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credince--writes · 2 years ago

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To Mend My Wounds

John Price x Reader (More like an OC, but meh)

Also, it'll end up following some Jittersverse plot points. Have fun with that.

Luitenant John Price is sent on a (not on paper, but just as much of an order as anything else) mandatory leave to visit an old friend of Captain Lund for some much-needed healing.

John's shoulders were tense, staring down at the skin that he'd peeled at some point from around the corner of his thumb. The flesh stung, not nearly as bad as the assorted bruises and graze on his right arm, but still.

"John."

The Captian said his name- again. He had been too busy spiraling in his own mind to even hear the man.

"Yes Sir?" He looks up, seeing the flicker of worry shine in his eyes.

He wanted to tell himself it wasn't his fault.

He couldn't have saved them all.

You'd never be able to save them all.

Didn't mean it hurt any less.

The Captain looked tired. Drained, the color from his face, shit, the color from his hair starting to drain from his roots. Small grey hairs starting to peak their way through the collective mess of dirty, sweaty brown hair.

"You are going to go on leave. Sort this out at a place." He starts.

John's eyes snap up. "I can't leave my men-"

"You don't have a say in this, Luitenant." Lund cut him off. "I know a woman... Back in the states. I visited her a long time ago when I was in a place similar to yours. You're going to go spend some time there, mend your wounds. Not just the ones of flesh, do you understand?"

John's throat felt tight.

"Yes, I understand sir."

<><><><><><><><>

You'd woken up to the sound of birds chirping, the excessive light shining in through the window directly into your eyes forcing you to roll over with a groan of protest.

It was 8am.

Why were you awake?

You groaned, again, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Feeling the blankets pool around your middle.

And that's how your morning would normally go.

Wake up, groan. Fight the blankets, and groan some more. Stare out the window at the bird until you get the motivation to hobble out of bed and make a cup of tea.

Maybe staying up late, craning your neck upward at the stars wasn't a good idea.

Maybe it was because you'd spent 3 hours in the wee hours of the morning trying to lure an opossum into your lap.

It was your grandmother's home, or compound was the more correct terminology. For the entirety of your life, spend her days mending the minds and spirits of others with therapies while you wandered through the forests and picked moss off of the trunks.

Dirty feet, the feeling of the crumbling leaves and cold water rushing past in the creek.

To understand the soul is one thing,

but to heal one, so damaged and hesitant to open up to love?

That was her gig.

Your grandpa had been similar, but healing wounds of the physical body. Stitches and staples, and pills. Oh, the pills.

It was funny, for such a soft, loving, and giving woman. She hated that man with spite so deep you'd of guessed standing in the yard, throwing his bags of clothes into a firepit off the front porch and setting them alight she'd summoned all the pain and suffering she'd mended over the years. Carefully collected and stored away for it to rot back into the Earth, right out of the jar like some kind of Pandora's box.

To love so much, only to wither away to a disease that took what she valued most from her.

Her mind.

So you'd wake, grab your tea from the light blue mason jar with collected flowers and herbs you'd grown with her not that long ago. Mix it into the hot water and allow it to steep, while your mind steeped on the loss, the silence, and the feeling of energy all around you.

To step out onto the plush grass, wiggling your toes and feeling the morning dew on your soles. The connection of your body to the Earth is as if your feet were shooting roots to feel the energy of nature- to feel the connection with everything around.

Wandering, primarily, closer to the treeline eyeing a trail of fresh deer prints stamped into the moist soil.

Wandering, to peer back to the house and heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

To stand back in the shadow, watching as a man gruffly exited the car, straightening his stature and striding out towards the front door. Khaki pants- possibly a carpenter, a long sleeve jacket with a small collar popping out around his neck.

Feeling his boot connected with the gravel, staring at the man and feeling the unmistakable piercing pain that his soul carried- the weight atop his shoulders. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, marching like a man on a mission.

Like a soldier.

Stepping forward, out into the grass, and walking towards him. Seemingly triggering something in his peripheral, his head whipped over, eyes narrowing onto your frame as if you were a potential threat, then softening the moment he recognized it to be a barefoot woman, staring at him with an amused look holding a steaming mug in her hand.

"Looking for something?" You asked, eyeballing the large back sitting on his shoulder, the tendons in his hands straining. Watching as he pulled the bag down the rest next to his feet.

"I..." He hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry Ma'am. I'm looking for Miss Evangeline?"

Your Grandmother.

"Could that not be me?" You asked, watching how his body language stood stiff- trained.

"I was under the impression that Miss Evangeline was much... uh." He paused.

"Would you like to see her? Mister..." You started.

"Luitenant Pri-" He faultered. "John. My name is John. And yes, please. Miss...?"

You nodded slowly, a smirk raising on your lips as you lifted the mug to your lips.

Telling him your name, and then motioning for him to follow you. Stepping carefully as you moved into the forest, careful of your steps to not disturb the mushrooms sprouting out under the decaying foliage underfoot.

To your slight irritation, the sound of his methodical footwork, disregarding the flow of your movements to not disturb the piece of the land beneath your feet.

"Here she is." You stepped forward, moving to the side and opening up to a clearing filled with moss.

He glances, confused, before opening his mouth to speak. "...Where?"

You looked down at the dirt, teasingly sticking your toe into a leaf and flipping it over. "A little bit here, a little bit there. I'm sure the wind carried her over there as well." You motioned your head to the side, glancing across the clearing.

He stared mouth agape, not speaking.

"She's dead, John."

"....I figured. I am sorry for your loss- this was a misunderstanding then. Apologies for my intrusion, I will be leaving now." He dipped his head in a pseudo-awkward apology before turning to leave.

"I'm assuming your superiors sent you here?" You asked, him stopping in his tracks to glance over at you. Still staring into the clearing with an amused look on your face.

"Yes. He did, to meet Miss Evangeline." He nodded.

"Our family has been healing for generations." You stated. "Miss Evangeline is my Grandmother, she must know your Superior through her occupation, or through the grapevine." You responded, matter-of-factly. "Doesn't mean you need to leave. I do the same thing she has done, usually, it just takes a while for the word to spread that the next generation's takin' the helm." You mused, taking another sip.

John stood, in disbelief for one part at the distinct lack of grief- or anything really other than a constant calm, amused expression and body language. Usually meeting a strange man and taking him to a gravesite as if it were comedy.

"...Occupation," John states.

"We're healers. Have been since the civil war." You nodded with your statements. "War has always created the trauma. Life, creates it as well but war? It brings out the worst. It's been my family's duty for generations to sew little bits of it back together."

"That is what I was told." He agreed.

"You reek of death, John." You stated, still not looking back to meet his gaze. "You carry it, as a man thinks he should. But the weight has become too much to bear."

John doesn't know what to say, just stands. Stares. Listens.

"Sometimes you need to learn how to let that weight go. It isn't your duty to carry it all at once. It breaks your soul down, bit by bit." You step, turning to stare back. Meet his gaze. The subtle tremor of his hand as he grips the fabric of his jacket.

"Would you like me to show you how to mend it together?"

#John price x reader #cod mwii #call of duty #john price my beloved

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scalingsilverlinings · 3 months ago

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Geocaching part II

I wasn’t expecting to get this goal again so soon! My mahjong night planning is having a spanner in the works, largely because it has to be on a weekend and I am getting held up with other plans such as my interview prep and then going away a lot and my upcoming birthday but I promise to get to it.

I was initially nervous to get back into this and I was worried I would be judged and it would be too hard etc. Initially I was going to Sydney Olympic Park, and then I was going on a hike with Iman and then I was going to go during the Bay Run with Kat but I chickened out to ask her to join me and then I discovered I had a flat tire lol

After I got that fixed, I ended up just doing it around the area, and I don’t regret being out in the sunshine, it was such a nice day. I couldn’t find the first two I looked for near Wolli Creek but as I travelled west they became easier and I managed to find three in fairly quick succession. It’s pretty fun, and I wish I had more time to have walked the Two Valley Track and find them on the way, but they were too spaced apart and I was a little rushed, so I drove between all the caches.

No little trinkets in these because they were all pretty small sadly but I got to sign my name on a couple and yes, this will be a semi irregular hobby as it’s satisfying ticking them off.

It’s fairly easy but I’ve been playing very open book with the GPS and the clues and reading the logs haha. Still, I think that’s the way to do it so that there’s high payoff.

A few quieter goals coming up because I am going away and things so have limited weekends. I am waiting for the weather to be nice for SUP, that’s quite a fun one, and I’ve yet to find a night or someone to come on the ghost tour with me lmao. It’s pretty busy leading up to me leaving for Perth, mainly catching up with friends post-interview, so for now it’s LEGO and painting etc. etc. when I have the time. But stay tuned I guess.

On a personal level, I stopped the pill again post-interview and I feel much better in terms of weight and happiness and sleeping etc. so I think unfortunately it was the right thing to do. It has meant I have bled for like 2wks straight because I was breakthrough bleeding but waiting until my interview to stop. I think that I am much happier these days and the small goals have helped bring some structure into my busy life and make me feel like it’s worth doing.

A mixture of big and small happiness goals are the way to get by day to day.

#geocaching

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sab3rto0thed · 7 months ago

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in her new song fortnight, taylor swift sings, "i love you / it's ruining my life." in renee rapp's song gemini moon, she sings, "i bet you're sick of it, i could blame the gemini moon / but really i should just be better to you." in keaton henson's song flesh and bone, he sings lines like "i am low and unwell" or "i find no heat, no love in me" or, the best, "i am rude and unkind." it is a song about love, and i have never known how to love unless i am being deeply angry about it.

my cat died two days ago, in the very early hours of april twenty-ninth.

i am honestly just not good at love. i use people more than they use me. i am inherently selfish, which is a quality that all humans share, but i believe i possess it more than others. i don't let people touch me unless i know i am getting something out of it, no matter how small that something is�� a sly smile, a kind word, a mocking attempt at understanding.

i am unknowable, deeply misunderstood, like every fictional antagonist with the gleam in their eyes and their miserable speeches about the state of the world, their horrible upbringings and their even more horrible and inevitable deaths. i have been trying very hard to bring about my own horrible death to keep the tale going― a sixteen-year-old girl, a handful of pills. i want to go off them. i don't want a weapon anywhere near my troubled psyche. i can handle myself.

a sixteen-year-old girl and a cat that she has had for nine years that has loved her through everything, that was invented at the same time as snapdragons, that needs her more than death does. a sixteen-year-old girl and a cat and a handful of pills and a troubled psyche and a villainous monologue and a high school graduation.

i will give it a try, this whole survival thing. it is not as if i will be sixteen forever. and i am not. but i am not used to kindness. i cannot let anyone do something for me without knowing exactly where i stand.

my ex-boyfriend always said he struggled with having sex with me, because he never believed me when he asked for consent. he said he didn't know where my lines were― i didn't, either. i had never made lines, because before him, no one ever asked. i was an excellent liar and an even better actor, and that is why he left after crossing all of my lines. there is nothing magical about me once you come out the other side. i am just a small girl with tangled hair and uneven eyeliner. and no cat.

i keep thinking, piteously, viciously, of all of the people that i have ever left, or that have left me. i think of them bearing down upon my infallible self-assurance, because my cat is dead and i have not smiled in two days, as if this is some measure of karma in the universe for all of the terrible things i have ever done.

and sometimes i want to absolutely lose it. i want to decimate the entire house and kill everyone i have ever known, and i want to scream WHEN WILL MY PAIN BE ENOUGH. WHEN WILL IT BE ENOUGH. it will be the only form of prayer i am capable of, which is why i will not do it. i don't pray. i linger in doorways, but i don't pray.

it feels like everyone i have ever loved even a little bit has left me in some enormous and irreversible way. that girl that hugged me after i tried to kill myself―gone, sick of me. that boy that wanted to kiss me at the creek―gone, sick of me. the teachers that asked me to stay a while when i was crying―gone, fucking gone, sick of me. i have forgotten what love is, how to hold it in my hands without dropping it. i have been moving through my days monotonously and without more than a few ounces of joy and absolutely no care for anyone except falsity, except lies, because that is what i do. i can't love anyone without getting something out of it.

he died in my arms. the cat, i mean. he died and i held him, wrapped in a blanket, wires extending from the wraps on his paws. and he was sick for four months. he was sick all day. and i knew he was sick, i knew he was getting sicker. i should not have gone to work. i should not have gone on that drive after work, because i knew what going home would mean. i should not have made him wait. he never made me wait.

i am never going to forgive myself.

he wrapped his paw around me whenever i held him. he always waited for me to come home from work so i could chase him around the living room. he loved me more than anyone else in the entirety of my existence has ever loved me.

i wake up and he is gone and i cry. my mouth feels like i've been hit with a sledgehammer. i hate everyone and everything else in the world. i don't eat and then i eat too much and i sleep at odd times and my grandma asks me if i'm okay and of course i'm okay, why wouldn't i be okay, i am so good at keeping it together. so good. so okay.

i want to leave. there is no place for me here anymore. he was the last remaining thing that still lived in this town and loved me, and i failed even him. he was sick for four months. he was practically anemic when we put him down. i would give anything for it to be someone else. i would give anything for one more day. time, it seems, is still cruel to me― i am sixteen again, haunting the hallways, but it is not me who feels so dead anymore.

yesterday, my mom told me that i am hard to love because i have been so cruel to her. i argued the point, but i should have just said i know. of course i know. i know that better than anyone and anything in the world. of course i know. sometimes i wish i had gotten rid of me a long time ago. it would have spared everyone the trouble.

my cat died two days ago, in the early hours of april nineteenth. i miss him very much. a month after we got the diagnosis, i drove home and held him fiercely in my arms and cried into his belly. now he is gone and i am even more monotonous and robotic. i don't have a single ounce of sympathy to spare for anyone. i don't know if this part of my damage is reversible.

everything ends. i know.

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la-lauren · 1 year ago

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I only worked two hours today, but my body was fighting by the time I got home. Heart unhappy, sugar low. I felt better after eating.

I haven’t heard back from financial aid about the emergency funds (that I would use to pay rent) or about getting the grant back that would pay the tuition.

If either of them are denied, I’m going to be up shit creek with no paddles.

I know I’ve gotten myself to this point, but living life is hard when you constantly feel sick as a baseline and no one cares. Or can see past your fatness. I will forever be angry that I got sick after doing everything I was told — I worked out regularly, did my first 5k, I ate better, I’d lost weight… and then bam, suddenly my muscles twitch so much they wake me up and my heart skips beats (but I’m told it’s fine) and I need 12+ hours of sleep to barely function. A lil thyroid pill is introduced like it’ll fix my problems. It doesn’t, but I better stay on the medication or risk myxedema. I live life in and out of the ER when my heart feels like it’s giving out, had my heart rate over 200 while sitting. Beta blocker given that I’ve been on ever since. It helps, really, but my heart is still weird and makes me nervous to do anything.

And now, several years down the line, my CRP keeps creeping up, I feel like I’m ready for the grave, and I’m still supposed to try to have a life.

I can’t. And idk how to function in a world where I’m supposed to.

So I guess if the money doesn’t come through, I’m legitimately looking at 💀 as an option.

I really wish I had normal family I could stay with to just figure this all out without the threat of imminent homelessness.

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devinetheory-2 · 3 years ago

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There's a war going on

no one is safe from.

No second place

No way to escape from

We can turn our heads

But can't help but face it

It's not a game

But we'll still try

to play dumb

And she says she wants me

No matter how hard I try

How much shit I buy

No matter how many drugs

I put in my bloodstream

I can't stay numb

I wake up every day

Under the same rug

Powered up

By the same plug

I know it sounds insane but

I can't move

So many things

I've convinced myself

I can't do.

So many obstacles

I've already ran thru

And I been missing myself

Call around to hospitals

It's possible

I'm already fossil fuel

And Humans are monsters too

and won't resist

any opportunity

to conquer you...

Some days I feel like dropping

some days I feel unstoppable...

Pain is mandatory

I guess misery is optional

100 rounds in the drum

Optical on the top

opposition is probable

however illogical

Philosophical pill popping

prodical product

of the drama you get

From making my situation impossible...

I can't help but laugh

at the odds

like starting over

from the bottom

is comical

Atomic Geronimo

Poncho Villa

Playing Dominoes

Out options

it's probably

Time to go

Viva la revolution

Evolution of the celestial cosmos

At night

Tanks roam the block

Oh look...

2 for 1 tacos

We're doomed

And that's not a joke

Up a creek got 2 paddles

But not a boat

Death is mandatory

But they say life is optional

And no matter how much

you may think you are

I promise you

That you are not in control

I'll be ok tho

as long as I die

with my pockets full...?

I can hear God calling

I hope he still got my soul

- Devine Theory

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maggotmouth · 3 years ago

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hillo sexthy legends !! i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !! x o x

* CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

— born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

— its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

— margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

— for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

— at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

— she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

— a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.

— she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away. it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

— after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.

— she works at summer camps coaching junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

— enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment.

— she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

— used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

— was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

— nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

— has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

— she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

— calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

— stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

— lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

— constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

— frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you, indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine.

TLDR: angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

#aaaaaaa #we back boys #irvingintro #hmu for plots bayybeyyy

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dykeferatu · 3 years ago

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tagged by @vicissitude to post 6 albums i can't live without! i'm the kind of person that forgets what music they like when asked so when i checked my bandcamp to see what the hell i even listen to i saw mommy long legs had a few records left to order and i have never grabbed my credit card so fast in my LIFE so anyway thanks for the tag otherwise that probably wouldn't have happened. here's the albums before i waster more time:

we brave bee stings and all - thao & the get down stay down | try your best - mommy long legs | bury me at make out creek - mitski

rhombithian - sincere engineer | maggot - dazey and the scouts | despite - lady pills

ok i'm tagging @gent @werebutch @sawtual @crvcifixes @andrrrgynous @bubbele @closapine if u want to :]

#buzz buzz #sidenote to keep my indie cred: i was listening to mommy long legs and dazey and the scouts b4 tiktok found them. so.#also i probably could have put any thao album there depending on my mood

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 4 years ago

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Me: It’s fine, I’m over Umbrella Academy, I can enjoy the show like a regular person-- Brain: Plot an au where Vanya starts her own superhero team. Me, tumblr text file already open: Fuck you.

Vanya discovers her powers after running away from home in late high school and running out of pills. She can’t get a refill since her pills were created by Reginald for only her and “hey, kid, where’d you get these mysterious drugs from? I’m calling the cops.”

She spends most of her time trying to earn money by playing the violin.

She has a panic attack in an alley bc she’s out of pills and she can’t go home and oh, god, what should she do-- That blows up the alley. When the destruction is over, there’s a person standing there--a person with no identifiable gender staring at them with wide eyes. “You’re just like me,” they gasp.

This is the first of multiple OCs in this verse, provided that I work more on it. Maybe... 5 major OCs?

This particular OC is Taylor, one of the other 43 kids born October 1st, 1989, and they are a shapeshifter from France. If you follow me, you might recall they were briefly mentioned in this short post. They can shapeshift into any person, animal, or combination therefore at the cost of an extremely high metabolism.

Taylor immediately drags Vanya off to their hotel which they are staying with another one of the 43, Mason. Mason is an Empath from England. He and Taylor met online. His power allows him to both feel and manipulate other people’s emotions. He can even affect large crowds of hundreds of people.

Taylor and Mason have been scoping out the Umbrella Academy for the past week, trying to decide whether or not to approach them with the idea of joining. Mason thinks it would be irresponsible to not volunteer to help people (having grown up on “with great power comes great responsibility”. Taylor doesn’t actually care beyond preventing Mason from getting shot, but has slowly grown to like the idea.

Vanya immediately goes, “You naive idiots, here’s a million reasons why that’s a bad idea”, thoroughly explaining her backstory to boot. And then remembers that she suddenly has powers now and oh look! Another panic attack.

Mason puts a stop to that. No blowing up hotel rooms here, thank you.

But now, Mason and Taylor are up a shit creek because the only known superhero group is run by an abusive asshole and they still want to help people. And Vanya’s like, “Hey, I was basically right next to Reginald in the Umbrella Academy’s training for my entire life, I know how to train ppl to be superheroes. I can train you guys!”

And Mason goes, “Fantastic, also we should probably figure out why your literally exploding shit despite being powerless for your entire life. bc wtf man.”

Vanya: “That is a fantastic idea, also I’m having an identity crisis.” Taylor: “That’s literally my entire life, let me help.”

But all is not well in the city of Townsville, for you see, another person saw Vanya blow up an alleyway. It was... The Conductor!!

(No, it’s not jenkins, and while I haven’t read the comics, the Conductor isn’t going to be here long enough to matter).

The Conductor has been kidnapping and brainwashing musicians into joining his Orchestra of EVIL to play his Apocalypse Suite that’s totally going to end the world, guys.

(let’s just say the Conductor is lowkey psychic. Like, he knows this song is going to be the song that ends the world, but not when it happens or who plays it)

So, he was stalking Vanya, to save her from a life of homelessness by drugging and brainwashing her when he sees her blow up the alley and thinks “oh. that’s the missing piece.”

Vanya has only been training Taylor and Mason for three days or so when she gets kidnapped by the Conductor and Taylor and Mason are like “oh shit, we should probably get her back if we want our dream to become reality, also because it’s the right thing to do.”

It takes them a while to track her down, because they’re not heroes yet, and they get captured while looking for her, because they’re not heroes yet.

By this point, Vanya’s been drugged and being forced to learn the first chair part for the Apocalypse Suite, and some memories have been knocked loose. Like bby!Allison rumoring her. The dark room in the basement. And bby!Vanya killing a nanny or two. She’s very emotionally overwhelmed right now.

But she’s resisting the Conductor, who is not having it. So he threatens to kill Mason and Taylor if she doesn’t agree to play. So she does.

And She Brings Down The Building.

Vanya manages to keep herself, Taylor, and Mason alive in the destruction, but the same cannot be said about the Conductor, probably (IDK, if I decide to continue/write this, he seems like he could be a good reoccurring villain).

Vanya is very overwhelmed at this point because All she ever wanted was to be accepted by her family, to have powers like them, so the fact that her father deliberately took them away from her is devastating. Fortunately, she managed to get most of the rage out of her system by blowing up the Conductor’s building.

Mason and Taylor drag her out of there before the police show up because they blew up a building. By the time they get back to their hotel, Vanya has decided.

“Can I... can I join your superhero team? If you guys want me?”

Of course they say yes because they’ve bonded now, but Vanya is still very iffy about being on the front lines. Like, she JUST had a guy try to brainwash her into destroying the world with her powers and it was revealed that she kept killing nannies in her childhood, she’s not in a good place involving them.

But, again, she’s been next to Reginald Hargreeves for a long time. She knows about both training and leading a superhero team. So Taylor suggests she takes the head. Or perhaps... the First Chair.

Because that’s what the Conductor made her. She was to be the first chair of his Orchestra of Evil, to lead the apocalypse. It’s only right that she takes that back. Plus, as part of their job, the first chair is a leader.

And Vanya is a leader now.

Since I don’t know if I should continue this, here’s my OCs, their powers, their hero names, and their jobs on the team.

Taylor Devereux Power: Shape-shifting Hero name: The Chimera Job: Infiltrator, Tank Note: Has the world’s biggest crush on Vanya.

Mason Gaines Power: Empath Hero name: The Aura Job: Crowd Control, Can Wipe Out Large Amounts of Enemies Note: Both Taylor and Mason named themselves after Vanya’s siblings in an act of solidarity. Was the one to suggest it, along with the group name, “The Parahumans.”

Saniyah Best Power: Technopath Hero Name: Hijack Job: Hacker, Information Gather Note: Saniyah was the next to join. Discovered them through her hacking after being kidnapped to use her powers for evil. Sent an SOS, agreed to join if they rescued her.

Luiz Rocha do Amaral Power: Elemental Breath Hero Name: Drake Job: Heavy Hitter/Lancer Note: Found them on an online forum of all places and tracked them down from there. Is working on an animated cartoon of their adventures as a superhero team. Until he started training with the Parahumans, he thought his power was Fire Breath, but in truth he can breath multiple elements.

Sang-Kyu Choi Power: Shadow Manipulation Hero Name: The Shade Job: Leader on the ground, Sniper Notes: Vanya saved his life. While Sang-Kyu didn’t originally plan to be a hero, he couldn’t not repay that debt. Somehow, he ended up leading the entire team. He and Vanya are very close, almost as close as Taylor and Vanya.

Vanya Hargreeves Power: Sound Manipulation Hero Name: The First Chair Job: Team Leader, Eyes in the Sky, Trainer Notes: She cried the first time their group celebrated their mutual birthday and she got presents since she rarely got them before. Still remembers every note of the Apocalypse Suite over a decade into the future. Misses Five Hargreeves more than anything else in the world.

If you want to be added to a possible taglist, please use the replies or my ask box and make sure you call it the “parahumans au” so I can find it fast.

#Umbrella Academy #vanya hargreeves #vanya deserved better #umbrella academy ocs #hargreeves siblings #hargreeves family #parahumans au #vanya discovers her powers early #minor fiveya

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storytellerssanctum · 5 years ago

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Hey! Suddenly I felt so nostalgic that I re-watched the whole "Saw" franchise and then started looking for some cool stuff on tumblr. I found your blog and I want to say that I adore your hcs!!! And I was wondering if I could request some hcs for an au where our sweet boy Adam survives? :) What would his life be like after all the events? Thank you!

This hurt my heart to write but it also made me so happy. definitely a little dark at times but the thought of him living is so comforting 🥺

AU Adam Survives

He was so defeated when he thought nobody was coming back for him. He was ready to give up and prayed to die

Then, he thought it was a fever dream from his gunshot. When the doors opened and the light flooded in, he was manic. He didn’t think he had any strength to do anything, but he screamed and shouted until his lungs gave out.

When he was free all he could do was sob. His whole body felt separate from his mind. He could barely get himself to his feet to get out.

He went to the hospital to get his arm treated. He had to take so much medication to treat him for infection. He was still ready to give up. Waking up and taking pills made him angry at life, made him envious of the world he previously took for granted.

He suffered from chronic pain for the first while. His arm took weeks to get treated, so he had slight lead toxicity from the wound. It became hard to deal with, but he tried his best to stay away from the pain medication. He didn’t want to succumb to an addiction

He had to do so many police statements and was in and out of the station for weeks. He despised it. He felt useless because he couldn’t tell them anything worthwhile

Within a few months things started to get better. He was terrified to pick up a camera again. He was scared if he took another photo, he would get kidnapped again. He was traumatized and took it out on his passion

He was jittery. He had to get a new apartment because he feared someone finding him again.

He found himself jumping at noises. He had a hard time when there was no background noise in his apartment. The sounds from his neighbours and the creeks of the floor gave him panic attacks

He dropped things a lot. His hands shook so bad he had a hard time picking up a coffee mug

He took a long time before going into public again. When he did, he was weary of everyone around him. He was always looking over his shoulder and never went out in the dark

At night he always locked his door, the windows, and his bedroom door. At first, he moved a dresser in front of his bedroom door to make sure he would be awake if someone tried to get in. He always had a light on

He took a huge interest in music. The more he played songs, the better he felt. It took the edge off

He cried a lot. Mostly in the shower, but sometimes at night. He remembered the terror he felt in the bathroom. He couldn’t handle being alone

When he took showers he always locked the front and the bathroom door. It was usually a military shower. Five minutes, just enough to wash himself. He didn’t like being anywhere he couldn’t see the door.

When he first got home, he slept on the couch a lot. He slept with something close by that he could use as a weapon

When he finally got over his initial fear, he drank a lot. He found it easier to cope with the ptsd

He couldn’t afford a councillor to help him with his trauma, so he read a few self-help books. They didn’t do much

He picked up hobbies. He drew, he tried to learn guitar, but he couldn’t find anything that replaced photography

He had to get a job. It was a part-time work in a small convenience store so he wouldn’t see many people. He asked for early shifts so he didn’t have to walk in the dark

Once he had some money saved up, he invested it in a therapist to help him deal with his issues. He went every week, and eventually he saw himself coming back

It took a long time for him to pick up his camera again. When he did, it was small things like pictures of the trees, or wildlife he saw like squirrels or raccoons. He was scared to do anything else

He adopted a cat. It kept him company. He had a huge bond with it and it helped him around the house. The cat was company when he was too scared to get out of bed

Eventually, he got a dog, too. He took it for walks in the morning, trained it super well. It was something he prides himself on. His pets gave him a reason to keep living

He took to writing. He started writing small poems but eventually it manifested into chapters to novels and beginnings of screenwriting’s. His mind was dark and he needed an outlet.

He applied for photography jobs like weddings and small ceremonies. He eventually got a job doing photography for the newspaper. It made him less nervous, and got him back into the swing of life

He was terrified of dating. He didn’t want to let anyone see his dark side. He also didn’t trust anyone. He thought they were out to get him.

He finally met someone that he had interest in. It was someone he met at his job. They caught his eye and came back every day to see him. Eventually, he got the courage to ask them on a date

They probably went to a coffee shop, small and secluded. He had a hard time opening up, but found it easier as time passed.

Eventually, he asked them to move in. He built a life in his new apartment and was too scared of change. They took it a small step at a time, moving things in over a period of time instead of all at once

He had a lot of nightmares. He was scared it would drive them away, but it brought them closer. They helped him through his issues and with help they didn’t come as often

He had to start medication to treat himself. He struggled with the thought but eventually gave into it. It made him feel broken, damaged, but it helped him sleep and it took the edge off his fear

He eventually stopped buying liquor. It made him more angry, more scared, and didn’t help him. It took him away from the reality he had to face

He started getting better sleep, he found himself feeling more human

It took him years to finally deal with what happened to him. He never fully recovered, but he built his life around it

He eventually fostered children. He took in older kids with bad pasts. He wanted to help them, and with time they helped him

He published his writings. He made some money off it, but his photography was where his heart lied

He made a photography book, outlining his best work. He was hired for bigger weddings and made more money off it. He felt peace when he was able to do good with his passion. It made him feel that he wasn’t as evil as he thought he was

He always held guilt at the pictures he took of dr. Gordon. It made him feel twisted and dark, that he deserved what he got. the more good he did with his work the more he could heal

Oh boy this got long. I could go on forever. I love this boy and he deserved so much better

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unfolded73 · 4 years ago

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My Heartbeat Shows the Fear (4/4) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: A canon divergent story: Patrick gets into a car accident and it brings the Brewers to town sooner.

Notes: This fic will be posted in 4 chapters, every other day. There is some description of injuries, but nothing too graphic or life-threatening.

The title is from “Overkill” by Colin Hay, which thanks to the show Scrubs puts me in mind of hospitals.

Thank you to Amanita_Fierce for putting so much time and thought into betaing this fic - you made it so, so much better. And thanks also to @high-seas-swan for some helpful suggestions, particularly on that one scene that I tore apart and rewrote.

Rated Teen, entire fic: 21k words. (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

Patrick was doing okay until he got to the stairs leading up to his third floor apartment. The first step made his ribs scream in agony. The second step took it somewhere beyond screaming.

“I told you to take one of those lovely vicodin the doctor prescribed you,” David said, hovering at his side.

“And I told you that I don’t like the way they make me feel,” Patrick gritted out.

“Yeah, and this feels much better. Here,” he said, bending down so that his height was even with Patrick’s. “Put your arm over my shoulders. We’ll go slow.”

They gradually worked their way up the stairs, David taking most of Patrick’s weight. It didn’t help much with the pain, but at least it kept him moving. The relief at seeing the door to his apartment finally in front of them almost made Patrick laugh with glee.

“There they are!” Patrick’s dad said when David got the door open. He helped David maneuver Patrick over to the sofa and ease him down, which made the pain in his ribs finally settle down to a dull roar.

David produced Patrick’s prescription pill bottles from his bag, lining them up on the kitchen counter.

“Can I make you some tea, sweetheart?” his mother asked.

“Um, sure,” Patrick said, watching David. When he’d finished arranging the bottles, he reached into his bag again and pulled out the discharge paperwork from the hospital and began reading it over again, wandering back to stand behind the sofa Patrick was parked on. Patrick let his head tip back as he watched David read. He’d already pored over the papers once while they were waiting for Patrick to be released and here he was, going through them again the same way he went over contracts with their vendors. At first Patrick had been surprised when David showed such a keen interest in those contracts, but he soon learned that when something was important to David, he was capable of a singular kind of focus.

“It says deep breathing will help your ribs heal,” David said, his eyes still on the paperwork.

“Mom? Dad? I need to tell you something,” Patrick said without taking his eyes off the man he loved.

David’s head whipped up.

Clint settled into one of Patrick’s arm chairs and Marcy came in from the kitchen, standing at his side. “What is it, honey?” she asked.

“I’ve been… I haven’t been telling you guys the whole truth. But I want to tell you now,” Patrick said. He felt the urge to fidget, to stand up and pace, but he couldn’t. He’d just have to sit here with his aches and pains and tell the truth.

“I can… go. Give you some privacy,” David said, looking panicked.

Patrick met his gaze. “Will you stay?” he asked softly. David paused, then nodded slowly. Patrick looked back at his parents. “This is all my fault. I asked David to hide it because I was a coward and because… ” — he laughed nervously — “I was a little distracted by…” He pointed to his broken arm.

“You can tell us anything!” Marcy said brightly.

Clint put a hand up to stop her. “Marcy, just let him talk.”

“But it hasn’t been fair to you, and it especially hasn’t been fair to David. And I’m sorry,” he said, tilting his head back again to meet David’s eyes.

“Patrick, I told you—” David started.

“I’m gay, and David is my boyfriend.” The words were surprisingly easy to say, despite all the times on the phone and in the hospital when they’d stuck in his throat. He reached up to David and took his hand. “And if I hadn’t gotten in this stupid car crash, I’d be able to say unequivocally that I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

His parents exchanged a look, and then looked back at them. “Well, that’s all we care about,” Marcy said, her voice watery with unshed tears. “That you’re happy.”

“It is. We’re glad you told us,” his dad said. “We were always going to support you, son. Both of you. If you doubted it before, I hope you never doubt it again.”

Patrick watched their faces for several seconds. “You seem a little less… surprised than I thought you’d be?”

Marcy smiled. “Well, that’s because your father figured it out.”

Patrick felt David startle, and he looked up to see David glancing around the apartment like he was going to find some overlooked evidence that had tipped them off.

“I just saw the way you looked at each other, that’s all,” Clint said, blushing faintly.

“Well, at first you just thought David was carrying an unrequited torch for Patrick—” Marcy said.

“Only at first,” Clint said with a laugh.

“Aww, David, were your heart-eyes too noticeable?” Patrick teased. The overwhelming relief flowing through him made him feel like laughing, although Patrick thought that if he actually started laughing it might quickly turn into hysterical crying.

“Ugh,” David said, trying to suppress a smile. “Look who’s talking.”

“Oh, I forgot to make your tea,” Marcy said, moving back toward the kitchen.

“Let me do it, Mrs. Brewer,” David said as he let go of Patrick’s hand, his longer strides carrying him to the kitchen counter more quickly. “I can make some for everyone.” Patrick could see in the set of David’s shoulders how anxious he was. Knew how badly he wanted Patrick’s parents to approve of him.

“How about we work together then,” she said, and then in a lower, conspiratorial tone, “I might have made some cookies that I can break out.”

“Patrick,” his dad said, his tone more serious. “I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell us. I’m sorry that we didn’t… I guess that we didn’t make the space for you to confide in us.”

Patrick winced. He could see regret and guilt in his father’s eyes, and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of it. “You didn’t do anything wrong. For a long time, I didn’t actually realize that I was gay. I didn’t know what being in a relationship was supposed to feel like.” Patrick tried to fidget with his hands, all of this truth-telling making him nervous, but the cast that covered part of his left hand stopped him. “And I didn’t want to disappoint you. Or Rachel, or her family.”

“You were never going to disappoint us, not like this.” Clint’s eyes strayed over to where Marcy and David were talking softly in the kitchen as they put tea bags in mugs and the electric kettle burbled. “Not because of who you love.”

Patrick tried not to cry at that, but everything he’d been through the last few days had his emotions too close to the surface, and he very quickly found himself wiping away tears. His father got up from the armchair to sit next to him on the sofa. “Can I hug you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

With a watery laugh, Patrick put his uninjured arm around his father and let himself be pulled into a careful hug. It was a little bit painful, but more than worth it to feel those comforting arms from his childhood, as willing to hold him as ever.

When David and his mother brought over the tea and cookies, Clint vacated the spot next to Patrick for David to take. Patrick let himself sit close to David, their legs touching, and leaned into David’s side. David put his arm around Patrick, his fingers scratching absently over Patrick’s shoulder as they so often did. Showing this casual affection in front of his parents, the way he’d gotten used to in front of everyone else in his life, was such an unlooked-for joy. It almost made the car accident worth it. He wondered how much longer he would have waited to tell them, otherwise. Bantering back and forth, he and David told the story of their first date, and of the first open mic night at the store, and being able to share this facet of his life with his parents healed a part of him that he hadn’t realized was broken.

Patrick was exhausted though, and the soothing stroke of David’s fingers and the cadence of his parents’ and David’s voices eventually lulled him to sleep.

~*~

He drifted back into consciousness gently and felt David still there, surrounding him and serving as a not-quite-ideal pillow.

“Where did my folks go?” Patrick mumbled.

David pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “They went to the motel,” he whispered. “Do you want to get some more sleep?”

Patrick shook his head and sat up, groaning as his ribs protested. “No, I think I want to eat pizza and watch a movie with you. If you don’t mind eating pizza two days in a row.”

David scoffed. “When have I ever refused to eat pizza two days in a row?” He already had his phone in his hand, ready to dial the pizza place in Elm Glen that would deliver to Schitt’s Creek. It wasn’t their favorite pizza in the area, but right now Patrick thought he’d be willing to do serious criminal acts to get some of that trash pizza in his mouth.

“Thank you, David,” he said.

David seemed to understand that he wasn’t just talking about the pizza. “I’m so proud of you.”

Patrick laughed. “I’m… very relieved it went so well with my folks.”

“Of course it was going to go well,” David said, leaning over and giving him a smacking kiss on the mouth. “They love you.”

After a couple of hours which included an uncomfortable quantity of pizza and one romantic comedy, Patrick was ready to go to bed. “Can you help me put a plastic bag on my cast so I can shower?”

David was off the sofa like a shot, already digging around in the drawer where Patrick had stashed a few bags from Brebner’s, intending to recycle them. Patrick went over and found a rubber band in his desk drawer.

“Do you want help getting your t-shirt off?” David asked.

Patrick nodded sheepishly as he lifted his arms, his ribs throbbing. “It’ll be the least sexy undressing me has ever been.”

David gave him a smile. “It’s still a little bit sexy, but only because after five days, I’m feeling pretty hard up.”

Flinching as David maneuvered the shirt over his cast, Patrick said, “We used to go that long without having sex all the time, back before this apartment.” He held his arm out and he and David managed to seal it up reasonably well in the plastic bag. Patrick shuffled into the bathroom, pushing his sweatpants and underwear down, trying to move his torso as little as possible while he did so.

“Yeah, but I’ve gotten pretty used to this honeymoon we’ve been having since you moved.”

Patrick turned with a smirk as David joined him in the bathroom. “Honeymoon, eh?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” David said as he turned on the water and began removing his own clothes.

“And so you’ve decided it’s sexy shower time? Because I don’t think—”

“I’ve decided that you’re probably going to need help, given that every time you lift your arms you wince in pain.” His eyes were on the bruises that formed a painful map on the side of Patrick’s torso.

Patrick looked down. “I know, it looks terrible.”

“You’re still gorgeous,” David said with a kiss to his forehead. “Now get in.”

Patrick was grateful for the help, in truth, and he stood still under the spray while David lathered up a bath sponge and went to work. David avoided his injured ribs aside from one very cautious swipe of the sponge. None of it was sexual, but that didn’t stop Patrick’s dick from getting a little bit interested from all of the touching that his also-naked boyfriend was doing to his body.

“Okay, let me do your hair,” David murmured, turning Patrick toward him.

Patrick leaned forward and pressed his face against David’s clavicle. “I missed you.” He brought his right hand up to thread through David’s chest hair and let his eyes drift close.

“I missed you too, honey,” David replied. Patrick heard the snap of the shampoo cap and then David’s hands were in his hair. He drifted in the sensation of the warm water on his back and David’s talented fingers on his scalp, and then suddenly lost his balance and stumbled a little.

“You’re asleep on your feet,” David said fondly, tilting Patrick’s head back to rinse.

“I don’t know why,” Patrick said, suppressing a yawn. “I’ve already had a nap and it’s barely nine-thirty.”

“The nurse said it would be normal to be tired today,” David reminded him. “You’ve been up and about way more today than you have been since the accident.”

Patrick considered telling David to skip the conditioner, but he knew his boyfriend would protest. And besides, it meant he got to have the feeling of David’s fingers in his hair for a little while longer.

“Okay, I’m done with you,” David said, kissing his cheek after the conditioner was rinsed from his hair. “You gonna be okay to dry off and get your pajamas on? I’m just going to get cleaned up myself while I’m in here.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Thank you,” he said with more weight than he intended to, and then he laughed it off. “You gonna help me shower for the next six weeks?”

David was still looking at him fondly. “If you need me to.”

Patrick kissed him and opened the shower door, stepping carefully out. While he dried off, he watched David, his body partially obscured by the frosted glass. Patrick could hear him humming under his breath as he shampooed his own hair.

After he’d brushed his teeth and taken the plastic bag off of his arm, Patrick left the bathroom and went over to the other side of the apartment to struggle into pajamas. By the time his back hit the mattress of his own bed (finally, his own bed), he was already nearly asleep.

He drifted out of a shallow slumber when David emerged from the bathroom. “There you are,” he mumbled.

“Do you want me to go back to the motel? Or I could pull out the sofa bed?” David asked him in a low voice.

“What? No, I want you here with me.” And then Patrick realized that he’d fallen asleep on his usual side of the bed, which meant his injured left arm was toward David’s side. He shifted over awkwardly. “We’ll need to switch sides though.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to fidget during the night and hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick said. “I want you beside me.”

“Okay.”

David settled down under the covers, hesitant and cautious in his movements. Patrick reached out with his right hand and found David’s hand under the covers. “Sorry I’m not up for sex.”

“I kind of assumed,” David said, and Patrick could hear the smile in his voice. “In fact, I was so sure that you were too tired that I might’ve… jerked off in your shower.”

Patrick cracked an eye open and made an attempt at a glare. “Well, now I’m jealous.”

“I could give you a very careful handjob if you want,” David said.

Patrick considered it, and then promptly yawned. “Maybe tomorrow.”

David rolled toward him and kissed Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“I’m so glad you are too.”

~*~

Stevie had checked them into the motel on Thursday evening, so Marcy didn't meet Johnny Rose until she ventured out to get some tea bags from the front desk on Friday morning.

“You must be Mr. Rose,” she said, and she hadn’t needed his nametag emblazoned with ‘Johnny’ to know that this man was David’s father, not given how similar they looked. “I’m Marcy Brewer.”

“Oh, Patrick’s mother!” he said, his voice loud and his smile wide, and then as she watched his face dropped. “Well, David’s been so happy to have Patrick… as a… as a… business partner.”

There was a small part of Marcy, the part that enjoyed teasing people, that wanted to watch Johnny struggle not to betray Patrick’s confidence a little longer. But fortunately, she was a nicer person than that.

“We know that Patrick and David are a couple — they told us last night.”

“Well, that’s… that’s good. Great!”

“It is good. We’re thrilled to see them so happy together. It’s clear that Patrick’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time, in spite of his injury.”

“Yes, well, we were very sorry to hear about the car accident. I trust he’s healing up well?” Johnny asked.

“His arm will be in a cast for several weeks and he’s trying to tough out the pain from his broken ribs without taking his pain medication, but all things considered he’s doing okay.” Marcy smiled. “You know, he broke that same arm when he was nine years old, jumping out of a tree.”

Johnny’s eyebrows went up. “My goodness, well. David was a fairly risk-averse child, but I seem to recall Alexis broke her arm around that same age. She was the daredevil of the family when she was small.” There was a lull in the conversation, and Johnny seemed to remember that he was speaking to her as the motel proprietor. “Is there anything you need in your room?”

“Oh yes, that’s why I came in. I was wondering if we could get some more tea bags.”

Snapping his fingers, Johnny walked into a storeroom next to the front desk and emerged after only a few seconds with a handful of them. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“You know,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “I was skeptical about David and Patrick at first. Trying to juggle a business relationship and a romantic relationship can be tricky. But I don’t know, it seems like they’ve really settled into a groove with each other over all these months.”

Marcy was only just getting used to the idea that her son was gay, and she suddenly found herself feeling jealous that Johnny Rose had known about Patrick and David long enough to have had this evolution of ideas about their relationship.

Johnny’s eyes had strayed over to the computer. “So you’re staying until Sunday?”

“We were going to stay as long as we possibly could to provide Patrick with support, but it occurred to me last night that maybe there’s no need? He has David, who’s taking such good care of him. And if we leave tomorrow, it will give us a day to recover from the long drive before going back to work.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have necessarily thought that my son was capable of being a nursemaid to someone.” He laughed uneasily. “Love can certainly bring out the best in a person.” Johnny looked at the computer again. “We have a few vacancies right now, so take your time deciding. If you need to stay until Sunday, that’s fine.”

She thanked him and went back to the room, the bed empty and the sound of the shower signaling where her husband was. She flipped the kettle on, her mind still turning over everything she now knew about her son. She smiled at the casual intimacy of him dozing off on David’s shoulder the night before and the comfort and trust that signaled. At the same time, she was trying not to think too much about the box of condoms in the medicine cabinet. Patrick was an adult and his sex life was none of her business, but he was still her son and she couldn’t help but wonder how learning about his sexual orientation at his age had affected that aspect of his life. She hoped he was happy and fulfilled when it came to sex, but she couldn’t imagine asking him. Of course, maybe if she’d asked him more awkward questions about sex when he was younger, she could have helped him understand himself at a younger age. It was another regret to add to her pile of regrets.

After breakfast at the café, she and Clint walked over to visit the store again. David was near the back wall helping a customer, but when the bell rang he looked up, giving them a quick wave.

When they’d been in before, Marcy had been focused mainly on the fresh produce displayed in the front of the store and outside, but now she took her time to examine the rows of meticulously labeled bottles and to touch the handmade knitwear, imagining David and Patrick putting this store together item by item. Perhaps giving each other longing looks across the room as they did so. She smiled at that romantic notion.

David escorted the customer to the counter and rang up his purchases, thanking him and telling him to come again as the customer left with another ring of the bell that hung above the door. He looked at them nervously, and Marcy supposed that was understandable: it was the first time he’d been alone in their presence since they learned he was Patrick’s boyfriend. She thought about the other times this week, particularly in the hospital, and how hard it must’ve been for David, trying not to let on how deeply worried he was. How much he cared.

“Do you and Patrick usually work the store together?” she asked, trying to show with a smile that he didn’t need to worry.about where he stood with them.

David nodded. “Most days. We each have a separate day off during the week, and sometimes there are errands to run or vendor pickups to do. But most days we’re both here together.”

Clint put down the wine bottle he was looking at with an amused look. “You must really enjoy each other’s company to spend so much time together,” he said.

Looking like he didn’t know how to take that, David said, “We do.”

“Was Patrick feeling okay this morning?” Marcy asked.

David hesitated, and she wondered with amusement if he thought they wouldn’t assume he’d spent the night at Patrick’s apartment. “He was in pain, but he was up and shuffling his way around the apartment like an old man when I left. I made him promise he would rest today.”

Marcy snorted. “He’s never been one to rest.”

“Yes, I know,” David said, emphasizing the words with a movement of his entire body. “He’s often up at dawn to hike on his days off like some kind of psychopath.”

“Clint and I should probably stop by and make sure he’s not trying to sneak off for a hike today.”

David gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I wish you would.”

She and Clint bought some candles and two bottles of local wine that they didn’t really need, and then drove over to the apartment.

Patrick looked better than he had yesterday, moving gingerly but a little more easily around the room as he picked up a plate and mug from the coffee table and carried them to the kitchen after he’d let them in.

“You seem well rested,” Marcy said when he sat back down, kissing his forehead to surreptitiously check his temperature. The cast on his arm suddenly reminded her of little boy Patrick, and the dissonance between the boy he had been and the man he was now brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

“And that’s in spite of spending an hour on the phone with the car insurance agent this morning. But taking a hot shower and sleeping in my own bed last night helped enormously.”

“You kept your cast from getting wet?” Clint asked. “That’s important.”

“Yeah, I had David to help me in the shower,” Patrick said, and then blushed. “I mean, not…” He stopped and laughed awkwardly. “This is making me feel like a teenager all over again. Actually, more like a teenager than I did when I was a literal teenager.”

Marcy was starting to see what Clint had been talking about — she’d never seen Patrick this flustered talking about Rachel, even the time she caught them fooling around in his bedroom.

“Anyway,” Patrick said, clearing his throat, “I’m already starting to think I might have to go back to work soon or I’ll go stir crazy here.”

She and Clint exchanged a knowing look. “Take a few days off first, bud,” Clint said.

Marcy noticed a framed photo on Patrick’s desk that she hadn’t seen before. Walking over, she picked it up to look at it closely — a picture of Patrick and David with their arms around each other, Christmas decorations behind them. “This is a lovely photo.”

Patrick blushed again, but he smiled. “Alexis took that at the Roses’ Christmas party.”

She set the framed photo back down. “It wasn’t here before.”

“Well, we wanted you to hear it from me that David and I are together, not piece it together from evidence in my apartment. Stevie brought the photos back this morning.” He blushed an even deeper shade of red, but Marcy wasn’t sure why. “Although I guess you pieced it together anyway,” he added.

Marcy looked at her son, really looked at him. Now that he was feeling better, she could tell that he seemed lighter, like a weight that he’d been carrying around for most of his life had been lifted from his shoulders. “David makes you happy,” she said.

Patrick grinned widely, and it was beautiful to see on her son’s face. “Very much.”

“Do you think you’d like to bring him home to visit sometime?” Marcy asked. She looked to Clint, who nodded.

Her son’s smile widened. “Yeah,” he said, and he almost looked surprised by his own answer. “Yeah, I’d like that. When I’m out of this cast,” he said ruefully, “and when I’ve replaced my car.”

~*~

Once she and Clint were on the road, halfway between Schitt’s Creek and home — after more precious time with her son and David, after a lunch with the entire Rose family that had been fascinating and strange, after Marcy knew she was leaving her son happy and well-cared for — David texted her.

David: I wanted to let you know I’m thinking of throwing Patrick a surprise party for his birthday. I’d love it if you and Mr. Brewer could come back for that.

“Who’s texting you?” Clint asked, sipping from his Tim Horton’s cup.

“David. He wants us to come back and visit for Patrick’s birthday. Says he’s going to throw him a surprise party.”

Clint grinned at her. “Sounds like fun.”

Marcy: How lovely. Yes, we’d love to come.

David: Great. I’ll send you more details closer to the date Also, don’t tell Patrick Which I’m sure was obvious since I called it a surprise party Sorry

Marcy: No apology needed. Take good care of my boy.

David: Always.

~*~

As he signed his name on the audition form, Patrick said, “I should mention, I’ll be getting this cast off in a couple of weeks.”

“I bet you can’t wait to be rid of it!” Jocelyn said, all of her teeth showing in some kind of dismayed, commiserating grin as she handed him a few pages of script.

“And your broken ribs are all mended, Patrick?” Moira asked.

He twisted at the waist a couple of times to demonstrate that they were. They still ached first thing in the morning, but he’d been given a clean bill of health at his follow-up visit with his doctor (as well as the all-clear for sex, but that wasn’t a piece of information he needed to share with David’s mother and Jocelyn Schitt).

“That’s good, because Cabaret has a lot of dancing!” Jocelyn said.

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think Cliff does that much dancing though, does he?” It was why he’d decided that Cliff was a safe role to try for; no one had ever accused Patrick of being a good dancer.

When his turn to audition began, he started to read the scene with one of the women who was auditioning for Sally Bowles, but Moira interrupted them and decided to have Jocelyn read with Patrick. Jocelyn didn’t seem thrilled with the idea, but she went along. Moira Rose was a difficult woman to refuse.

Moira removed her reading glasses. “Okay, the thing you must understand about Cliff, Patrick, is that he has been with many women but he’s never derived true pleasure from it.”

Patrick met her eyes, this strange woman he was starting to think of as almost like family. He suppressed a smirk. “I think I can wrap my head around that,” he deadpanned.

Moira gave him a conspiratorial smile in return. “When you’re ready.”

He looked down at the page and skimmed over the lines before meeting Mrs. Rose’s gaze once more. “I’m ready.”

~*~

“My mom cannot stop talking about your acting chops,” David said over dinner in Patrick’s apartment a few nights later. “It’s annoying.” But the pride shining in his eyes told Patrick that maybe David didn’t find it as annoying as he claimed.

The official Cabaret cast list had been emailed around that afternoon, and seeing his name so near the top was giving Patrick second thoughts. “Okay, and look, I was flattered when your mom said I should be cast as the Emcee. But I’ve been watching youtube clips of Joel Grey and Alan Cumming and I don’t know if I can pull that off. I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

David tilted his head to the side, pondering it. “Except you’re one of those people that once you’ve decided to do something, you work hard until you’re competent at it. Dancing can be like that, maybe.” His eyes strayed down Patrick’s body. “Even if your thighs are like thick tree trunks.”

Narrowing his eyes, Patrick said, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

David’s eyes twinkled. “Depends on the context. In bed? When I’m between them? Definitely a compliment.”

“Noted,” Patrick said, a zing of energy going down his spine at the way David was looking at him. Maybe David was right — with practice, maybe he could learn to dance well enough not to embarrass himself, at least. He took another bite of his dinner, thinking about it. “Oh, and I have bad news.”

David looked up, worry plain on his face. “What?”

“This is the last of my mom’s casseroles from the freezer,” Patrick said with a smirk.

David stuck out his lower lip. “Do you think she’d ship us some more?”

Patrick laughed out loud at that, and then took a swig of his beer. “For you, she probably would. I’m pretty sure she thinks you can do no wrong.”

“No one has ever thought that about me.”

“My mom does.” He looked down at his plate and back up. “She told me that if she’d realized what my happiness actually looked like, she would have known not to push me to get back together with Rachel.”

“That’s very sweet,” David murmured.

Patrick set his fork down. “Are you staying over tonight?”

“I can if you want me to. I brought my bag,” David said.

“You’ve stayed over every night this week,” Patrick said. He loved it when David stayed over. He always wanted David to stay over.

“Oh. I can go to the motel tonight. I didn’t—”

“David, no. That’s not why I—”

“You don’t really need my help anymore—”

“Move in with me.”

David put his fork down carefully. “What did you say?”

“Move in with me,” Patrick repeated. He hadn’t planned on asking, and if he had planned on asking, it might have been in a more romantic context than while they sat at his little kitchen table and ate leftover turkey tetrazzini. On second thought, maybe this was the perfect time — because Patrick wanted to share the mundane moments like this, all of them, with David.

“You wanted this place just for you. You said.”

“I did. I did say that. And it’s not that I was lying, because I really had convinced myself that I wanted that. But also, I think in the back of my mind, I wanted my parents to know about us before we took the big step of moving in together.” He reached over and took David’s hand. “I love having you here every night. I know the closet situation isn’t ideal and we may need to work out some kind of storage situation for your clothes, but… I just want you here. I want this place to be yours as much as it’s mine.”

“You won’t regret this once your cast comes off and everything’s back to normal?”

“I want this to be what’s normal,” Patrick said. “Dinner and spending the evening together and waking up with you every morning. And if this place is too small, we can start looking for a bigger one—”

David snorted. “I live in a motel room with my sister; I’m no longer used to space.” He looked around. “Although, yes, we may want to look for a bigger place. Eventually.”

“So is that a yes?” Patrick said, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

“Are you sure?” David pressed his lips together, one of his trying-and-failing-to-suppress-a-smile looks.

“I’m sure.”

“Then… yes.”

Patrick stood up and pulled David to his feet and put his arms around him and hugged him, his lips pressing against David’s skin briefly before he tucked his face into the crook of his neck. The cast on his arm kept him from hugging David as tightly as he wanted to, but David draped his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and hugged him tight enough for the both of them.

When they pulled apart, David’s eyes were damp. “Well, if we’re going to be moving in together, I have a question.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Yes, David?”

David closed an eye in a grimace. “How married are we to these rugs?”

THE END

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick #david x patrick ff #david x patrick fic #my fic

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theanarik · 4 years ago

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Day 13: Kiss

Hello! I bring you fluff!!! Happy SasuHina Month! I tried to get this one done before midnight but I kind of got distracted watching videos. Sorry! Hope you liked it! This is a sequel to Coffee, The best and Lingering, and also a prequel! Can you guess to which one?

Day 13: Indirect kiss

Kiss:

You can also read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712180

And here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13615143/1/Kiss

Hinata has always been a I-prefer-staying-at-home person. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy going out, she does! But you will never see her organizing any outside outing. Leave that to Ino and Sakura, she likes inviting her friends to eat lunch at her place better. However, it’s not like she’s going to say no to her friends when they invite her to go shopping or going out to a bar.

This time, though, they’re out at a mall, at the cinema, and she’s already sat with most of their friends, but they’re waiting for Naruto and Sasuke to arrive, Sakura waiting for them outside with their tickets. When they arrive, Naruto has one of the biggest popcorn buckets they sell, and Sasuke is coming empty handed.

“Where’s your popcorn, Sasuke?” Ino asks.

“Sasuke says that he doesn’t like popcorn, but he always steals from the person sitting next to him.”

“That’s not true.”

“Uh huh.”

There are only three chairs available, and Hinata will not stand up to accommodate either of them.

“You should have arrived earlier,” Neji tells them from behind her. “She won’t stand up until the movie ends, not even if she needs to go to the bathroom.”

Sakura gives her a strange look, kind of like a glare, but not quite. Hinata shrugs and continues eating her popcorn. Naruto sits to her right, and to his right sits Sakura. Sasuke sits to Hinata’s left, and she tries to concentrate on her own popcorn.

She loses herself in the movie, eating her popcorn and drinking her coke. She comes to a halt when she realizes that her paper cup has disappeared. Hinata frowns at the empty space and turns to look at Naruto. He’s chatting with Sakura, making her giggle, then she turns to look at Sasuke. And she sees her paper cup. Sasuke is drinking from the straw in her paper cup.

“Sasuke…” she mumbles, and he turns to look at her, mouth still on the straw. “That’s my coke.”

“Oh…” he gives it back to her and she narrows her eyes at him.

Hinata wonders as she sips just how many times Sasuke drank from her cup without her realizing it.

The last time Hinata let someone borrow one of her pens, the person never returned it. Of course, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? Nobody actually asks for their pen to be returned. Right? Hinata misses the time when her father would buy school supplies for her. Admittedly it was a long time ago, but really, going out of her way to buy school supplies was never the highlight of her day.

“Can I borrow your pen for a moment?” Sasuke asks her. She turns around to see if he’s actually talking to her and realizes that yeah, Sasuke, who ignored her completely when she arrived at the library, is talking to her. “I really need to write this down and mine ran out of ink.”

“Uh…” The pen falls out of Hinata’s mouth. She knows that if she does lend it to him, the pen will probably not come back. On the other hand, she has three other pens in her bag, she could easily replace it. “Sure.”

She hands him the pen, and then turns around to take another one from her bag. She focuses on her task at hand: finishing her Japanese Literature III homework before going to class. At 3:30 p.m. her phone vibrates, and she startles. She throws everything on her bag again and stands up, turning around to move the chair when she catches Sasuke’s hair and remembers that he still has her pen.

“Sasuke,” she starts. “Can I, um… can I have my pen back?” she says as she walks up to his table. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of him.

Sasuke’s hand is on his hair, he looks promptly stressed out and there are a lot of crossed out things on his notebook. Oh, and Hinata’s pen? Yeah, that’s on Sasuke’s mouth at the moment.

“You know what?” Hinata tells him before he can say anything. “You look like you need it more than me.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and he sounds sincere about it. Hinata smiles and turns around.

She has classes at the other side of the campus.

III

After moving in with Sasuke, Hinata discovered that the man wasn’t really a morning person. Sasuke woke up just after his fifth alarm rang, and he went straight into the kitchen, without brushing his teeth or anything, to drink coffee. Hinata figured it out quite quickly, thankfully, and by the fourth day she knows that Sasuke won’t really answer until he has at least two thirds of his second coffee down.

He’s mostly clean. Mostly. He washes the dishes when she cooks, and constantly tells her that living with Naruto was a nightmare (his stories go from underwear on the sofa to three days of unwashed dishes). Sasuke never outrightly tells her that she’s the best roommate ever, but she’s learned how to read in between the lines.

As she cooks lunch, Sasuke leans on the kitchen counter, watching her stir a pepper sauce he’s going to love – her words, not his –. Hinata turns the flame to the lowest and grabs a little spoon, dipping it on the sauce and trying it. She makes a humming noise and dips it again, turning around to face Sasuke.

“Can you try it?” she asks him, offering the spoon. Sasuke stares at her. “I don’t know if I should add more Brandy or not.”

Sasuke raises his eyebrows and tries the sauce, feeling the salty as well as the pepper-y taste. He frowns at her and clicks his tongue a few times as he considers.

“Yeah, more Brandy. And maybe something to ease down the salt?”

“Too salty?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” she turns around to grab more heavy cream and he leaves the kitchen.

Sasuke is aware that a drunk Hinata means that she’s going to get stutter-y and too affectionate. As they enter the apartment together, Hinata has already expressed that he’s the best person ever and that she’d really like to get coffee with him somewhere. Sasuke understands that as going out and drinking the coffee somewhere different than their apartment.

He leaves her sitting on the couch as he retrieves a glass of water from the kitchen. When he comes back, though, she’s fully laying down her body on the couch and she’s almost asleep. Sighing, Sasuke sits Hinata down again, helps her drink her water and then tries to make her stand up. She straight up refuses.

“No!”

“Hinata, we’ll just go to your room, you’ll sleep better on your own bed.”

“No! I’ll stay here.”

“You’ll wake up with a creek.”

“I d-don’t care.”

Sasuke sighs again. Looks up the ceiling and asks himself which decisions in his life brought him here. Hinata is trying to lay down again and Sasuke helps her lift her legs. He goes to her room and brings her a pillow and her comforter, he nods when she thanks him. Sasuke goes back to the kitchen and wonders where his glass is.

“Ugh, I probably left it in my room,” he mumbles to himself, and turns to grab Hinata’s glass.

He fills it up with water again and drinks it without thinking too much about it. He rinses the glass and leaves it on the cupboard, turning off the kitchen light as he gets out. When he checks on Hinata again, she has her eyes opened and she’s staring at him. Sasuke lowers himself down and brushes off some of her hair, Hinata closes her eyes and nuzzles into his palm.

“I like you a lot, Sasuke Uchiha.”

+ I

When Hinata wakes up, she has the worst headache she’s ever felt in her entire life, there’s just too much light and too much noise.

“Ugh, what is that?” she asks out loud, and thanks all the gods that her voice is so soft. She’s never been thankful of that before, might as well start now.

“That’s the washing machine,” Sasuke answers from the kitchen counter. She narrows her eyes at him and throws herself down on the couch again.

She stays under the covers for a minute or two, then promptly stands up when her bladder tells her that she needs to go to the bathroom now. She ignores the look Sasuke is giving her and escapes to the bathroom with awaited relief. After peeing, Hinata washes her face and brushes her teeth, moving back to the living room.

“Here,” Sasuke says, and he handles her two pills and a glass of water. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Hinata thanks him and swallows it all. Walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge, she mentally takes note of what they’re lacking of and decides to go grocery shopping after breakfast. When she takes out the last five eggs, Sasuke says:

“So, do you still want to go to get that coffee?”

Hinata frowns. What is he talking about? Is he talking to her or is he talking over the phone and she didn’t realize? She turns to look at him and narrows her eyes at the expecting look on his face. She searches on his features something that tells her what he means when it suddenly hits her.

“We s-should go out, uh, for coffee sometime.” And “I like you a lot, Sasuke Uchiha.”

Hinata goes pale. Then her face goes through various shades of red until it settles on something bright that makes her pale eyes pop up.

“So?” Sasuke asks, still waiting for an answer and do you know what Hinata should do? Escape.

She leaves the eggs on the counter, breakfast forgotten and how is he so talkative this morning? How much coffee has he had before she woke up? Jesus, she needs to go.

“Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere.” Sasuke says, grabbing her arm and stopping her from hiding in her bedroom. In retrospective, Hinata should have known that that could happen. He was in her way after all. “You just need to tell me if you want to do that or not.”

“If you still want that tomorrow, when you’re sober, sure.”

His words echo in her head and she wonders if he meant it.

“Did you mean it?”

“What.”

“That if I, uh, said yes, we’d, we’d go?”

Sasuke doesn’t answer her at first, lets her arm go and stares at her for a moment. Hinata feels her cheeks go hot, and she looks down. Sasuke tilts her head up, making her look at his eyes and she gulps before she hears his answer.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Hinata’s eyes grow big, and there’s a smile on her face and she looks positively happy.

“Then, yeah. Let’s go out for a coffee.”

Sasuke smiles at her and cups her face on his hands. She looks so beautiful and she’s looking at him, he never really though that would happen. He leans a little bit and Hinata meets him in the middle, eyes halfway closed. The kiss is soft, short and sweet. It’s innocent and it’s the promise of more kisses to come. He leans up a little bit and kisses her forehead, touching it then with his own.

Then, someone clears their throat and they both look to the side, startled. There, in the living room entryway is Naruto holding greasy paper bags and smiling at them. Sasuke wants to murder him.

“Who’s ready for some hangover-cure burgers?”

You can also read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712180

And here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13615143/1/Kiss

#SasuHinaMonth2020 #sasuhina #fluff #comedy #mostly fluff though #domestic fluff #indirect kiss #also #first kiss

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scige · 4 years ago

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「madelyn cline & cis female」⇾ beaumont, saige, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that she is a cancer and 22 years old. she is studying linguistics + criminal psychology, living in noland and can be blithe, energetic, evasive & irrational. when i see her i am reminded of the familiar riff of an old song, skinned knees with laughter following, and wishes on eyelashes stuck to your cheekbones. ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

N HERE IS MY LAST CHILD FR NOW ... both happy n sad ... god ... bites fist. alright. let’s go!

TW CHILD ABUSE, DRUG USE, ALCOHOLISM, ADDICTION, DEATH, HIT & RUN CAR ACCIDENTS, GRIEF, GUILT

aesthetics.

stick n’ pokes at 2am – when your drunk and giggling too much in between purposeful stabs, avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk because they’re bad luck and they’ll break your mother’s back – even if your mother doesn’t love you, because you love her, the familiar riff in an old song – one that’s got you strumming along silently; there is no guitar, only empty air lit by the christmas lights you haven’t taken down. it’s may. swallowing down shots, and by default, swallowing down problems. laughing quick, easily, constantly. skinned knees from skateboarding, despite being rubbish at it. wishes on eyelashes stuck to your cheekbones, glitter sticking, running into the ocean at sunrise; feeling at home. excuses, and the many forms they come in. telling people you love them through hand squeezes and fresh muffins, sideways glances and soft, eager grins.

basic info.

full name: saige alouette beaumont

nickname(s): n/a :/ give her some

b.o.d. - july 7th, cancer

label(s): the hedonist, the icarcian, the reveler, etc.

height: 5′7″

hometown: thibodaux, louisiana

sexuality: bisexual w/ a very slight preference towards masc-presenting folks

stats

inspired by: serena van der woodsen (gossip girl), aimee gibbs (sex education), alexis rose (schitt’s creek), elle woods (legally blonde), rapunzel (tangled), clementine (eternal sunshine of a spotless mind), angela montenegro (bones), tinkerbell (peter pan), late 2000 / early 2010s kesha… i don’t know because she’s not actually inspired by anybody i made her when i was like 13 HDSJBKFNGHJLDS

biography.

the fallible daughter of two very infallible people: robert beaumont, US lieutenant general (soon to be US general), and manon lévesque, world renowned fashion designer on levels par with gucci and versace. both cold, calculating, and purposeful.

no matter how much she wants to believe otherwise, saige is sure that she was not created out of love. it was an action with a purpose, intentions to create the perfect child. the hybrid of both military genius and fashion extraordinaire. a proper socialite. a 1% citizen. molded to their will.

born in thibodaux, louisiana (surrounded by her father’s family - a long line of old money southern magnates & moguls with a history of beauty pageant winners in each woman) - it took them no more than six months after her birth for her parents to up and move, thus beginning a cycle of packing and unpacking, flying and driving, state-to-state and country-to-country. the longest saige had ever stayed in one place was two years, until radcliffe. even then - conditioned to never become truly attached to a place, she has the urge to up and run away at any given moment, onto the next adventure.

she was kept on a short leash, home-schooled, and learning skills she had no interest in (from cooking to sewing to ballroom dancing - to fencing and firearm safety and self defense) - more like a pet, a project, than a child. the world moved all around her, but she was bound to what her parents allowed her to see. a bird in a cage of thorns.

it was hard to keep and maintain friends - there one day, gone the next. a ghost you could see, clear as day, but never touch - never fully, at least. even if she tried with all her might.

would run from bodyguards (their version of nannies - robert beaumont is a paranoid man with too many enemies to count) into festival crowds and climb out of windows in the middle of the night to swim in lakes with the locals she’d met only hours earlier - as soon as she realized that there was something wrong with the way she lived.

even if it resulted in punishment, military exercises in the form of her own personal boot camp (she’d been forced to do chin-ups, once, when she ripped an expensive gown at the tender age of seven. not since, however, after she wound up sobbing on the floor - instead they moved on. delicate teacups stacked across her back as she did push-ups, the more she did the more that slipped & broke)

she absorbed as she could, as much as she could get; an intense, undying love for a world she always craved to see.

this was the start of something dangerous - a phase that never seemed to end, rebellion coursing through her veins. a wild child in the making, unknowing of limits. she landed herself in any crowd she could squeeze into - bad crowds, in particular and more often than not - they introduced her, the sheltered girl, into a world she hadn’t quite known existed until then.

ran away briefly at the age of fifteen with a man three years older than her & nearly ended up in a tabloid magazine because of it - if it hadn’t been for her parents’ money. though guilt from her parents’ disappointment weighed on her, the thrill fueled something much worse.

from there on, she’d been labeled as a ‘problem child’ - from public intoxication to vandalism, it was clear their daughter was unraveling and nothing could possibly contain her.

boarding school had been an attempt to stop it, enrolled her freshmen year in hopes that she’d come out a proper woman. but being located in new york with easy access to the upper east side of manhattan - it’d been futile.

there’d only been a few significant events during her time there - the death of a classmate (one of her closest friends’ boyfriends) and a ski trip that nearly resulted in her own death, skiing while drunk on a closed off course, in memory of him and the traditions they’d had. the first time she fell in love, and months of pining - running in circles, fights and hiccups and confessions in the dramatic manner all high school relationships seem to be like. they’d finally gotten together - officially, no more sneaking around or pretending - when her parents paid a surprise visit. a rare occasion, nerve-wracking. dangerous. to keep a story short - she’d accidentally exposed her own drug use in their presence, the simple act of pills falling from a purse - and that’d been it. she was gone the next day, with no word to anybody and hardly a word since.

they told family she needed a change of pace, and rumors in her old school said that she’d been expelled, that she’d been sent to the french countryside to live with her grandmother.

she’d only gone to washington, that was all. france was too good, and she was too undeserving. instead she was enrolled in public school, only a quarter through her junior year. her parents rarely spoke to her - rarely in town, the only eyes kept on her were security cameras and the occasional check-in by family friends (the new word for bodyguards, apparently)

but as always - when left alone, saige scrambled to find somewhere she fit, somewhere to tuck herself away in the comfort of other people. a small group, but a loyal group - harmless minus a few miscellaneous charges that they said every small town kid had, at some point. they were safe, they were family - as close as she could get. at least, she had thought so. had really believed it.

she hadn’t intended to go to university after graduating high school, not yet eighteen - not for another month or two, at least. she wanted to travel, meet new people and learn new languages (she’d learned four, already, but had always been a glutton. craved to know more, as if she unlocked secrets with every phrase she could speak) and just. exist.

maybe she should’ve. should’ve left as quick as possible, and never turn back.

saige mysteriously disappeared from the public eye for an entire year, the entirety of her 18th year on earth, before promptly showing up at radcliffe university, ready to learn.

it’d been a year of legal cases & lawsuits & avoiding prison with expensive lawyers and a lot of money.

the getaway driver for an armed robbery at a bank, an unknowing accomplice until her supposed friend ran out from the building and jumped in her car, screaming for her to drive, drive, drive. it had only supposed to have been a quick stop before a road trip to the coast. nobody was supposed to get hurt. but scared, and high, saige had obeyed - and by doing so, led a police chase and, of course, a hit & run that eventually led to saige crashing the car midst breakdown.

the sole victim survived, thankfully - and the beaumonts have been paying the medical bills since. her friend - the one who started it all - was charged & sentenced. but saige got off relatively scot-free. just a year of community service, a slap on the wrist (and the growing wallets of all involved in handling her case). it would’ve made national news if her parents hadn’t stepped in - favors called, resulting in only local headlines.

they hadn’t spoken to her since then. three years of radio silence. she’d think they were dead if it hadn’t been the steady flow of money in her bank account. their silence only feels like a threat of what’s to come if she fucks up again.

ever since - she’s avoided causing too much trouble, still very much the party girl she’d like to be, but staying out of headlines and tabloids. partially in fear of her parents finally cutting ties, permanently, and partially in fear that she’ll end up costing someone else their life with her own selfishness.

UPDATE: she did not avoid trouble n got disowned after a high speed yacht chase it was. a lot. anyways she’s lying to everyone n pretending she’s still rich while rapidly losing money to lawsuit bills n hospital bills n just <3 a whole lot <3 has had to sell her favorite cars and her favorite bass guitar. sheds the smallest tear. spent the summer couch-hopping bt pretending she wasn’t couch-hopping and being :/ really messy. not a good fun look! sucks ... disappeared fr like a straight week n then popped up like hehe wat’s up :D. sighs sm.

personality.

she is so … bubbly. so fucking bubbly. she’s has so much energy in her. goes running every morning and every night and swims almost every afternoon and she’s never tired, even if she hasn’t slept the last night and even if she’s been dancing for five hours in a club in high heels and nothing but vodka in her system. the personification of a coke bottle shaken up, if the coke bottle in question could laugh and smile at you and make you feel, somehow, at home even though you’d only met her in the bathroom queue.

tries her hardest to be the happy fun friend, the cool friend, the one who can hook you up with whatever you need because she sleeps with her drug dealer and gets discounts, but like, it’s totally okay because they’re also friends.

generally comes off as very confident of herself, and fearless, and reckless but like - fun reckless. the kind of reckless you wouldn’t mind to be around because she takes your worries and acknowledges them and reassures you that it’s fine, that it’s grand, even when it may definitely not be.

takes a lot. so much. could ramble for days, hand gestures and all. never stops talking. never.

if she wants to do something, she’ll do it and there’s not very much you can do to stop her. stubborn, but at the same time easy going? very go go go. mischievous. even if she’s trying to do something stupid you kind of just like … have to let her do it, or otherwise she’ll mope for three hours and pout at you and then you’ll feel questionably guilty, which is admittedly a little manipulative on her end and isn’t the best thing, but i never said she’s the best person ever because she’s most certainly … not.

a vegetarian because meat makes her physically sick, like, she’s got a weird intolerance to it and it’s not quite an allergy because it’s really just red meats but she’ll get a tummy ache.

her vocabulary consists of a lot of ‘likes’ and ‘ums’ and ‘yknows’, y’know? her statements always sound like questions.

99% sure she has adhd but she’s never been diagnosed because her parents simply would not allow her to go to therapy so if she does have any neurological disorders, mental illness, and the likes of those - she doesn’t know and doesn’t know where to even begin to find out. her parents? fucking suck.

like i said, she’s currently not on speaking terms with them. more of their decision than hers. she still loves them, a lot - and there’s a part of her that believes that they still love her, that they have to, because she’s not disowned yet. even though they haven’t said more than ten words to her since she was eighteen - as long as they keep sending her money, they still care - right?

owns four cars … bad idea considering her past, but alas. spending her money is a coping mechanism and she likes to drive because it’s a form of freedom. anyways. all her cars are on campus and she’s probably not allowed to have them all on campus but she does. one’s a sleek sports car, the other is a jacked up pick-up truck that’s decked out in like … LED lights and shit, the third one is the same exact fucking mustang from the princess diaries because she’s obsessed with the movie & usually gets what she wants. the fourth is a mini cooper.

she’s a photographer (for funsies) and the walls of her room in noland are covered in photographs and art and taped-down plants. her room in general is really cluttered. like, it’s super homey. super cozy. but it’s a mess. clothes everywhere, she’s got a pile of instruments and other miscellaneous hobbies that she wanted to do and then either never did, or did for a few days and got bored of and haven’t touched since.

i mentioned earlier that she was taught a bunch of skills when growing up - and like, she doesn’t really utilize any of them? knitting, sewing, cookie, three different forms of ballroom dancing - all gone to waste and she’s pretty rusty on most of it, but it’s there. in her mind. it’s kind of neat and i promise she’s not a mary sue it’s just her upbringing HBSJKDFNLG she’s really nuanced i swear. anyways she can also work a gun and a car engine but hates half of the things she knows how to do because she was forced to learn these things.

she plays bass guitar. loves it, loves her guitar. treasured item. she knows violin & piano too but she fucking hates piano & is mostly indifferent towards violin. she can hold a note in other instruments but it’s like. not great.

got really into languages at a young age due to her constant traveling and started learning them unprompted. her mother is like. literally french. a french citizen. so she grew up learning english & french but from there on she’s gotten fluent in spanish (similar 2 french) and latin (dead languages are fun) and then she’s working on a few others like mandarin and german and scottish gaelic specifically but she mostly just knows a few phrases here and there. like, enough to get her through a city if needed.

like she’s super smart and very talented but she’s also ditzy as hell. big dumbass energy to the point where maybe you don’t realize that she’s actually really good at a lot of things because it’s not like she really flaunts it either?

she’s just very reckless, and very much a party girl. has quite the collection of drugs & uses socially, but also alone and throughout the day. rarely sober.

high functioning alcoholic and at this point she doesn’t really know what she’s like when she’s completely sober? which is really bad but she’s convinced that if she goes sober she’ll just be miserable and horrible because at her very core she believes she’s like. the worst human being alive. like very deep issues of self loathing covered by baileys in her morning coffee and 23 crystal lite packets in her yeti cup that happens to be filled with vodka.

this has been a budding problem that was developed since she was a young teenager. the ehem. situation that happened when she was eighteen only amplified it.

is essentially wearing a mask of confidence and giddiness and flirtatiousness because she doesn’t want people to think she’s not doing well, because she isn’t.

loves so much. loves everything, so much. everything, everybody. falls in love like five times a day but nothing really sticks to her either, for the most part. i hate to say it but she does flock to shitty people / general assholes because that’s just … how she is, that’s what she’s surrounded herself with her entire life. even her high school boyfriend was an asshole - just like, not to her, which made it Okay in her mind. she finds these kind of people like … super interesting which is really questionable but y’know what? we’re fine. it’s fine. i’m fine.

she sleeps around often, to be frank. she hates being alone and she rarely sleeps in her own dorm unless someone is in there sleeping with her. otherwise she’s at different houses. could be a friend’s bed, could be a stranger’s. has slept with the entire baseball team, probably. she’s also the type of person who’ll try and maintain a positive, good friendship with whoever she sleeps with because she hates the idea of having a regrettable encounter and just. refuses.

this is kind of a problem because she blurs the lines between friendship and Something More too often, and with too many people. wants to be loved but it’s never enough. probably ends up hurting people without realizing it because they think they have something super special but she does this with a lot of people and it’s super :/

does stick and pokes a whole bunch. she can’t draw for shit so they’re not great but she thinks they’re fun and she’s been doing it for a while so like, who cares, right? let her give you one :)

gets sent dress prototypes and like. drafts of designs & articles of clothing from her fashion lines that aren’t out yet and won’t be for a while by her very own mother. saige absolutely gives them all away, for the most part. or it sits in her closet, and stays there. her go-to gift for birthday presents, or christmas gifts, or whenever she feels like it. like, feel free to raid her closet?

ok that’s all. love her.

wanted connections.

a best friend… someone who sticks by her side even though she is a certified Mess.

a ride or die… is it the same as a best friend? maybe. but it’s got a fancy name and i want both so :)

close friends… she’s really friendly and the kind of girl to have been really popular in high school but didn’t care for it and talks to everybody like she’s known them her entire life, so. she’d have a good amount of these!

grumpy friend… to balance her happy friend. she’ll fuck them up in a friendship way. with her cheerfulness.

party pals… they don’t talk much outside of parties but they’re practically glued to the hip when they’re at them. hold your hair back kind of close.

frenemies… or fake friends, toxic friends, people who use her for money or like … sex, or whatever? anything? people who barely tolerate her because she gives them stuff sometimes.

bad influences… they just encourage her to do more, be worse, never get better.

good influences… like … YOINK! stop being an idiot! do your homework! idot!

a tutor… because she’s like…smart…but she’s also stupid…super bad at math & science. help her.

hook ups… friends with benefits, a one night stand that is a little? awkward? since then. past & present tenses. :)

exes… she’s noncommittal so they likely wouldn’t have lasted very long but? yolo? she can be a heartbreaker, as marina said, as a treat? whether they dated or were fucking … either works. but i do love angst :)

one-sided hatred… someone who just fucking … despises her. but she doesn’t realize because she’s an idiot and thinks they’re just like. joking around! like they’re best buddies!

annoyance… but she’s the annoyance. she’s the thorn in their side.

ex-best friend… where something happened between them, like, anything, and it ruined their friendship forever. very sad. angst potential, though.

but like. i’ll take anything.

steals your mail… who knows why?

cat escape… he keeps running away and she keeps letting him inside her room even though she’s allergic…

married old couple… the kind of friendship where they always bicker like they’ve been together for fifty years, but it’s purely platonic (or is it? slowburn BAYBEY. DENIAL babyey.)

off and on again… i think that one that’s not good for them because they enable each other & only get like … angry at each other, and it’s like, messy. but it’s super hard to stop. probably reminds her of high school so that’s why she tries so hard to stick around, but alas. it’s not good. it’s toxic. stop it.

the drug dealer… the one she sleeps with… even though she can just pay for it because she’s rich but like. it’s funner this way.

blurred status… like, it’s just really confusing of what they are? are they, aren’t they? the relationship status is just … muddled. she’s a mess and gets involved with too many people without intending to. potential to hurt feelings. :)

please. take her. give me connections.

#ruhqintro #child abuse tw #drug abuse tw #alcoholism tw #addiction tw #death tw #hit and run tw #car accident tw #grief tw

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