albeit indecisive and general pain-in-the-ass doctor that has my attention.”

Ethan, having finished putting himself together, approaches her from behind. His hands slip in underneath her hair to fix her collar. She catches his eye in their reflection; he drops a kiss against her temple.

“Come home with me.”

“That would go against all of those parameters you set up,” she reminds him.

“I know. So did this.” If his tone is a little lost, a little unsure, she doesn’t mention it. “Come home with me,” he repeats.

“Okay.”

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

Hello, and welcome back to the sin bin.

Please no art lectures. Everything in this was either prior knowledge, googled to the best of my ability, or from recalling friends who were art majors in college bitch about said major. The painting of the woman they discuss is based off of Albert von Keller’s Anticipation. (Sloane’s right; she’s hot.)

Also, if anyone can tell me if I used the correct ‘desire’ in Italian, please let me know. I couldn’t find anything that said I should use la brama instead of la voglia, so I used the latter. (special thank you to @uncagedwings for the vocab assist!)

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #choices #f: distracted art appreciation #Kaila writes things #this story is like half trashing fictional art and half sex #hope that's somebody's cup of tea

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

Text

how a life can move from the darkness [2/?]

|1|

Brief summary before the cut: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Frieda’s first real visit, where she was actually visiting her sister, not being their babysitter, ended with orders for them to invest in a pet. She didn’t phrase it particularly demandingly. She only said it once, and didn’t bring it up the rest of the night. She barely raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the stove.

She’d walked in on them during one of their mutual wall/ceiling viewing parties.

It was an order.

“No dogs.”

“Okay.”

“Or cats.”

“Okay.”

“Or ferrets.”

“Okay.”

Eren pulled his jacket tighter. The zipper was broken. He should have worn a sweatshirt. He walked down the sidewalk, foot hitting every crack and head wondering if his mom would have preferred a broken back to a broken heart. “Nothing that can get out and crawl around the apartment.”

Historia, behind the personal barrier that used to be the map to the pet store, said, “Eren, we’re getting a fish.”

“Oh,” Eren said. “Okay.” Pause. “Just one?”

“Do you want more than one?”

Eren wasn’t sure he wanted one. He wasn’t sure he wanted one of anything else, either. He mostly wanted Historia’s sister to worry less. He felt like he had two moms these days, and he was letting down both of them. “I… do fish get lonely?”

“Don’t know.”

That made two of them.

An hour, a very talkative employee, and five pamphlets later, Eren still didn’t have an answer to his question, and knew more about nitrate cycles than high school or Armin had ever bothered with. He also found out that the same yearly school field trip to the aquarium each year had taught him nothing about aquariums.

Pumps, vacuums, filters, water treatments, thermometers. Food. Tanks bigger than he could lift.

Armin would have loved this.

One text and he’d probably explain exactly what they wanted and what kind of fish to look for better than the sales guy, and ask if they wanted him to come help out in person with the selections. The trip wouldn’t be giving Eren a headache and he wouldn’t have visions of all the fish they were going to fail dancing in his head.

Armin wasn’t there, and Eren would have to read one of the hundreds of texts from him to find out if there was even a chance of changing that in this reality. Without hating himself so much he couldn’t breathe.

Historia was in the same leaky boat he was, so by the time the sales guy let them go with instructions to look around the store and figure out what kind of aquarium they’d like, Eren really had no idea why they were getting a fish. Besides the merit points from a successful purchase. If they pulled this off without anything dying, it would be like a giant neon sign announcing to the world that they were sort of functional.

The neon sign would not be going near the fish, because that screwed with the lighting, and that, according to the midpoint of their free lecture, would be bad.

“Did you have a breed in mind?” he asked Historia. The damp, weighty smell surrounding them made him feel like he was underwater and drowning. “Or a color?”

“You can pick,” Historia said.

Eren hadn’t met their new fish yet, but he felt sorry for it.

One of them had to put some kind of executive effort into this. Historia was paying for everything. That left him. He could handle walking around and figuring out which fish they were going to try like hell not to kill.

Sometime during their tutorial, they’d ended up in the tropical section. Everything was bright and smelled like the ocean. Eren’s eyes had spent the last ten minutes burning, and now that it was just him and Historia, he was having trouble keeping them from leaking.

Armin and Mikasa should have been there.

They weren’t, and they couldn’t be, and that was his own damn fault, and he didn’t want them there—

“Eren?”

He looked up from the stained concrete floor.

Historia had zoned back in, and was watching his clenched, shaking, fists. He tried to relax them. It didn’t work. He was standing in the middle of a fish store, trying not to cry, and he couldn’t hit anything because then he probably would kill a fish, and Historia being filthy rich wouldn’t fix how awful and pissed that would make him feel, and before he knew it he’d be back behind Zeke’s batting cages, hearing all of the offers the dealer was making and actually listening.

“Eren,” Historia’s voice said, firmly.

“Yeah.” His was too far away, somewhere under the waves of the ocean. But he blinked and he was looking at the bright colors, not the floor, and a quick swipe cleared the damp spots away from under his eyes. “Salt water’s okay, right?”

He could see her nod. Her footsteps followed him down the aisle, and he concentrated on looking at the damn colorful fish. He had no idea what to look for. The sales guy had set them loose with a happy smile, telling them that if they found something they liked, he’d help out with the step-by-step of what to buy first.

There were more steps to this than Eren ever wanted to think about, which probably meant it was healthy to try.

His eyes floated over to a tank on the other side of the aisle. Less colorful, and full of rocks. A lone fish roved back and forth inside, dark spines the size of his fingers swishing along with it. It looked like someone had chopped up a sea urchin and glued its spikes to a large brown goldfish with streaky frills. A lionfish, someone else’s happy voice reminded him, carrying the sound of hurriedly flipped pages.

He didn’t hate the thought of caring for one of those.

He walked over to the tank, crouching down to stare at the thing properly. The card sitting by the tank agreed with his memory. And the fish was too big to mistake for an art fixture. It looked like a real creature; a real pet, not just something to lock away and call personal growth. Alive and fierce. Frieda would approve.

“What do you think?” he asked Historia.

She watched the lionfish swish into one of its rock caves. They both did.

“Okay.”

By the time they were back in their apartment, and the giant tank with all its mixed water and pumps and gravel and sand and rock features was set up, and they were staring at it instead of a blank wall, Eren understood a little better why they were getting a fish.

He doubted it was the upgrade Frieda was aiming for. He also doubted they could do any better.

---

A week into cycling the tank, Eren found the will for the conversation he’d put off since moving in.

Eren wasn’t big on letting people take care of him. His mom could attest to that. To hear her tell it, the day he started crawling, he’d spent all his time crawling away from her. Bandaging his skinned knees as a toddler had taken an hour of convincing before he’d let his—

He didn’t like being kept, or treated like he couldn’t handle his own life. After rehab, he lost the right to that mattering. His mom wasn’t going to accept her grown son’s rent when he needed babying, and he didn’t have the energy to push past the shame and argue.

Things were different now.

He hoped.

Historia was his sponsor, not his mother, and he was hers. He’d seen the bill for their aquarium. Pre-fish (they were giving the tank a month before they picked up its resident). He’d lived in their apartment. He’d seen Historia throw things into their shopping cart without checking prices. She paid for it from a wallet full of holes, but she never cared about the cost or bothered with coupons.

He knew Historia and her family had more money than he would even know what to do with. He knew he couldn’t afford his share if they split it honestly. He didn’t care. He was an adult. He worked. He could help pay for his own sad life.

It was important, Petra had said once, to remember that they were still part of the world. Addiction was what kept them out of it; recovery meant finding their way back in.

That was one of the first meetings he went to. He’d broken a fingernail gripping his chair and acid had boiled up his throat. Petra’s cookies had been too soft, and he ate three to make the taste go away.

Things were better now. He was cutting up carrots for dinner in an apartment that he didn’t share with someone he had hurt.

“I want to start paying rent,” Eren said.

Historia, alternating between reading her textbook and watching a pot boil, briefly added him to the rotation. “I told you, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Eren repeated, wincing at the extra volume his voice picked up. “I’m not some helpless little kid who needs handouts. I can pull my own weight.” Even if he’d been happy acting like he couldn’t up until now. What the fuck was wrong with him. He kept talking, trying to skid over that thought before he crashed into it. “I can’t keep taking advantage of people.”

“You’re not,” Historia said. She leaned against the counter, frowning. “I’m the one who asked you to move in so I could stop worrying my sister. You don’t need to pay me for being selfish.”

“That isn’t the point,” Eren said.

Historia continued as if she didn’t hear him. “Besides, I’m not paying for any of this either.”

“That’s—look, Historia, I’d just…” Eren took a deep breath, because breathing exercises were supposed to help. They didn’t, but they were supposed to, and he couldn’t say some of the horrible things his mind came up with if he was inhaling. He screwed what was left of his useless courage and doubled down. “It would help my recovery a lot if I could help out with some of this.”

The words were terrible and lifeless, straight out of the meetings they both hated, and he should have stuck a thank-you somewhere in the middle, because he owed her everything for the help he was squirming out of.

Historia was looking at the ceiling. Her mouth was half-open, and Eren thought she agreed that he was back to saying all of the wrong things.

“My father’s paying for it,” she said quietly.

A block of ice coalesced in Eren’s chest.

“Oh,” Eren said, because even if she wasn’t talking about the dead one, she’d only ever mentioned the dead one before, and they both had dead ones and—he swallowed. Breathed. They’d never really gone over it, but Historia was easy enough to spot, and he’d gone to enough protests and rallies to know that blank silence was the worst thing he could do here, even if they weren’t talking about her. He smiled, jaw creaking with effort and soul cringing. “Your dad was gay?”

Timing meant he was expecting pain to get in the way of any relief. He was sure he was intruding on memories that weren’t any of his business, and even if he was trying to be a supportive friend, he was terrible at it, and they were now back to a place where he knew he’d be making things worse.

What he got was perplexed bewilderment.

“…What?”

He was definitely going to make this worse. “You—you said your dad was dead,” Eren said, slowly enough to be insulting on its own, “but your dad’s paying for the apartment, so that means you have—had, sorry—two?”

Historia stared at him.

She blinked, once, mouth forming a legion of unspoken words.

Eren, realizing he should have just shoved checks under her door each month, stayed standing awkwardly in front of the cutting board, waiting for the axe to fall and fervently regretting the lack of pills nearby.

“Eren,” Historia said at last, words warbling furiously, “my inheritance is paying for all of this. He put me in his will. Frieda wouldn’t let me—she thinks using it is good for my—” She looked across the room at the fishless aquarium.

“I’m supposed to spend it,” she said. Her mouth twitched, a muffled sort of chuckle escaping. Followed by another.

A peal of laughter whimpered from her lungs, ragged and horrified, and Historia was sliding down to the floor, hand pressed to her forehead while the fit of hysteria took over, giggles turning to honest cackles, tearing through the kitchen. Eren watched. He just stood there and watched.

Because she only had one dad, and she’d killed him.

He was dead.

The sob waiting in Eren’s chest came out wrong, not matching the horror and helplessness swirled in it, or the feel of blood warm in his hands as he tried to stop it all from spilling out even though it was too late, and he slipped down to the floor next to Historia, biting down on his thumb to keep from laughing.

By the time Frieda came by, bringing her weekly gift of ice cream, they were both crying.

---

Historia said they could work out splitting the fish costs and groceries, and there really wasn’t a reason to bring it up past that, so they didn’t.

Frieda didn’t, either.

Eren had the disturbing feeling that she understood.

---

Reiner wasn’t outside when Eren showed up for their run.

That was weird to start with. Reiner was as fanatically devoted to taking care of himself as he had been to heroin. Not just physically. He had a day planner. He’d offered to buy Eren one. The guy did not know how to flake.

Standing out in front of the house in Reiner’s usual spot was a woman Eren recognized from some of Reiner’s pictures. He’d flipped through them every single day of rehab, and Eren had wanted him dead.

He didn’t remember the woman’s name. She was scrolling through her phone when he jogged up, and the nod she gave him wasn’t very inviting. Dark circles shaded her freckles, but she was wearing workout clothes. Maybe Eren had missed a text, and he was helping out both of them today.

“Reiner still inside?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the woman said, pocketing her phone. “That’s where he’s staying, too. Bastard’s too sick to be conscious, forget running around the block.”

Too sick to warn Eren, too.

He was paying Eren. They were only sort of friends. Missing out on a run with him still made Eren want to crawl into the nearest hole and not come out. Reiner wasn’t exactly a bright spot to his day, but his day had started with a text from Armin. Reiner never made anything worse. Him and his normalcy had been something to look forward to when Eren woke up and threw his phone through his pillowcase.

World much gloomier than it needed to be at six in the morning, Eren said, “Is there anything I can help with? There’s a drugstore—” he wasn’t going to think about it, he wasn’t going to think about it— “a couple miles out I could hit for him.”

“Thanks, but I think Bert’s got the panicked nursing covered.”

Bertolt, Eren had met. He was usually watering the rosebush outside the house at the end of their morning run. “Great,” Eren said.

That left him… where? Needing to send a get-well text?

He made polite eye contact with Reiner’s friend. Like a person. “I’ll head off, then,” he said. “Let Reiner know today’s on me.”

The woman smirked at him. It might have been meant as a smile, but the glint in her eyes and Eren’s mood said smirk. “You have a side job exercising strangers,” she said. “Don’t volunteer to throw away money.”

Before Eren could point out that he wasn’t a dick, even if she was, she added, “Anyway, that’s what dragged me into this. Reiner thinks routines are part of the ex-junkie bible, and he didn’t want to screw you up just because he forgot to wash his hands. So I’ll be palling around with you this morning to assuage your mutual guilt complexes. You’re welcome.”

Eren had to unclench his jaw before he could speak. He wanted to go back to bed. He also wanted to go inside the house and wring Reiner’s fucking neck. The happy chittering of the birds sounded like cheaply ringing tin in his ears. “Reiner told you?”

Reiner told anyone?

Eren didn’t tell his friends that his client asked for makeup advice he didn’t have to cover up his track marks. He didn’t talk about Reiner’s lifelong fear of needles not holding a fucking candle to his snowballing drug habits. He didn’t breathe a damn word about any of it, not even in group, not even with the names taken out, because why the fuck would he do that to anyone.

“Don’t lose your head about it,” the woman’s voice echoed. “It only came up because he was already wetting himself over missing your appointment.” Her shoes thumped across the concrete, and Eren felt a slap against his shoulder. “He was worried, and hurling too much for his brain to keep a lid on why. He freaked out all over again when he realized what he said. He was trying to be a good friend, not an asshole. He just has a bad habit of mixing the two.”

Eren’s fingernails were digging into his palms. He had to concentrate to make them stop, but they stopped, and without the sting that said he broke the skin.

Deep breaths. The ones that never really worked.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Right,” said the woman. He could feel her watching him. The scrutiny reminded him of the rehab shrink. Or a more hostile Petra. “Sorry. Usually I only bring up sensitive subjects on purpose.”

Eren didn’t know how much of a joke that was. He decided it didn’t matter. He reeled his head back to a zone where he knew how to handle all of this, even if he didn’t, reminded himself it was too early in the morning for him to shoot Historia a text asking for commiseration, and breathed normally.

“Do you need some time to stretch, or are you good to go now?” Eren asked.

The woman gave a one-armed shrug. “Feel free to run away from me at your leisure. I’m just here to take up space.” She watched him another moment before sticking out her hand. “Ymir, by the way.”

Eren shook it with as much heart as he didn’t have. “Eren.”

Her smile was all teeth. “Nice meeting you.”

----

Reiner wasn’t the only person who was sick, it turned out.

Eren knew he had to do something about the phone problem. This was a marked improvement from not thinking of it as a problem. He didn’t think he could steal credit for that. The outside world was screaming it at him. Armin had taken up regular texts like clockwork, and if that meant something was wrong, Eren didn’t know how to check without losing his mind. Being a fuckup and a coward would do that. Mikasa’s daily texts had never stopped. Hannes had gotten back to him about supervising some free climbers over the weekend. His first since his broken leg.

His pulse hadn’t dropped a beat when that conversation ended and a disaffected buzz announced a message from Zeke.

Zeke had barely spoken to him since the funeral. He’d walked him in and out of the rehab facility doors and left him alone. It wasn’t that different from the way things were before their dad died. The only change was him not dropping by unannounced to take Eren off on some adventure. If he’d tried that recently, no one had mentioned it. Eren wasn’t sure anyone had even bothered giving him his new address.

A text from Zeke out of the blue was a danger sign. Eren couldn’t just ignore it. He also couldn’t click on it.

Pacing the entire length of the apartment back and forth and back again, Eren could admit he had a problem. Step one. The last time that revelation had crept up and slammed him into a gutter, it was one of the worst moments of his life. This didn’t compare, but it left him feeling lopsided and tired. He couldn’t ignore his brother. Zeke had never ignored him. He had every reason in the world to, but he never had. Eren owed him.

He couldn’t open the damn text.

He made another agitated circuit around the apartment. His phone wasn’t set to tick down seconds, but they were playing back in his head fine without the help. He was rounding the couch, checking the aquarium and wishing they already had a fish to stare at—like that had a chance of helping, but maybe it did—when the loud clap of a slamming textbook stopped him in his tracks.

Historia, who he hadn’t noticed, was lying on the floor. Until a millisecond of time passed for her to gather her temper and she stood up from the rug, swept over, and threw out her hand.

Eren, who hadn’t come up with a better plan yet, gave her his phone. She almost took his hand off with it.

“Under Zeke,” he said. In case she mistook him for someone who had decided today was the time to finally go through and acknowledge the hundreds of unread texts Armin and Mikasa had sent him.

Historia scanned the screen in slow motion. “Someone’s sick,” she said, and visions of hospitals gone by and panic started up before she filled in the rest. “He wants to know if you can sub in for the game on Saturday.”

Baseball. No emergency. Baseball.

Eren breathed out, sighing. Relief was missing from it. He didn’t know why he had expected anything else. A quiet, petty hole that rehab hadn’t filled all the way was still waiting for Zeke to say something about what happened. He never would, and he was an ungrateful bastard for wanting more than what he’d got. What he’d got was more than he deserved. If Zeke never talked to him about anything but baseball, Eren would live with that.

That could really happen, too. Zeke loved baseball like he’d never loved anyone in his own damn family—

Eren moved to take back his phone before his head started something his fists couldn’t finish. Historia’s temper flare had vanished, and she dangled the device between them like it was the bomb about to go off instead of them. She made it look as large and unwieldy in her hands as it felt in Eren’s thoughts. He didn’t know why that helped. He wasn’t even sure if it did.

With how the day was going, Eren couldn’t be surprised when it buzzed with another text the second his finger brushed the casing. Historia jumped slightly, and Eren hated his eyes for catching the name on the screen.

Because Armin had started texting him again.

Great.

He was looking at the floor. Historia kept holding the phone. The bomb.

Great, great, great, great.

Eren could feel his breath shortening, his blood pumping faster, and he was supposed to be getting a grip and trying to be better than all of this and he wanted to break something. More things than he had the first time, or the second, or the third, or the twelfth, because all of those times hadn’t made the right impression, Armin was still trying, and so was Mikasa, and he was so sick of it, and himself, and Zeke, and—

“Have you ever been to a batting cage?” Eren blurted out.

Historia took a moment to answer. “What?” she said.

“Batting cage,” Eren said, feeling a tension headache building. “Have you ever been?”

“No?”

Ten minutes later, Eren didn’t think he felt a whole lot better, but nothing was broken, he hadn’t hurt anyone, and Historia wasn’t complaining about the sprinters’ pace they were walking down the sidewalk at. He didn’t think that last one was a point in his favor. She hadn’t given him his phone back. It was still a good thing. Someone was around to keep him from being stupid.

He led the way with a nervous energy that he hated. He knew how his body was supposed to work. It wasn’t a natural like Mikasa’s—and that turned the notch up on his leg speed one more time—but he’d spent time on it, and he knew how he liked to move. Purposefully. With real energy that came from the core. Not nervous sweats and clenched fists.

There were two batting cages within walking distance of their apartment. One, neither of them needed to be anywhere near. The other was fine, and normal, and open until midnight. Glazed lights decking a row of fence were visible from the street. The padded green of the fake grass stapled to every inch of the facility’s floor wasn’t. Two pairs of feet thumped across it to the cashier’s window out front.

Eren forked out the cash from his wallet to the drowsy employee manning the entrance before Historia had a chance to object. They marched on through without a word.

It was cool and dark outside, even with the glare of the lights, and Eren stuffed a helmet on his head from the rack and grabbed a bat before his thoughts slowed down enough to race in coherent circles. He couldn’t hit people anymore, but he sure could hit objects.

Historia was still trailing behind him, and she’d never been and he would help with that in a second after he took care of him, and watching was where it all started anyway it wasn’t like he was that great with words like—

He smacked the start button. His other hand clasped the bat, touching metal where the glue had peeled away from the grip. He raised it over his shoulder, a million lessons from a man who looked too much like his father coursing through his veins, and he was holding a metal pole and watching the blood spurt over it and his hands and

and

He remembered to hit the emergency stop and he made it to the trash can. That was the important part.

Fuck.

He didn’t know where the bat was, but all his hands were holding was the plastic bag around the rim of the trash can. His head was dipped down next to a collection of empty Styrofoam cups, gum, and vomit. The acidic burning in his throat waited for a swallow. The rest of him stayed still, waiting for the next hit.

That hadn’t happened before. He’d thought of it happening, but it never did. He hadn’t thrown up since he bet Jean he could drink an entire case of soda in first grade. He won. His mom still had a special sigh for that stain on the carpet.

Eren pulled himself out of the garbage. His knee was shaking. Badly enough to bring up more problems, so he sat down on the fake grass and let it scratch his fingers. He swallowed through the burning, and pressed a fist to his forehead.

Fuck.

Footsteps approached. Another cup showed up by his head. Not empty. Eren took it and sipped the water, and it was just like any other workout.

The only thing he could think of that would make it any worse was if he started crying, and he felt like he was going to.

Historia sat down next to him.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” she asked. She sounded like she was reading off a script. She was still holding his phone.

Eren hated his fucking phone. He wanted to throw it into a landfill.

He took a breath, and another sip of water. Besides the phone, which could go to hell, the hate felt cooler. Like all the lava out under the sky was turning into something solid. He’d liked Armin’s volcano phase. It’d been his phase, too. Like with the dinosaurs, and that one summer with pelicans.

He’d kill to be talking to Armin about pelicans right now. Instead he was sitting on a batting cage floor, the only support system he was strong enough to bear sitting right next to him instead of studying for her test like she was supposed to, and his lips were covered in drying bile, and he’d killed his dad.

Admitting he had problems wasn’t too hard when they were this obvious.

Eren opened his fist and dragged his hand through his hair.

“Do you have anyone?” Eren asked quietly. “That you have to make amends to?”

The answer was instantaneous, and not much of a surprise. “Frieda.”

Eren twisted his bangs around his fingers. Only a little of him wanted to tug it all out by the roots. “Not family. People you screwed up because they liked you and liking you meant they were around when you fucked up your life. Friends.”

Historia didn’t say anything for a whole minute.

“No,” she said.

That one was more of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been, because she was his roommate, and he had a pretty wide window into her life, but it was, and now Eren felt like even more of a dick. He dropped his hand into his lap and silently added Historia to his list. Maybe she’d be one he could actually cross off.

He didn’t know what to say next, because ‘sorry,’ was more of a distraction than he could deal with while being this useless, but as long as he was sober, he wasn’t the kind of person who wanted to just leave that bombshell alone.

Historia took pity on him and sighed.

“I had a fiancée in juvie.”

Eren blinked. He lifted his head. “You can get engaged in juvie?” he asked.

“You were in juvie?” was close behind, and he felt stupid enough thinking it to avoid saying it, because no matter how tiny she was, saying he had trouble picturing his drug addicted, father-murdering roommate doing time was…

“It’s not something you have to fill out paperwork for,” Historia said, continuing blithely on. “It’s just a promise. Words.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She was older, so she got out before I did, and after that, I never heard from her again. We never even—” Historia stopped herself. Her eyes shut. “She probably didn’t even mean it. It started as a joke.”

It didn’t sound like it came from any sense of humor he’d known. Historia wasn’t laughing. Neither was Eren. He took another sip of the water she’d found him before he crushed the cup and it spilled all over his jeans.

“She doesn’t even know my real name,” Historia said, almost inaudibly. Her blinks sped up. “She was gone before my drug habit could disappoint her. She would have—” Historia snorted and there was something dark and chaotic in her smile.

“She would have killed me.”

This was a joke she got. Eren didn’t.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sitting on the scratchy fake grass. Eren spotted his bat on the floor next to the open cage.

“I have these friends,” he said, “that I don’t know how to…”

Trailing off was as close as he could get to articulating it. Historia could probably figure out the gist by living with him. Tonight wasn’t the first time his phone had caused problems, it was just the first time he’d made them her problem.

“The text before we left looked like some sort of science fact-a-day,” Historia said. “Frieda has a subscription to a few things like that.” He could feel her watching him. Months of feeling like everyone was watching him had honed the sense. “He’s probably copying you on them.”

That sounded like Armin. The perfect way to start talking without saying anything.

He waited for anger to spike with the thought, but he just felt tired.

He looked at the baseball bat. Historia followed his look.

“Zeke’s my half-brother,” he said. “I owe him, but if Saturday’s anything like this I’d be better off not showing up at all.”

Historia said, easily, “I’ll fill in for you.” Like any of his friends would have after he dragged them out of their apartment in the middle of the night to have a panic attack in front of them.

Being too stubborn to admit that he needed help was what had gotten him here. He didn’t want to stay. He didn’t think anyone wanted him to.

“Have you ever played baseball?”

“No.”

Zeke was going to love this.

---

Zeke did.

He’d also shaved.

Eren hadn’t seen him without a beard in years. It was weird, made him look like he belonged at some sort of board meeting, and every time they made eye contact Eren needed a second to find his brother in the face.

What he didn’t find, and what he’d been scared of seeing, was their dad.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to say thank you. They didn’t really do that. Zeke hadn’t said anything about Historia showing up as the sub for his sub. He was grateful, since the tiny adult baseball league was his entire life, and he’d be heartbroken if he missed out on any of it, but he didn’t say it. Not with Eren. There was just this quiet expectation that it would all work out, because they were brothers. No thanks necessary.

Not being the one playing, Eren had too much time to think about that.

Now, after the game, sitting across from his brother at the pizza parlor Zeke had selected instead of the bar he’d taken his team to every game day for at least five years, Eren was still thinking about it.

“Your roommate doesn’t have a bad arm,” Zeke said. “Do you think she’d want to join up?”

“You’d have to ask her.” Historia had gone outside when Colt ordered a beer, and he didn’t know if she’d noticed that Yelena had spent the entire seventh inning stretch and drive over asking too many questions, but it was mostly going okay. She’d caught a fly ball and gotten a hit, and their team won. They’d both had worse days.

“I might, if you can’t play.”

Eren’s hand tensed around his drink.

Zeke wouldn’t ask. Somebody had shown up, so he wouldn’t ask. Eren still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew. Even if there was no way he could. Zeke was like that. Hide and seek had turned into a banned game the nights Zeke babysat. No matter how hard Eren tried, Zeke always found him, and his mom had gotten sick of coming home to him exploding in frustration.

Eren wanted him to ask. Zeke came to Eren instead of hitting up Mikasa when he needed a sub. He cared. Eren wanted to feel it instead of just knowing it, for once.

He was an ungrateful brat, in a lot of ways.

Zeke paid for the pizza. Historia eventually walked back in and sat with them. Zeke asked about school, and rock climbing, and what they thought about the batting order they’d tried.

He didn’t ask about Eren.

Which was fine. What would he have said, anyway? He was ghosting his best friends in the world while they tried to keep him in their lives. He didn’t get to miss his big brother for having the brains to stay out of it all.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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8makes1cheese · 4 years

Text

f2l with Song Mingi♡

Pairing: Mingi X Reader

RoommateAU, (and like High SchoolAU in the beginning and kinda CollegeAU?)

Tags: cursing, shitty attempts at comedy, fluff, kinda sorta suggestive?, ig drug use and drinking?(booze and weed)

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Okay so, this is my first bullet scenario thing? and its weird...like this is so weird but I tried XD it ended up this weird mix between bullet scenario and oneshot fic and i-

...............all I can do is practice and try to get better but yeah. SO HERES THIS :D (im srry don hate me T-T)

-Finding Your Best Friend-

this bb would be the best-est friend you would have in this world

probably why you fell for him in the first place, but let's not get to ahead of ourselves

you guys met freshman year of high school

your guys' mutual friend Yunho is really the reason why

you just moved to town, and since said town was small, it was clear to you that everybody knew everybody else

you felt pretty lonely on the first day because of that

second day of freshman year is where is all started to come together

you were looking for a nice spot to sit and have your lunch outside because you didn't want to look like the weird loner person eating by themselves in silence

you found a pretty spot under a big tree near the track field, you put a random cool cake making tutorial on your phone and ate your lunch

the video was at a part where they were placing intricate designs in frosting all over the cake when you hear "Whoa, that is so cool!"

you jump about 3 feet in the air and immediately gather up your phone and get up to spin around to see who interrupted your quiet time

a young man, not sure his grade, with peach colored hair and a worried expression on his face, raises his hands in a surrender pose

'okay but what the hell was he doing, watching my phone behind the tree?'

well reader, we'll never know

"I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to scare you that bad! Really, I am so so so sorry!"

you, still in shock, just nod at him

now you're both just standing in front of each other

not saying anything

....well

this is awkward

"I-I'm Yunho...by the way."

you clear your throat, not sure why, nervous habit

"[Y/N].."

"So, uh... Haven't seen you around here before.."

once you explained you were new, and new to the town in general. There was no escape.

you were now best friends with the giant teddy bear and there was nothing you could do about it

yunho immediately took you under his wing and showed you around the campus. Then the town itself after school was out.

but Ro this seems to be turning into a yunho x reader fic/ bullet scenario

stfu I'm getting there

what did this turn into even

so now you and Yunho are bffs

enter giant teddy bear 2.0

you and yunho are hanging out at lunch, it's become a usual for the past two weeks

and Yunhos other bff is becoming sus about why Yunho hasn't been eating with him at lunch or doesn't seem to have as much time after school for him

that's when giant teddy bear 2.0 (if you don't know that its Mingi then idek-) finds his bestie with some random chick

a really adorable random chick

"So this is where you have been?"

you and Yunho start, not expecting someone to find your guys' spot

Also, deja vu, amiright?

"Oh, hey Mingi!" Yunho greets the tall dirty blonde haired teddy bear

And you're totally not sitting there thinking, 'holy shit, he is...wow.'

and that's how it all started

he stayed and introduced himself and you hit it off just as well as you and yunho did

maybe even better..

he started showing up everyday, at the what was dubbed 'The Cool Kids Spot™️' by you all, with yunho

even tho we all know you guys were NOT the cool kids

then it went to him being at the spot before everyone showed up

so he could see you first

then it turned into him meeting you up after class so you both could grab your food together and meet up Yunho at The Spot™️

before you could even realize it, he became your person

you were the first person he ran up to and hugged after him and Yunhos dance group took home 1st place at a competition

he was the first person you called when you were told that your poem won an award

you were the person he'd come to if he needed any kind of advice

and he was the first person you went to if you needed to get out of your head or your anxiety was getting to you

the high school years went by so fast

a lot changed

but what never changed was Mingi, he may have grown

and damn he grew

but he was your constant (and yes, yunho too, we can't forget yunho bro)

-Knowing They're The One-

high school came and went

Mingi and Yunho were accepted by a prestigious performing arts school

you, however, were going to just a regular college

luckily, both schools weren't terribly far from each other

which is why, instead of suffering in dorms, you and Mingi decided to get a apartment together, not far from both schools

yunhos ass stayed with his parents because they live like right next to the school, lucky hoe

you all still make time for each other

but you and Mingi prefer to stay in, order takeout and watch random stuff on YouTube

whenever you or Mingi went out it was always together (unless it was classes)

Grocery shopping? Together. Doctors appointment? Together. Girls night? Together. Guys night? Together.

"So, you must be suffering right now" his friend Yeosang said to him on a rare guys night that didn't involve you.

Mingi looked at Yeosang perplexed, ignoring whatever Wooyoung was talking to him about

"What are you talking about?"

"You and [Y/N] are literally always together, the fact she isn't here surprises me."

Mingi laughed. "We're not always together."

A cacophony of "LIES" and "BULLSHIT" filled the air as all of Mingi friends called him out on his bullshit

Mingi could feel his face heating up

"W-well, so what if we are! Were best friends AND roommates."

"And lovers~" his friend San whispered in his ear from behind and laughed, dancing away before Mingi could hit him

"We're not together!" Mingi exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

"But you want to be."

Mingi turned to look at the owner of the voice. It was Yunho, leaning against the entrance of the kitchen everyone was gathered in

He was looking at Mingi with a smirk

Mingi knew Yunho knew how he felt about you

and not because he told him

well...he kinda did

FLASHBACK TIME

it was your guys' high school graduation

more specifically, the night of, and you were all partying and yunhos house

celebrating the fact that you all were officially adults now

lol you thought

and what better way to celebrate that than with underage drinking

be safe kids, don't drink irresponsibly

and Mingi. Got. Wasted.

by the end of the night, he was crying (and maybe puked once or twice...) in Yunhos arms about how beautiful you were, and how amazing and talented you were

wouldn't shut up about how soft and perfect you feel in his arms when he hugs you or vice versa

"She is my soulmate." After every other sentence mentioning how perfect you are

but wait, where were you while Mingi was crying and puking you ask?

That night you met Yeonjun, who is now one of your closest friends

at first, a friend of Wooyoungs, who you all became friends with junior year, along with his best friend San

Yeonjun, who went to a different school across town, was invited along by Woo and San

you and Yeonjun hit it off so well, drinking and laughing, and talking about how much he loves his boyfriend Soobin, and maybe you drunkingly going on about how amazing Mingi is

however, Mingi didn't know Yeonjun

and what he saw that night was you, enjoying your time with someone who wasn’t him, laughing at jokes that weren't his, hanging all over someone who could never know you as well as he did (and that totally wasn't the reason that Mingi drank like 2 bottles of straight vodka, not at all)

and at that moment

he knew

he fucked up

he was in love with you

OKAY END OF FLASHBACK

Mingi wasn't sure what to say

he could deny it sure, but he knew it was useless

not after every person in the room gave him a knowing smirk after Yunhos comment

“She doesn't-”

“Oh, whatever. you guys are literally already a couple. And dont even try to deny that. If she was here right now, she’d probably be on your lap and you two would be sitting in some corner of the house whispering some weird drunk lovey shit to each other.”

well...

Mingi really didn't have a argument for that

that night he came home sober

but you didn't know that until months later when he told you he wasn't actually drunk

anyways when he got home you were sitting in the living room

music playing away on YouTube while you type away on your laptop

you didn't hear him come in, softly singing along to the song under your breath

he stood there for a moment and just..looked at you

your hair was a mess

you had on the same clothes as yesterday

probably haven't done a skincare routine in months

you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life

he felt so much love swell in his chest

hes known it for a while now but at that moment all that was going on in his head was

“That’s my soulmate. I love her. I love her so much.”

“Hey.”

he wasn't sure if he had said it loud enough but apparently he had because you flinched and turned to see who the ‘intruder’ was

“Oh, Mingi! Shit, you scared me...” you laughed. “How was guys night?”

He made his was over to sit on the couch as you told him how your paper was coming along and then waited for him to answer your question

he sat for a good minute not saying anything

“Mingi?”

he looked at you

“you okay hun?” you asked, placing your hand on his cheek

and then he kissed you

it was so quick, you had no time to register that it was happening at all

and he left just as quickly

slamming the door to his bedroom and leaving you flustered and panicked

-So....Lovers?-

the morning after the kiss was the most awkward moment that you and Mingi had ever had

luckily it didn't last long at all

you two were silent, awkwardly making breakfast

then Mingi busted out with “Man, I’m so hungover! I barely remember anything from last night!”

“Do...do you remember anything from when you came home?”

“No, to be honest, I don't even remember coming home...”

-cue forced laughter-

-cue Mingi not trying to be disappointed when you looked relieved-

he asked you if anything happened and tried not to feel sad about the fact you were going on about how nothing happened and he just came home and went to bed

why wouldn't you mention the kiss? maybe everyone had it wrong, you didn't feel the same. why else would you avoid it?

but everything went back to...normal

you two would cuddle every night on the couch

you showed up to every guys night like usual

(there may or may not have been more knowing smirks thrown Mingis way)

he showed up to the rare girls nights you'd have with your (like 2) girlfriends

(they literally just consisted of everyone chilling in some secluded spot and sparking up a blunt or two and bull-shittng)

but everything wasn't normal

because even though it lasted 0.0002 seconds long

Mingi cannot stop thinking about that kiss

neither can you for that matter

that's when you confided in your bestie Yeonjun

who knew all about your love for your other bestie

you went to Yeonjuns one Saturday afternoon without mingi

its been a month since the kiss and Yeonjun is only disappointed in the fact that you didn't tell him sooner

his solution was simple, just tell him how you feel

its so god damn obvious he feels the same

but who are you to do the simple thing right?

so what do you do?

you go with Soobins idea

and :) you:) go:) on:) a:) blind:) date:) with one of soobin and yeonjuns friends:)))))))

well

at least you were supposed to..

the night comes when you were supposed to meet at a nice cafe with their friend Beomgyu

you. were. lookin. FIRE BABY

slaayyyyy

you were in the kitchen grabbing your keys

and maybe prolonging the fact that your going out with someone who isn't MIngi

when Mingi walked out to heat himself up a noodle cup

and maybe one for you too because he didn't think you were going anywhere and was going to ask if you wanted to chill in his room and play mario kart

his jaw DROPPED when he saw you

he felt like he was just kicked in the gut, all breath left his lungs

and he may or may not have gotten an instant boner but-

he cleared his throat to get your attention

“You look...nice.” wow, Mingi, smooth

“O-oh, thanks, um... ill be back later okay?”

when Mingi asked where you'll be going and you said you had a blind date, he swears to this day he blacked out for a moment

next thing he knew he had you pushed against the counter

“Mingi-”

“No.”

“w-what..”

“You don't have a date.”

“But I do-”

then his lips were pressed against yours

and unlike the first, this one lasted a hell of a lot longer than 0.0002 seconds

it wasn't fireworks or butterflies or a sudden realization of unconditional love

it was rough and messy and filled with so many emotions including relief that your love for each other can finally blossom

you didn't say a word to each other when you parted

you stared at each other for a while, panting with big smiles on your faces

once your breathing returned to normal you gently pushed him back so you weren't pressed against the counter anymore

“I’m going to change in PJ's.”

Mingis smile lit up his whole face. “But I thought you had a date..”

“No, I don't.” you kissed his cheek and left to change.

-YES LOVERS FINALLY-

so you guys never really sat down and were like ‘hey so are we...?’

because you both knew you just....were

after that night you guys started acting like you had been dating for months

it was just like before

because of course, like always, Yunho was right

you guys already acted like you were dating

now kisses and a lot more were added to the mix

which just made everything 1000x better

everyone knew it was just a matter of time

you loved waking up to his arms wrapped around your waist and him softly snoring in your ear

he loved waking up to you peppering kisses all over his collar bones and neck

your loved bloomed♡

A/N pt2: Im sorry if the end seems so rushed as well, I started running out of steam and my mind blanked but I didn't want to prolong this and never post it...like i do with everything...

Thank you for reading!

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wolfhertz · 3 years

Text

30 Questions Quiz!!!

I think this is the first time I’ve ever done something like this, but I was tagged by @katninjagirl97 and it looks like fun. Why not?

Name: Jillian...or Jill...or really anything of that variation. Hell, I’ll even answer to “hey you”. Though online I mostly go by “Wolf” or “Wolfheart”.

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Virgo

Height: Like...5′2, 5′3. I did not inherit the gift of height like my siblings did.

Time: 2:50 am

Birthday: September 18th

Favorite Bands: Gosh that’s a hard question to answer....Does Broadway count? Most of my music is from musicals, movies, video games, etc. not gonna lie. If not, The Crane Wives are a recent find of mine that I absolutely love. Same with Hidden Citizens (very good for that intense, cinematic music).

Favorite Solo Artists: Tommee Profitt (also that sort of intense, cinematic, movie trailer-esque music, though a bit more orchestral) also, Karliene (she sings a lot of folk music and things like that. Definitely recommend looking her stuff up on Youtube 10/10).

Song Stuck In My Head: “Running with the Wolves” by AURORA (specifically the version from Wolfwalkers, which I haven’t watched yet but REALLY want to) It’s been in my head since I found it a few weeks ago, I swear.

Last Movie: Hmmm...I mean...I’m watching Troy (2004) as I write this for my Greek History class. Not finished yet tho. It’s kinda meh, but it’s mandatory.

Last Show: Gosh I haven’t sat down and watched an actual TV show in so long....This is gonna sound nerdy as hell, but my family and I watch Jeopardy during dinner most nights. Does that count???

When Did I Create This Blog: Late 2019, if I’m not mistaken. December or November, I think.

What Do I Post: My own art (which I haven’t done in MONTHS...Art block mixed with school is a deadly combo), other peoples’ lovely art and writing, and pretty much anything I find interesting, important, or funny. I also kinda use it to archive stuff I like in general, like drawing refs and tips.

Last Thing I Googled: “How long did it take to send a letter from Europe to North America in the 1700s?”....I’m a history nerd, this shouldn’t be surprising. The thought just randomly struck me and I was curious. The answer is roughly 2-3 months, if you’re wondering.

Other Blogs: Nah, just this one.

Do I Get Asks: The odd time, but mostly only when I do prompts or art challenges.

Why I Chose This URL: Oh god....It’s the same as my DeviantART, and I created it when I was 11 or 12 during my Warriors phase. Don’t judge me. We all had one and some people still like it and there’s no shame in that. Though I have been thinking of changing it to something slightly different lately. Hmm....

Following: 124. They’re mostly other artists, fashion (both modern & historical), themed art blogs (tutorials, sci-fi, etc.), and just some funny ones (like...I follow one blog that specifically only posts funny medieval manuscript drawings of animals soooo....).

Followers: 283. I don’t know many of you guys, but I appreciate y’all very much!!!! ❤

Average Hours Of Sleep: Can be anywhere between 5 and 9. My sleep schedule is kinda a mess...

Lucky Number: 3 or 4

Instruments: I used to be able to play the flute, but I haven’t in years.

What I’m Wearing: A tank-top and jean shorts...Because you know, that’s a totally reasonable thing to wear in the middle of winter in Canada.

Dream Job: Hmm...Probably anything revolving around history or art. I’d love to teach history tbh, as a teacher or prof. idk yet. I used to want to be a Concept Artist, which is still definitely something I’d be open to!

Dream Trip: I’d love to do a tour of western Europe tbh. Like, England, Ireland, Scotland, etc. See all those old castles and everything. 😍

Favorite Food: Pretty much any seafood. Especially fish or shrimp. Love that stuff. Or any breakfast food really. I love that stuff.

Nationality: Canadian 🍁

Favorite Song: THAT’S EVEN HARDER TO ANSWER THAN THE FIRST MUSIC QUESTION....It changes depending on the day...If I had to say right now??? “Jenny of Oldstones” by Florence + the Machine (I haven’t watched Game of Thrones yet, but I really want to). It gives off good and sad vibes at the same time, idk how.

Last Book I Read: Hmm....I haven’t finished a book in a while, but I’ve been working my way through Assassin’s Creed: Forsaken by Oliver Bowden the past few months. Very good so far! But also very sad. Why do I always get attached to asshole characters with sad backstories that make me wanna cry???

Top Three Fictional Universes I’d Like To Live In: Oooooh....Marvel is definitely one (get me some cool superpowers or magic, ya know?). Hmm....maybe something like Harry Potter (screw J.K Rowling tho, I just want magic powers). Aaaannd...maybe Skyrim? That could be cool!!! Ride around on dragons and shit, become badass warrior or mage, be a werewolf or vampire, so many options!!!

As for someone to tag....oof...Imma be honest I don’t know many people on this site. 😅 Maybe @bayheart if she’s feeling up to it since we’ve been chatting lately! No pressure though. 😄 And also anyone who would like to do it!

#ramblings #tagged challenges #but yeah this was fun!!!#feel free to do it if you guys like!!!

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iwillhaveamoonbase · 4 years

Text

Replay ch 2

Reminder, this fic is rated E for Explicit Nothing much in this chapter, though.

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Rayla groaned as her kick-boxing class ended. She was sore everywhere and just ready to go home and take a long bath. She had to work off all that cheese she ate at the office somehow. She waved goodbye to her instructor and walked out, not giving anyone a spare look. Ethari was always on her for not being friendly, but Runaan had taught her well that the world would leave you alone with a steely glare and a firm stance. Sometimes, she just wanted to be alone.

She got in her car and drove back to her apartment in silence. She wasn’t in the mood for whatever the latest pop song was and her most recent podcast on world legal systems was taking a break this week. She drummed her fingers a bit on the steering wheel in anxiousness. She was still buzzing a bit from the guy at the cheese shop.

Callum Evans….She had looked him up at the office and been intrigued by his background. Military and political family, intercultural background, but, also, a bit of a tragic life. Losing his father at the age of one? Rayla couldn’t imagine living like that. He had been honest when he’d said his group wasn’t involved in drama. They were, apparently, well-known in the YouTube community for keeping to themselves. Callum was a year younger than her by a year and a few days. Almost exactly the same birthday…. He had pretty eyes and Rayla wondered if that’s the real reason she had said ‘yes’ to him painting her. Also, he had a cut jawline and high cheekbones that made her want to lick them-‘WHOA’.

Rayla’s eyes went wide for a moment. ‘Jesus, Rayla! You met the guy one time and you have no idea if he’s not secretly some kind of pervert. Keep it in your pants.’ Maybe she was just horny. She hadn’t had sex in a year, not since she’d graduated law school. Her ex and her had mutually broken-up due to Rayla wanting to continue working in the States while she had wanted to go back home to Europe. Rayla didn’t do casual sex and she hadn’t had time to find a new SO. There were fraud cases left and right right now and it was going to keep her busy for the foreseeable future. She could do busy. She was only 26.

When she arrived at her apartment, she parked and rested her head on the wheel. She felt hot between her thighs. ‘You met him once, Rayla. ONCE. This is ridiculous.’ She leaned back in her seat for a moment. His eyes kept popping back into her head, open and honest. He was thing, but not a twig. Maybe had a bit of muscle on him…She was OK with a muscle head as long as they also had brains. She didn’t like it when she was with someone who couldn’t keep up with her intellectually. They didn’t have to like or understand the same things, but he had to understand her explanations. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t….think about jumping a guy so soon after she met them.

‘Callum Evans…am I seriously hoping he’s single?’ She got out of the car, slamming her door. She wasn’t doing this. She was NOT going to be a pining fool like in those stupid rom-coms her ex liked or those period pieces Ethari and Runaan adored. She did not pine. If she wanted something, she took it. And, right now, he was just a really good-looking young man and she was a horny woman who hadn’t had sex in a while. That’s all it was.

She told herself that again and again on the elevator ride up to her floor. She couldn’t stop herself from looking him up again when she booted up her laptop and finding his YouTube channel. He had a whole side channel devoted to art tips and his artwork. He even did something similar to a Bob Ross style tutorial for drawing. Rayla watched video after video until it was well past midnight. She didn’t even like to draw; she had an appreciation for art, but never enjoyed the creating part.

Looking at the time, she groaned. 1:31 AM. She had work in the morning and she had to be up at 7 to meet a friend for breakfast. The next video played without her consent, a spicy food challenge. She watched, fascinated, as Callum and Ezran complained at the lack of heat while Soren and Claudia had tears streaming down their cheeks. Callum laughed more in this video than he had his art ones. She slammed her laptop shut and got ready for bed, though Callum’s voice continued to replay throughout her routine. When she closed her eyes, a pair of green eyes kept haunting her thoughts. ‘Fuck. This isn’t good.’

----------------------------

Callum blushed as he looked down at the text from the woman he had met at the cheese shop. Rayla Burrows. She was beyond pretty. The moment he had seen her, his eye had refused to wonder away. Pure white hair, purple eyes, 5’7, maybe, without her heels. Her frame had been perfect, too. Hourglass figure, tight ass (as Soren had mentioned), long legs, C-cup breasts (Claudia’s assessment). He’d had to draw her. He already had three times. Callum looked down at his sketchbook. Her face was staring back at him, head slightly tilted, eyes looking right into his.

Her accent had thrown him for a complete loop, adding a layer to the already surreal package. She looked too perfect to be real, and her skin too fair, too….like a fae, maybe. Give her pointed ears and she would be a perfect match for the storybooks he and Ez had read as kids. Either that or she had stepped right out of a Lindsey Stirling music video. Maybe she was a fae. Even in her suit, it hadn’t been enough to throw off the image that she belonged in a forest somewhere, draped in soft fabric or by the ocean, among the waves. He would love to draw her like that. Surrounded by the natural environment and just at ease. Or standing in the water as the moon shone down on her. The moon…maybe that’s what she most reminded him of.

Either way, Callum had been out of his mind with nerves when he had asked her if he could paint her. Her stare had been intense and her posture indicated she could drop kick him with ease. He’d always been attracted to women who could kick his ass, though. She had looked through his art with a critical eye, but it had softened dramatically when she landed on the picture of Amaya and Janai’s engagement party. He had redone that drawing as a painting and it currently hung in their home, right above the mantle. That she had chosen that picture, probably one of his greatest works, to be the deciding factor had been a pleasant surprise.

When he had gotten her number and sat back with his friends, both Claudia and Soren had marveled that he had succeeded. Soren spent the whole car ride back saying how hot she was and asking if Callum thought she was into him. Callum wasn’t sure she had really even registered Soren. She hadn’t really paid them much attention until he had come over. And he only figured that because he had been unable to take his eyes off her the moment he saw her. Maybe, she was his muse?

Callum got back to drawing his, hopefully, last picture of Rayla tonight. Her hair had been up…how long was it? The side braid she wore gave him an indication that it probably reached to just under her bust undone. How did she make it look so elegant? Further evidence that she was a faerie walking among humans, in his opinion. As he drew, he kept coming back to her eyes. The vibrancy of them was offset by the lightness in their color. When had lavender looked like neon lights? Did that even make sense? , a

What did you laugh sound like? What did she enjoy? Would she like any of the content they made? Did he want her to? Callum finished the drawing and put it aside, taking his head in his hands. Why was she invading his mind like this? They had just met for a few moments and he wanted to draw her not date her. Well, he wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a date. But, there was no way a girl like that was single.

Callum shut his eyes and one image kept coming to mind; Rayla in the ocean, turned back to look at him as the moon shone down on her. It was beyond perfect. Like she was a Selkie or something out of the Gaelic stories his Irish grandfather had told him when he was little. ‘I’m in trouble.’

#replay #rayllum #rayllum fanfic #tdp #the dragon prince #au #moonbase fanfics

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