#I ain’t taking any more of these quizzes I say

[homefryboy]

(commissions open)

[direwombat]

OC INTERVIEW

tagged by @carlosoliveiraa, @aceghosts, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @cassietrn, @g0dspeeed, and @simplegenius042 for a little oc interview! making this kind of a part 2 to this oc interview i did a while ago.

“Jesus Christ,” Sybille hisses, sinking into the folding chair set up on the other side of Wheaty’s desk, haggard and weary from six weeks of nonstop fighting. “Are we really doin’ this shit again?”

He regards her, equally exhausted, and sighs. “It’s for morale, Dep. People gotta remember you’re human too.”

“Why?” she scowls. “Aint’ it more inspirin’ if they think I’m Wonder Woman or some shit?”

“Yeah, well, Wonder Woman has literal super powers,” Wheaty says. The attempt at levity falls flat, as Sybille levels him with a glare. “Look,” he sighs, “I know it seems counterintuitive to you, but reminding the people that you’re a person, just like them, will help inspire them to keep fighting against the Cult. Normal life is almost back in the Valley, you know? We gotta remind them that the fight’s still going.” 

She’s silent for a long moment, before ultimately relenting. “Fine. Ask ya damn questions.”

WHEATY: Name? 

SYBILLE: Sybille Marie La Roux. 

WHEATY: Nickname? 

SYBILLE: Was “Sarge” for a while. Mostly just “Dep” or “Syb” these days. 

Editor’s note: Also “Sweetheart/Honey/Jackrabbit” if your name is Jacob Seed. 

WHEATY: Gender? 

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she shrugs] Female

WHEATY: Star sign? 

SYBILLE: Taurus

WHEATY: Moon and rising?

SYBILLE: What now?

Editor’s note: She’s a Scorpio Moon and Capricorn Rising. 

WHEATY: Personality type? 

SYBILLE: The fuck does that mean?

WHEATY: Y'know. Like. Uh. Your Myers-Briggs or Enneagram type.

SYBILLE: I dunno what any of those words mean.

WHEATY: Y'know what, here. Let me call Xander up and see if he has the quizzes handy.

SYBILLE: The what now?

[A painful half-hour of listening to Sybille take various personality quizzes live on the air]

SYBILLE: [Very slowly] “Lawful Neutral,” “ISTJ,” “Type 8w9,” and “choleric.” [Long pause] Wheaty, all these words are nonsense.

WHEATY: Height? 

SYBILLE: 5'9"

WHEATY: Orientation?

SYBILLE: [Muttering] Jesus Christ. [Louder] I’m bisexual and I ain’t lookin’. 

Editor's note: The rest of the county doesn't know she's taken by this point.

WHEATY: Nationality/Ethnicity?

SYBILLE: American. Cajun French. 

WHEATY: Favorite Fruit? 

SYBILLE: [Sighs wistfully] I’d kill for a mango or nectarine. 

WHEATY: Favorite Season? 

SYBILLE: Spring. But since movin’ to Montana, I understand the appeal of autumn. 

WHEATY: Favorite Flower? 

SYBILLE: Hibiscus.

WHEATY: Favorite Scent? 

SYBILLE: Fresh coffee. Pine. Frankincense. Shit, I dunno, it’s hard to pick just one. 

WHEATY: Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: 

SYBILLE: Coffee. Black. 

WHEATY: Average Hours of Sleep: 

SYBILLE: [Long silence] Not nearly enough.  

Editor’s Note: Between 4-5 on a good day; closer to 2-3 on bad ones. 

WHEATY: Dog or Cat Person? 

SYBILLE: [Rustling of fabric as she leans over to pet Boomer] I like both, but overall ‘m more of a dog person.  

WHEATY: Dream Trip? 

SYBILLE: Shit, it really is a dream trip now, ain’t it? Woulda liked to’ve roadtripped ‘round Australia, but I doubt that’ll ever happen, now.

WHEATY: Favorite Fictional/Real Character? 

SYBILLE: Jesus, I dunno. Trinity from the Matrix, I guess. 

WHEATY: Yeah, I can see that. 

WHEATY: Number of Blankets You Sleep With? 

SYBILLE: Depends on where I end up sleepin’. ‘F I can find a cabin or bunker, then one or two. Otherwise it’s just my leather jacket. 

WHEATY: Random Fact? 

SYBILLE: Was on the track team my freshman and sophomore years of high school, before I had to drop out.

this one has been going around so sorry for any double tags, but, tagging: @marivenah, @corvosattano, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl, @fourlittleseedlings, @purplehairsecretlair, @adelaidedrubman, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable, @inafieldofdaisies, @alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else wanting to do this for their ocs!

[nerdychick13]

Hello again my lovelies! It’s another beautiful day in the villa. The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, and the hotties are grafting hard (present company included). We have a lot to unpack from the last couple of days. Let’s get started, shall we?

I love puzzles, so a riddle and a scavenger hunt are a great way to start the day in my humble opinion. It was so obvious that the answer to the riddle was the swing seat but I must say I was rather disappointed when I first saw Elliot. He’s not the kind of guy I usually am attracted to. Chloe, however, had my full attention from her first entrance. She is gorgeous, gorgeous, GORGEOUS! She has a lithe dancer’s body and a sassy mouth. I am quite pleased that Chloe expressed some interest in me. Given the chance I’d couple with her. It would be so much fun to share my bed with a hottie like her. I worried a little when I saw her flirting with Ozzy. Grace really tickled me when she said her and Ozzy are solid. I know that’s not the adjective I’d use to describe their relationship. Perhaps a better choice would be shaky or undecided. I have all my eggs in Ozzy’s basket, but he isn’t ready to commit to me just yet. That’s okay. If he wants to be with Grace, I’ll just have to play the field until he makes up his mind. Sadly, one sexy, cream-filled night in the Hideaway made Roberto mine for life. I really regret how attached he has become. It has been a day, two tops. Branch out and get to know other people my dear. I answered all the questions right except for the last one. Who knew both Elliot and Chloe had kissed celebrities! Well, now that we are on a nationally syndicated television program, I guess we are all celebrities. I didn’t want Elliot to take me out on a date, but I do love how he was able to throw back any insult dealt to him. I love a man with a backbone! Chloe was grafting Roberto pretty hard. But I give as good as I get, so I kicked some chocolate off of Elliot’s cheek. I do have a weakness for chocolate and food play. My date with Elliot was quite nice. He is such a thoughtful guy, supporting his family with his earnings. Now that I have gotten to know him, I am rather pleased to be coupled with Elliot. Too bad it will only last until the next recoupling. Ozzy once again has proven he is king of my heart. He loves a quiz! As a lady who does personality quizzes for fun and participated in trivia contests every weekend last year, I can say for certain that Ozzy and I have reached another level of compatibility. And he stepped up to Roberto to show he isn’t the only hunk in the villa (sorry Elliot but you’re barely a slice of ham at this point).

Now, let’s talk about Amy. That girl needs to get her own fridge because she keeps eating my leftovers! First she picks Zeph off after he left me for his tour. Then she comes in the villa and chases down Jamal (who the public pairs her with). Then she and Roberto kiss on my bed. And now she thinks Elliot might be right for her. And today she copies my green outfit! She keeps inserting herself into my business. Just because we share DNA doesn’t mean we have to share a life. But I chill. She hasn’t shown any interest in Ozzy and hopefully she won’t ever. I can’t take much more of Amy pulling my arm this way or that for a chat or random eavesdrop session. I’m still scratched up from hiding in that damn bush! Girl needs to get a partner she can cuddle with so I can have some peace in the villa (but viewers if you could vote Amy out of the villa, I’d take that too 😉). Did I mention how Amelia immediately recognized Elliot? How many celebs has she banged? More than I have, that’s for sure. I do wish she would just tell us whatever big thing she has to say. She is making it easy for somebody else to reveal this horrible thing when I should hear it from her. Of course she is. Amy has never been forthcoming. She ain’t honest, faithful, or true. So I am pretty sure whatever it is won’t paint her in a good light. Unless she’s lying. I will cross that broken bridge when I get to it I guess.

Lewie has some new found confidence! He’s been socializing with other islanders more lately. I’m proud of him. He is such a sweet guy and a good friend to Bella and I. I’ve made it clear he is in the friendzone and we are both happy with that. Maybe Amelia would be the right girl for him, given the chance. Elliot and Lewie look like they could be distant cousins. Interesting, no? Well that does it for me. I have one sweet ball of cotton candy to get back to (that’s Elliot FYI), a couple of dancers to graft, and an unwanted twin to ditch along the way. Until next time…

[cyarskj1899]

Home

Did You Know

Pardi Speaks Out Ahead Of Verdict In Tory Lanez Trial

Megan Thee Stallion’s Boyfriend Pardison ‘Pardi’ Fontaine Speaks Out In Support Of Women Ahead Of A Verdict In Tory Lanez Trial

Posted on December 23, 2022 - ByNoah Williams

Bossip Video 

Pardi & Megan Source: Shareif Ziyadat / Getty

Megan Thee Stallion’s boyfriend Pardison Fontaine has spoken out in support of women who’ve suffered injustices. His comments come just ahead of the verdict in the Tory Lanez trial.

For the past two weeks, the most talked about subject in pop culture has been the Tory Lanez assault trialthat’s centered around Megan Thee Stallion being shot in her feet and requiring surgery. The fallout from the court case has been an ongoing gross display of how women who come forward with allegations are treated in the public eye. Instead of grace, Megan has been subjected to hatred and a lack of empathy from detractors.

Related Stories

Habitual Backpedaler Kelsey Harris’ 80-Minute Interview Played For Jury In Tory Lanez Trial, Megan Thee Stallion’s Bodyguard Goes Missing Before Testifying

Another One: Tory Lanez Slapped With Third Felony Charge, Kylie Jenner & Corey Gamble Could Be Listed As Possible Witnesses In Trial

DaBaby Claims He Slept With Megan Thee Stallion The Day Before Alleged Tory Lanez Shooting: ‘But I Kept It Player, I Ain’t Say Nothing Bout It’

Megan Thee Stallion’s Boyfriend Pardison ‘Pardi’ Fontaine Speaks Out In Support Of Women Ahead Of The Verdict In Tory Lanez Trial

Meg’s boyfriend Pardison Fontaine took to Instagram this week to get a few thoughts off his chest as the trial comes to a close. Pardi offered something that has been missing over the past weeks; empathy for women who have been victims of violence.

To any woman especially ones of color that has suffered an injustice”.

“To any woman especially ones of color that has suffered an injustice I feel for you,” he wrote. “When you do find the courage to speak up .. it seems you will be ridiculed .. your credibility will [be] questioned .. your entire past will be held under a magnifying glass .. in an instant, you can go from defendant in the eyes of the public .. to anyone with a daughter Sister mother niece or aunt.”

He added, “I pray for their protection… I pray for their covering… I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

Pardi’s message comes as a verdict in Tory Lanez’s assault trial will bring more chatter and weirdo opinions. You can read his full Instagram story post below.

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[nuttysaladtree]

The original tags:

#goncharov#pronounciation#languages#russian language#today I remembered that tweet that’s like white people can’t pronounce POC names but they can say Tchaikovsky. and I kinda hate it because#no they can’t they cannot pronounce Tchaikovsky at all. please get a better example#English speakers of any race usually say chai-COUGH-skeee. that’s equivalent to white people calling jalapeños holla-PEEN-yo’s#also when I was in like middle school I took this summer cooking class thing and one day the teacher was quizzing us on food from around the#world and she asked us if we know where pillmini are from. nobody knew so she said they’re actually a type of Russian dumpling! my jaw#dropped when I realized she was trying to say пельмени (pyel’myeni) like ain’t no way#anyway how do you guys say Goncharov#not that there’s a right or wrong way to pronounce a fictional name unlike those real words in the other tags I’m just curious#I mean there’s a right way to pronounce a real person’s name if they’re actually called goncharov but I’m talking about the character

Stupid cot-caught merger! #%^*ing hurry-furry merger!

Something like /ˌgɒntʃɹɒf/ or -v? I am unfamiliar with IPA, tried speaking super fast to transcribe the most "natural" pronunciation, cried at the table and footnotes at https://enwp.org/Help:IPA/English, and tried my best to verify it with http://ipa-reader.xyz (reliability unknown). IPA aside, in English, Goncharov is more dactylic (stress-unstressed-unstressed) than amphibrachic (unstressed-stressed-unstressed).

I know no Latin (and barely know a Romance language as it is), so I once asked someone who learned Latin if Cicero's name is really pronounced [ˈkɪkɛroː]. And she said, "It's [ˈkɪkɛroː] in Latin and /ˈsɪsəroʊ/ in English."

If we, in that vein, take Russian name and English name to differ from each other, I wonder if it is more about genuine effort than actual versimilitude to the original. @\becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys (ai think) posted earlier this year expressing her frustration at an English lecturer just did not even try to pronounce Welsh words relevant to the lecture they were giving (this is in the context of centuries of the English systemic destroying and displaying contempt for the Welsh language and culture). There's the @\proZD skit where he's literally teaches monolingual English-language speakers how to say his name (SungWon) and he shows in his experience that they're not even close ("Sonwin???" is how the skit goes, I think) even though fairly close sounds exist in English.

Can you guys rb this or comment with how you pronounce “Goncharov”? I didn’t really think anything of it until one of my friends said it out loud and I was like huh? I think it’s interesting how people can have different pronunciations of a word or name they’ve never heard out loud in their head an not question it. For reference, I’m a native Russian speaker and I’ve always read it like gohn-CHArohv and my US American friend said GAHNCHA-rahv.

[theageoftheunderstatement]

Triple J: Arctic Monkeys' Alex Turner talks Lego, videogames, and new album The Car

Written by Al Newstead, 25/10/2022

It only takes one test drive of The Car – Arctic Monkeys’ first new album in four years – to hear that it picks up right where the subversive, slower sound of Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino left off.

Characterised by lush string orchestrations and spacious production, it's an album designed for luxuriating in rather than stomping along to.

Fans shouldn’t have anticipated otherwise. A full six months before The Car’s release, drummer Matt Helders managed expectations, saying:

"I mean, it’s never gonna be like ‘R U Mine?’ and all that stuff again, you know like, the heavy riffs and stuff."

And with one quote, a stake was driven through the hopeful heart of Arctic Monkeys fans wishing for a return to the hooky, leather-jacketed rock of AM (voted by triple j listeners as the best album of 2013). But then again, it was a pretty naïve position to assume they would.

Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino was - and even more so with the benefit of hindsight - a transitional record. It might have felt like whiplash transitioning from AM’s burly, horny riffs to a sci-fi obsessed lounge act but it was a pretty clear statement of artistic intent that Arctic Monkeys would no longer be repeating themselves.

“I don’t think it’s as easy to get back there as perhaps it seems like it is. That’s what I’ve found,” frontman Alex Turner tells triple j.

“Every time I’ve sort of thought about attempting to go in a direction that you’ve been before, it sort of feels – quite quickly – sounds like a spoof or something. I think we’ve always just been following the same instincts we were in the beginning. That hasn’t really changed.”

Quizzed about what he might retort to fans taken back by their shift in direction, unwilling to follow the band on their artistic journey, he replies candidly – with thoughtful pauses between: “I guess there aren’t really the riffs that there once were in any of this new stuff. But there’s a bunch of guitar on there… No is probably the answer. No, it won’t bring them back,” he chuckles. “I was skirting around it there.”

At its best, The Car drifts along on sultry, retro arrangements that accompany Alex Turner’s aching croon and newly refined falsetto, swooning on ‘Perfect Sense’ and peacocking in ‘I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am’.

For what it’s worth, the climax of ‘Body Paint’ and the bouncing ‘Hello You’ put a little more pulse and vitality into the band’s performances but overall, the album is moody, melancholy and treads the line between soft and sleepy a little too dangerously at times.

Critics of the Monkeys’ shift to a smokier, stranger sound on TBH&C won’t find much more to love about The Car. Those that embraced it, will.

As Turner points out, those older records are always there to be pressed play on. And they’re still a huge part of their world class live show – Arctic Monkeys will be back on our shores to prove it, headlining East Coast shows and a bunch of festivals.

It’s clear that the teenage scribe who came up with poetic ways of describing lust - in tunes like ‘505’, ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ and ‘Suck It And See’ – is long gone.

Turner’s songwriting is one of the most unique evolutions in the realms of Big Rock Bands that graduated from the 2000s indie sleaze era.

Once famed for the sharply drawn suburban settings and memorable characters that filled his songs, he’s progressed into a dapper-suited, Scott Walker/Serge Gainsbourg-obsessed lounge lizard singing surreal ‘70s-styled spy movie ballads.

Another pre-album quote that defined The Car’s introduction saw Turner promising that “on this record, sci-fi is off the table. We are back to Earth.”

What that really equates to is more cryptic lyrical ruminations that drift ambiguously between autobiography and fiction, and whose meanings only really make sense to the musician who penned them.

His biting lyrical wit still surfaces – the line ‘puncturing your bubble of reliability with your horrible new sound’ (from 'Scultptures of Anything Goes') is easy to interpret as a cheeky moment of self-awareness – but largely, he’s weaving velvety verses out of real mouthfuls.

‘For a master of deception and subterfuge, you’ve made yourself quite the bed to lie in. Do your time travelling through the tanning booth, so you don’t let the sun catch you crying’ goes ‘Body Paint’.

‘And if we guess who I’m pretending to be/ Do we win a prize? Having attempted twice, both incorrectly / Do we get a third try?’  goes ‘Mr. Schwartz.

There’s also a big throughline fixation with show business. There’s references to cinema, film crews and techniques, musical theatre, orchestras, composition, and 'performing in Spanish on Italian TV'.

In the opening of ‘Hello You’, Turner sings: ‘Lego Napoleon movie written in noble gas-filled glass tubes/Underlined in sparks/I’ll admit it’s elaborate for a wakin’ thought’

So… what’s going on there?

“Yeah, what is that all about!?’ Turner jokes.

“Well, I suppose it’s a lyric sort of about having ideas is what’s going on there,” he explains.

“I remember reading about [director Stanley] Kubrick was going to make a Napoleon movie, maybe they had a script for it already. I was daydreaming one day and was imagining the Lego Batman people getting hold of that script and surprising everybody.”

When the conversation turns to the ever-popular series of Lego videogames, Turner notes:

“You know what, man. I haven’t played a videogame for about… I’m going to say 12 years. I got really into the last one I was playing, then just had to take a step back.” The game? Metal Gear Solid, the iconic series from auteur (and Monkeys fan) Hideo Kojima, famed for their elaborate espionage plots and immersive cinematics as much as their stealth action.

It’s James Bond as imagined by an artsy, anxious mind preoccupied with nuclear conspiracy theories and flaunting genetic destiny, with a tendency to (scarily) predict future world events.

“Wow, I didn’t think we were going Metal Gear Solid in this interview,” he laughs. “I’m going to be sorry I said that now.”

He can’t remember specifically what pulled him away from the controller but “thought I’d better make some records or something.”

The young singer-guitarist who came to fame betting that you looked good on the dancefloor may have grown up, but the spectre of teenage Turner – the scrappy Sheffield lad who made it big on MySpace with his indie rock tales of naughtiness – still haunts the adult Turner.

“He’s been cropping up a few times today, 19-year-old Alex. I’ve been time travelling all day long doing some interviews today,” says the frontman.

And what advice might the world-wise 36-year-old, seven albums deep into his career, give his younger self? “Well, whatever I could think of, I’d imagine it would fall on deaf ears.”

The volume might’ve been turned down from Arctic Monkeys’ electric introduction nearly 20 years ago, but the spirit of challenging themselves remains.

Whatever people say Alex Turner is. That’s what he’s not.

[godtiertalk]

What’s up, long time no see.

I’m probably not re-opening this blog (but shit’s wild out here these days, so who knows).

What I am doing, however, is giving you all my magnum opus:

Homestuck Aspects, But Fucky.

Are you sick of Aspect quizzes where the answer is weirdly self-evident and you feel a terrible compulsion to “aim” for you “preferred” aspect?

Well, motherfucker, have I got the quiz for you. Every single one of these “questions” is nonsense, every single answer is absurdity, and every single person I tested it on got the right aspect at the end.*

*My sample size was three people this is a meaningless claim.

Take the quiz at your leisure, and then when you’re done and remembering the Ancient Days of Quizilla where you got to see what all the personality types were at the end after getting yours?

Head on back to this post, where I am putting all 12 answers below this cut.

Oh damn, you're a power player (even if you don't want to admit it). You're probably pretty okay at being The Mom Friend (even though you don't want to be it). You may be immortal, it's really hard to be sure. Either way, there are a lot of people out there who envy your psychological stability. The joke's on them though, you're approximately as stable as Pluto's orbit: you only look that way from a distance.

Rage

How's your blood pressure? Good? Good. With that in mind, take a deep breath. Feel the air move past your teeth, into your chest. A relentless cycle of in and out that only stops on your command, and otherwise persists. That's you. You persist, at your own command, unyielding. Good for you.

Time

TIME TO FUCK SHIT UP MORE LIKE. Whether this means "fucking up the enemy" or "fucking up your own very good plans and intentions" is hard to say. But rest assured, the shit is fucked.

Mind

My girlfriend is a mind player, so you're probably my favourite. Unfortunately, beneath the well practiced veneer of professional chill, your anxieties are not merely infinite, but one of the larger infinities available, and definitely still growing.

Hope

Hey!!! Sorry if your depression is still untreated or uncontrolled! But the good news is, you haven't died yet, and you aren't going to die any time soon, which means all those weird notions you have of what to do next (the ones that keep competing with each other for your limited brain space)? You get to do them. Literally roll the dice and pick one, we all know you're going to nail it.

Life

Everyone else's problems are everyone else's problems. You do not actually need to fix them, even though the temptation is SO REAL. I promise, no one is going to think less of you for taking some time to focus on your own shit. In fact (brace yourself) they probably won't notice at all, because being obsessed with other people's issues instead of your own makes you very bad at handling either. You're already a good person. You don't need to prove it. But you know what good people deserve? Some fucking self care.

Heart

You know what you want in life. Maybe not how to get it, exactly, but you know your own end goal, and holy SHIT I wish that were me. Hold onto that self awareness, even as you may need to let other parts of your ego go. Never forget what you want, what you truly, really want.

Blood

Friends, family, and dearest loved ones. We are gathered here today to witness the union between disparate souls, coming together to create something more than their parts. (You're the fucking officiant in this wedding scenario, so get good at the rituals of socialization quick, babe).

Doom

Okay, doomer. I'm sorry, neither you, I, nor any other Doom player deserved that. But for real though, press F for yourself and show some goddamn self-respect. Ain't anyone the fuck else going to do it. Which means it's up to you, as usual. Good thing practice has already perfected your capacity to ignore your own suffering and get to the fucking point.

Light

I cannot decide if calling you "Jace Beleren but it's real life instead of a card game" would be an insult or a compliment, which I think really neatly captures your whole deal. Your wikipedia-like breadth of skills and knowledge is commendable, but I am begging you to slow down. Science isn't going to disappear just because you took a long weekend and an extra hot bath. Life is short, but damn, it's not THAT short.

Void

Are you okay? Like, in a broad, existential sense. I understand that it is extremely tempting to throw your hands up and turn your back on the world's relentless chaos and brazen stupidity. But, it's your world too. There are parts of it worth holding. Even now, even here, there are parts worth loving, and you are one of them. I know you don't want to take that on faith. I know with neither evidence nor proofs it sounds like I'm blowing it out my ass. But you actually, really, genuinely are.

Breath

Flighty (complimentary). Intuitive (derogatory). Fun (gender). Stop knowing things about other people without being told, and instead try knowing things about yourself. Yeah, I know that fucking sucks, but unfortunately, self awareness is important! Anyway, while you're busy not knowing your truth, at least you're fun as hell. Here's a bit of self-insight for free: you hang out with your friends because you LIKE them, it's okay to just like people.

[parvulous-writings]

Karl Heisenberg // SFW alphabet

Request: So there was no actual request, I just knew this would cheer up my closest friend. 

Dedicated to: @rey-is-not-a-skywalker

Summary: A sfw A-Z for Karl Heisenberg, from Resident Evil Village!

Warnings: Explicit language

Notes: Please, have some Soft!Heisenberg, bor. It’s one of the many, many things you deserve.  To those who have requested oneshots- I am working on them, please be patient! My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) 

He’s never affectionate publicly. Behind closed doors, though- well maybe he’s not your stereotypical lovey-dovey type, but hey-ho, he shows it in his own little way. A few hugs, but mostly through making you things. Music boxes, little figures and robots that wind up, you name it, he’ll try and make it. 

B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

He’s not a friendly man, typically. He’s cold, and driven only by his motives. It takes a long time for him to warm up to you, but when he eventually does he is always by your side, whenever you should need him. Be it for violence, or for an ear to pour your thoughts into- even though half the time you swear he’s not listening completely. 

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Heisenberg likes warm cuddles above all others. The kind where he can pull you close and hold you there for a while- he likes feeling you against his chest. It’s comforting to him, after years of no affection and a torturous living experience. 

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?)

Karl is not particularly skilled in any domestic skill. He’s very mediocre at cooking, and he can’t clean to save his life- his factory is littered with dust and other probably very harmful particles. He isn’t very good in a domestic environment at all, really. 

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Blunter than a broken pencil I’m afraid. He’s never had to hide something from you in the past, so why should this be any different? He would not want to beat around the bush here, he’d annoy himself with pleasantries and euphemisms. 

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?)

He’s perfectly fine staying as partners, without marriage looming over the pair of you. Quite frankly, he doesn’t think it’s worth it.  “A piece of damn paper to show someone your fucking devotion? Bullshit.” 

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

Unless you’re shaking like a leaf or have specifically asked him to be gentle with or around you, he’s not going to be. He’ll treat you much how he treats most others- with a little bit of affection for zest and flavour every now and then. 

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

While he likes cuddles, he isn’t a huge fan of hugs. He thinks they’re too short to show any real affection, and often get in the way of whatever task the recipient is trying to perform.  

I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?)

S l o w l y. This man has gone through some stuff, and doesn’t want to get attached to people despite falling for you. Give him a chance. 

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Okay so he may be “non-committal” in a loose sense of the term, but this man is one jealous motherfucker. And he gets angry. I’m talking  punching the wall, lashing out and breaking shit kind of angry. It’s mostly because of a nagging fear that not only will he lose you to someone you think is better or less monstrous than he is, but also in part due to a feeling that because of what he was forced to become, he isn’t good enough to keep you for himself. 

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He kisses you on your hands or neck mostly. Those are his favourite places to kiss you. He occasionally kisses you on the inside of your wrist. If you have any scars as well, he’ll kiss them. 

L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

It depends. Sometimes he’s the perfect uncle figure, others he’s a whirlwind of rage. If you’re taking him to see some children for a prolonged amount of time, please check how he’s acting and feeling on the day so there isn’t some sort of horrific accident. 

M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?)

There’s nothing special about them, he’s usually up long before you are. He doesn’t leave anything like a hot beverage behind, unless it’s a special occasion that he’s remembered- like a birthday or anniversary. 

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

He often tells you to go to bed before him, as he’s usually working on something, and would rather not have to worry about you being down in his factory and workshop. 

O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?)

When he’s extremely angry. He gets riled up, then will start to spill facts and secrets while hardly even realising it. 

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a very short fuse and a violent temper, to say the least. There’s a reason the man swears so much. Though he will often apologise if he’s scared you after an outburst. 

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)

He remembers the basic things at the very least- Your name, your habits on eating and drinking, what you do to amuse yourself. He’s quite observant, actually. 

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

He made you a small music box once. The past part of his day, or his entire week, was seeing your smile as you opened it and listened to it for the first time. It was the widest he’d ever seen you smile, and he loved the feeling it gave him. 

S - Security (How protective are they?)

Very. One particular other Lord- “Lady Super-Sized Bitch,” as Heisenberg has dubbed her- is very interested in your presence, and Heisenberg has made it very much his business to keep you practically under lock and key to keep you safe. And when Ethan Winters comes around? Ooh, boy. You ain’t leaving his sight. 

T - Try (How much effort do they put in?)

He does try- through making trinkets and gadgets to both help you and show his affection. Sometimes it may not always seem that way though, with his outbursts and his tantrums. 

U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?)

He smokes. You tried to get him to quit once, then stopped when you realised it made him more irritable. 

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s not that concerned. If he’s still kicking... Well that’s all that matters to him. 

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’d feel that something’s wrong, something’s not right- a cog missing from a machine, in a sense. And he hates that feeling. 

X - Xtra (Random HC)

This man would die for some ice-cream. You bring him a tub of the stuff- BAM, instant good mood for the next like two days. 

Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?)

This man is not fussy, in the slightest. 

Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

He basically doesn’t, he gets so little it’s a wonder he can actually function normally. 

[lifenconcepts]

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU IN THE MOST GENUINE YET NON-ATTRACTED WAY POSSIBLE, LIKE MY HEART IS SCREAMING MIXED EMOTIONS OF BOTH WSNTING TO BITE YOU FROM HOW MUCH YOURE SHOWERING ME WITH ATTENTION BUT ALSO HUG YOU UNTIL YOUR LUNGS COLLAPSE OH MY GOHSHSHHS

YES THAT WOULD SUFFICE!! I’D CRY /POS

I genuinely can not recall the dreams anymore, yet I know that I just went into another world, like with many of my other dreams. Just a ton of interesting things among my own will that’s tainted with the dream’s persona, usually always some form of inhabited wildlife like a park, field, city, etc. always got this liminal vibe to them but instill comfort, and I crave it constantly, so am so happy to dream when I do. THANK YOY SO MUCH FOR THE ATTENTION AND QUESTIONS AND GENUINE INTEREST OH MY GOSHHH well, for the other question, I don’t usually dream of any sounds.. I assume there are some but they’re never of any attention, because I wouldn’t say there’s silence but there isn’t any noise. I just am, existing. Same with the colours, I just look at things and it’s totally different to how I perceive conscious reality, and I get that it’s because some processes turn off when you asleep but it’s fascinating how I can’t exactly admit if I see them or not, the only proof I can recall is the dull and dusky green of trees behind a mist, the vibrate brown of my dad’s hair, gray of aome cement, and murky blue of a waterfall. I am trying to recall now and do think that there definetely are colours, I just always forget them immediately after waking up. The primary colour pallete is deep blues/greens/browns/grays and ALL my dreams take place at night. Also, they seemingly are always in the middle of something, so not some specific destination (a path, I constantly dream of those - maybe in a field or by some animals or at a farm or in a forest or by some train tracks or by a race track or anywhere) and usually have at least some aspect of nature in them unless I dream about being back at school (which is strangely often enough to be it’s own category) but it’s like an entirely different thing, as if it were my school but an alternative universe of it, where I finally am capable of living out some of the things I wanted back then like actually spending time with my friends. There’s probably some things I’m forgetting to recall but that’s sort of it. What’s most fascinating is that I never have a concrete self in them, well, I do, but it fluctuates with EVERY dream - in some I’m younger or older, in some I’m a female or male, in some I’m more of a concept than human, in some I feel animalistic, sometimes I’m even what I believe to be my future self!, and in most, I just am a consciousness like irl, existing but not really having an ‘I am so and so’ that comes subconsciously. Also interesting how all my dreams have plots/stories and make me feel like im actually in a movie or something, and I just form into it with an inherent knowledge of what I should know, like, just whatever is neccesary to be aware of what to do next/why I’m here/what’s going on/what I should do. Also often cycling with my dad but that’s cuz I do it alot irl.

also I’m soosososososoosoosososoososoosososososoossosoosososoosos SO happy you liked my quizzes, if you just tell me what sort you want, I can give you more! And yeah, periods must be horrible, but soon enough that’ll pass too. AND YOIRE SERIOUSLY THE BEST!! I ain’t being overdramatise one bit! You’re incredible! Divine!! Ya mean the world to me!!!

aaaaaah would give you the entire planet !!

ALSO FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ANYTHING, REALLY, I’LL ANSWER IT EAGERLY!!!

*bonk*

HHEEJJEHEHHEHEHHEHEHHEHEHEHHDJJXJRHHEHSHHDD DKXJSBJD KENLXBKDBKWLJZOBDKBEKSKBZKBDKR E HEELLLLOOOOOO!!!!

[elsewhereuniversity]

It is worth noting that I have, for years, collected pens. Some rare, some common. I enjoy the variety of lines you can get, the different quality of inks. I own cheap mass-market pens sold in no less than packs of 20 to hand made custom pieces and even items older than this country. It’s quite a fun trade, as long as you are very careful and have a keen eye, if you care about long term value and investment.

It is also worth noting that I have never officially been implicated in any crimes involving the smuggling and counterfeiting of valuable or antique pens. I say this so you will trust me completely.

See this pen? This pen is absolutely one-of-a-kind. Unique. Brilliant. It’s a fountain pen from the late 20’s, made by Waterman. This specific example was made by hand, but they never made any more of it. It was used by Calvin Coolidge. He got it from a friend, gave it to another, and it’s made its way from hand to hand over the years. Spent sometime in a junk box at a flea market in Scranton, too, if you can believe it.

Now, I’m not gonna tell you this pen is cursed, but look, the last three people who’ve tried to do repairs on the thing have ended up in the hospital due to freak accidents and now nobody wants to try restoring it. 

But–hey don’t walk away this is the good part. But the pen has this thing, no one can write anything but the truth with this pen. You can be thinking one thing while you write and look down and the ink says something totally different. Now, if you aren’t particularly truthful at all times like, say an American politician or a man cheating on his wife, this ain’t so useful.

Now think, just think–what if you were taking a test with it? Huh? Yeah? Ah, see! Now you get why it’s interesting.

No, no–I don’t do money or favors, call me eccentric. I prefer curiosities. The stranger the better. So… how about a trade?

___

Ooh, a pen that writes the truth, that’s always interesting! Mostly because of what it says about the charmcrafter’s idea of truth. Objective, subjective, only what is within the writer’s scope of knowledge...? Such things always pass quickly from the hands of people trying to pass multiple choice quizzes to the hands of people with questions about the Nature Of Being, and I for one am perfectly happy to facilitate that.

In return, let me trade you answers for questions. Take this pen - nothing much to look at, but the glittering purple ink will only write questions. Regardless of what you actually write, the lines writhe like snakes until you are left with a philosophical question. The more ink you use, the more long-winded and run-on it becomes. Despite my best efforts, I have not been able to find the point at which it decides a second sentence is necessary, which makes me suspect it dates from around the 1800s.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part One

Prologue | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: Oh hey there! Welcome to Dany Has Been Googling Art Stuff For Like Two Months The Series. Warnings: Cursing (meant to mention that before WHOOPSADOODLE sorry) Summary: You’d never seen Agent Pike look anything less than collected, even in the thick of a case. 

“The Raft of the Medusa, huh?”

You didn‘t bother to look away from your laptop where you were stationed at your lectern.

“Géricault did good work,” You answered as you finished answering the email that you were working on. You knew that this couldn’t be a terribly timely or pressing matter, because the FBI agent that had shown up had bothered to sit through the second half of your lecture that morning. 

“How long have you guys been up to romanticism?” He asked.

“Oh, just this week. Géricault’s got a good range...Landscapes, horses, portraits… horses... current events… horses…”

“Lots of horses.”

“Yeah, he was kind of a horse girl.” 

You finally sent the email off and turned to look at Agent Marcus Pike. The man was, mercifully, still looking at the recreation of the Géricault painting. 

“This one of your old ones?” He asked. You laughed a little, leaning against the lectern. 

“No. I’ve got a friend in Atlanta that specializes in recreations of Delacroix and Géricault.” 

“He’s talented. I’ve seen the original, this is… Incredible.” 

“Mm, I know. The corpses almost look happy in this version.”

Pike’s brow rose and he gave you a look out of the corner of his eye.

“So?” You asked, “How can I aid the bureau today, Agent Pike?” 

He gave a small smile, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he turned to face you more fully.

“I’m actually not here on bureau business,” he told you, peering at you nervously. Your brows rose. You’d never seen Agent Pike look anything less than collected, even in the thick of a case. 

“You’ve got my attention,” You reassured him. 

--

You were trying so hard not to laugh, if not for the earnest look on Pike’s face. You watched him as you ran your finger along the handle of your coffee mug. The two of you had taken up residence at your favorite coffee shop and bakery, There Ain’t Muffin To It. It was a little out of the way of the college’s campus, but you preferred that - you hardly ever ran into your students that way.

Pike had insisted on paying for your coffee, and then he’d explained his… Situation. 

His fucking hilarious situation that you were really, really trying not to laugh at. 

“So…Just-- To make sure I’m on the level here,” You said, “Your sister Marnie is getting married in two weeks, and she was probably going to set you up with some cute hometown girl, and instead…” You had to pause, biting your lip to tamp down a laugh before going on, “Instead, you told her that you’re bringing… Me.” 

“That is the long and short of it.”

“And can I ask what possessed you to blurt out the name of an ex-fencer-turned-art-professor?” 

“I panicked and I was looking at the Coleman file.”

“Ah,” You nodded. You’d assisted Pike’s team on that case. A man named Augustus Coleman had recently come forward, claiming to have found Oudry’s White Duck. The work had, in fact, been a fake (though it was a very, very convincing one). You’d spent time with Agent Pike, looking over the painting itself and helping his team track down Coleman’s forger. It had been a lot of long nights, a lot of hard work, but Pike had given you implicit trust, and you’d gotten the job done. 

And now, apparently, he was trusting you with this, too. 

“I don’t… Lie well,” Marcus added, and you couldn’t help but laugh then. 

“I can see that.”

Marcus smiled, “I know this is an inconvenience. I wouldn’t ask you to fly down for the week I’m gonna be there--”

“But you’d want to?” 

Marcus winced, “My sister’s already passed your name on to my mom and I’m getting questions. You could just come in for the weekend. I’d pay for your airfare,” He tacked on. 

“Wow, you are desperate.” 

“What you said, about my sister setting me up with some-- hometown girl? It’s accurate, I’m pretty sure I know exactly who she would’ve tried to set me up with.”

“Bad?”

“No, she’s nice, but we don’t suit and Marnie hasn’t quite gotten that message.” 

Your brow furrowed, considered something. 

“Tell me something,” You leaned forward on your forearms, watching Marcus.

“Sure.”

“You could've found someone else to bring along, asked them to use my name and fake it to your family for two days. You’re actually asking me instead. Why?” 

Marcus’ eyes searched your face.

“Couple of reasons. Remember a minute ago when I said I was bad about lying?” 

You chuckled, “Uh-huh. The other reason?” 

“I need to go down there with someone that I trust. Someone that I know will have my back.”

“And someone that can lie?” 

“Exactly. See what you just said, about asking someone else to use your name? Didn’t even occur to me.”

You were quiet for a moment, considering Pike. The week that he’d named for the wedding was spring break-- you didn’t have any plans set in stone, just papers to grade. 

“...Can I think about it?” You asked. Marcus’ smile brightened at that. 

“Of course,” He nodded, “I appreciate it.” 

You believed that-- the man couldn’t lie for shit. 

-- 

That evening found you in your apartment, grading quizzes for your Intro to Greek and Roman Art course. Most of the students had a good handle on the subject, so the grading and corrections didn’t take you long. Once you’d finished, you poured yourself a glass of wine and settled down on your couch to find something to watch for the evening. 

Once you’d chosen a show, though, you really couldn’t focus on it. You had, after all, told Marcus that you’d consider his proposal. You were...Fond of Agent Pike. The agents that you’d worked with prior to his transfer to the D.C. office had all treated you with varying degrees of contempt when asking for your help on a given case; they’d kept your interactions to the barest of bare minimums, held you at arm’s length in regards to the cases that you were being asked to assist on, and hardly ever updated you on case outcomes - not that they were required to do so, but you had often wondered. Marcus Pike was so different from his predecessors. When he’d come to the D.C. office and had first needed your help on a case, he’d gone out of his way to introduce himself, the particulars of the case, and to say that, “any assistance that you could provide would be greatly appreciated.” And it hadn’t felt glib, either. You’d felt like the man actually wanted your help, wasn’t that he was just reaching out to you to cover his bases. You’d assumed that after that first case, the niceties would fall away, but Marcus had never been anything less than kind to you - even when he was stressed. He treated you with respect, understood that your time was your own, that you’d put your criminal past behind you. You were now using what you’d learned in that world to help the Bureau, and to teach.

The time you’d spent with him on the Coleman case had been the biggest eye-opener. He’d come to understand more about how you used to operate - the way you’d sold forgeries to money-grubbing, self-involved wealthy elites that cared more about owning a one-of-a-kind artwork, uncaring of where it had come from or why you had it; they hadn’t cared about the questionable and fake provenance, had only looked so close when examining the work itself. Your grandmother had been a painter, and a masterful forger - she had been the one to paint most of the forgeries that you’d helped to fence. She had taught you her tricks, connected you with the network that she operated within - she had gotten you arrested, and had been furious when you hadn’t taken the fall for her. You and Marcus had spent a lot of time together during the Coleman case - mostly working, but you’d had some downtime. There were times when he insisted that you sat down and ate, else the food would get cold. Others, when he had a question, he’d come to your office at the college, but he’d bring coffee with him, or some kind of snack - a little way of showing thanks before he even asked his question, even if you didn’t have an answer for him. Marcus was a good man. It was no wonder he needed help lying, especially to his family. Something he’d said to you that afternoon had stuck with you, though, something that was floating above the rest: “I need to go down there with someone that I trust. Someone that I know will have my back.” Marcus Pike trusted you. He was comfortable with you having his back - he was comfortable with you being around his family for a week. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts to find Marcus’. You hit the ‘call’ button before raising it to your ear. He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” He asked, and you smiled at the anticipatory tone. “Think they’ve still got any seats left on your flight?” You asked. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​ ; @elen-aranel​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​ ; @artsymaddie​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​ ; @lunaserenade​​ ; @winniedaboo ; @empress-palpat1ne​​ ; @randomness501​ ; @nutmeg-20 ; @leonieb​

[echoalyssa]

Hey can you write asher adams x reader imagine where she is his best friend but also has feelings for him and she saw Olivia cheating on asher with spencer but she doesn't know how to tell asher and she avoids him and when Asher confronts her she tells everything..

Meant To Be | Asher Adams

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! I’m sorry it took so long! 

Asher Adams is your best friend, but only your best friend despite the feelings you harbor for him. And the issue is that he has a girlfriend, one that he loves.  So that’s the issue, well one of the issues.

All you had been doing was walking to class, you’d decided to take the long way to your physics class, through and down some hallways that were basically abandoned. 

For a school as large as Beverly, it was quite a walk, you weren’t even sure what these classrooms lining the hallways were for.

You turn a corner, your head bobbing to a machine gun Kelly song from his new album that was playing through your AirPods. 

Instead of an empty hallway there’s two figures present in this one.

The male is pressing the female against a door to a classroom. Their lips are locked and it’s passionate, you can see the tongue, the body movements, the way she pulls him closer by his shirt.

You try to keep walking, to keep your head down but something in you urges you to look up, and so you do and freeze. It’s Spencer and Olivia, so deep in each other that they don’t immediately notice you standing there. You can't avert your eyes even if you wanted to. 

Olivias eyes pop open when Spencers lips move to her neck and she sees you, gaping from down the hallway, only a few paces away.

Her eyes go wide and her hands go to push him away. “Spencer stop!”

He pulls back from her immediately and retracts his hand from under her shirt. His eyes search her face hurriedly and then he follows her gaze to where you're standing. He releases her from his grasp and Olivia shoots forward, going to grab your hand. 

“It’s not what it looks like Y/N, I promise!”

You scoff, “It looks like you're cheating on my best friend!”

“No no it ain’t like that. Liv didn't mean no harm, this was all me a’ight?” Spencer says and rubs the back of his neck.

“No no, it wasn’t Spencers fault, it’s mine. I... I cheated on Asher.”

“Spencer, you’re on a break with Layla! That doesn’t mean you can do this! And Olivia, you looked like a very active participant!”

Olivias bottom lip quivers, “I n-never meant to hurt Asher, I love him! Please don’t tell him.”

You didn't think cheating on him would hurt him!?”

“I-I, my heart said-”

“Asher doesn’t deserve this!” You interrupt. “You claim to not want to hurt him but you’re his girlfriend. And you are his best friend Spencer! And on top of it all you want me to hide it from him!? If your heart said Spencer, you should have ended things with Asher first!”

Olivia crumples to the floor, and Spencer rushes to her side to hold her. 

“I’m not hiding this from him, so either you tell him, or I do! And don’t you even think about offering to do it Spencer, this is Olivia’s story to tell!”

“I c-can’t,” she cries from between her hands that are covering her face. You glare at her and Spencer and then spin around on your heel.

~~~

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately Asher is in your next class. He’s already there and when you spot him you freeze. Why would anyone cheat on him?

He waves at you and when you finally unfreeze and have to walk past him he sticks his fist out for a bump.

You bump it, attempting to plaster a fake smile on so that he doesn’t see right through you as he normally does. Though you didn't want to keep him in the dark for longer than you had to. Now was definitely not the time to tell him. 

His hand shoots out and because he's sitting down he can’t reach your shoulder so his hand lands on your hip. You stop immediately, sparks flying from where his hand connects with your person.

“H-hi Ash.” You manage to choke out eventually.

“Hey Y/N, you okay? You look kinda pale.”

You fiddle with your hoodie string, “Um...yup just worried about a pop quiz.”

His head drops back, exposing his neck and you try your hardest to avoid staring at his Adams apple and the veins in his throat.

“We never have pop quizzes in this class!” He says with a chuckle, “But you know we’d cheat if there was one.”

You smile knowing that his statement is true and finally you tear your gaze from him so that you can take your seat.

The teacher is droning on when a tiny piece of paper lands on your desk. You look up, seeing Asher turn back around in his seat and you unfold the note.

In Asher’s signature handwriting, the note reads, My house after school?

It should be normal, but your stomach flutters with the anticipation of being in his house with him alone.

He turns to look at you for your answer and you nod at him with a smile. Asher grins. 

~~~

The final school bell rings and you immediately rush to the parking lot, specifically Asher’s car. He normally gave you a ride to school and then you’d sit and watch his football practice and do your homework before he’d drop you off at your house. 

Football practice had been canceled today so the coaches could have a coach only meeting.

He isn't there yet so you lean against the passenger side door until he appears.

“Y/N!” he calls you in a sing song voice and unlocks the door for you. 

You hop in, snagging the aux cord and he lets you, just like always. 

“Olivia hasn’t been responding.” He murmurs, because he’s comfortable letting you in on the details of his relationship, just before the music starts and you're hit with a flash of guilt. 

You would tell him, you would, just not while he was driving. 

His house isn't too terribly far from school, only a ten minute drive or so and before you know it you're hopping out of his car and racing him to the front door.

Asher wins of course, but it was always fun to try. 

“My room?” he asks.

You nod, trying to hide the excited smile that is trying to take residence upon your face.

He plops onto his bed and motions for you to come out on it too.

Has Olivia ever been with him in this bed? Of course she had.

“Ash, I need to tell you something.”

“Yessssss..?”

When you don’t respond he sits forward and takes you with his pencil so you screech. And then again for good measure. 

“It’s... about you and Olivia.”

“And..?” he prompts.

And because you can’t hide anything from him the words rush out. “I was taking the long way to class, you know how I do that sometimes? I was just walking along, lost in thought and minding my own business. And then I saw these two people making out. And I mean heavy, like hands under clothing, tongues down each others throats, making out. I didn't realize I knew them until I got closer and then I couldn’t believe who or what I was seeing but... it was Spencer and Olivia.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from rambling on, one of your nervous habits, your eyes well with tears because of the pain you must be causing him. “I’m so sorry Asher. I told her to tell you but she refused and I couldn’t tell you any sooner than now and...”

He sits forward, unusually silent, and then he opens his phone and taps out a message. He turns it around to show you. It’s a message to Olivia.

‘I know. It’s over.’ it reads.

And then very calmly he looks at you, leans closer, and then pulls you in.

His lips land on yours, carefully at first, testing the waters to see if you were okay with it or not. 

And once you get over the initial shock that you're kissing Asher Adams, your best friend, you respond eagerly.

You part your lips more, allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth. You moan softly into the kiss as he sets both your mind and body alight.

His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer to him. His hand is in your hair and he’s exploring your mouth eagerly.

All too soon, you have to remember to breathe which requires separating from him. 

There’s a content smile written on both your faces.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for as long as I could remember.”

You grin at him, knowing he doesn’t need an explanation from you so instead you get out of his bed and pull one of his hoodies out of his closet. You change in front of him, sliding out of your crop top and sliding his hoodie on. You ditch your sweatpants, opting to just have on the nike pros you’d been wearing underneath them.

You climb into bed again but this time under his covers. He joins you with a grin that shows you all of his emotion and pulls you into his chest, 

“You are so unbelievably hot.”

You curl into him, listening to his heartbeat. There would be time to talk about this later, to work out the fine details. But for now, the two of you both just knew that this was right and you were content with it. You had always loved one another, you just hadn’t realized that it was like this, in this way.

[cozyenigma]

A Single Word

Soulmate AU? Soulmate AU 😌

Pairing- Reader/Yancy

Word Count- 1239

Request?- Nope!

Summary- There was always a lot of build up and curiosity over what words your soulmate would say to you. You got just the one but that was all you really needed.

Tag List- @cookielover0001010 , @swag-droid

For most people, obviously their words meant a lot to them. With all the talk of soulmates and different tropes in movies and books, it was hard not to pay attention really. The first words some special person would say to you were stamped somewhere on your body. There was endless romantic potential obviously. You’d seen dozens of social media posts, often complete with professional photo shoots, of loving couples with their words front and center.

Some were funny in retrospect. Plenty held deeper meaning later on in a relationship. Even countless more were just a simple hello. Some people even had entire rambling paragraphs that’d take up huge swathes of skin. Regardless, they seemed to bond people together in some way and as a kid you couldn’t help but be excited as you waited to see what yours would be. You and your friends took endless little personality quizzes predicting what you’d get. Back then you used to write on the back of your hand with a marker, just to imagine the shape of the words.

So, when your words finally did show up, you were more than a little disappointed. Because it wasn’t words, plural. In a quick scrawl, small and unassuming on the inside of your left arm, was just one word.

Oh.

When it first showed up, you'd spent so long just looking at it. It wasn't even a hello. What were you supposed to make of it? What was the context? Was it a disappointed "oh" or a surprised one? When your friends had gone around showing off their brand new words, you stayed in your seat and held your arm close to you.

Nowadays your word didn't bother you as much. When someone's words came up in conversation you didn't mention yours. Some of the anxiety was still there but you figured it could've been worse. You could find plenty of examples of people having swear words somewhere obvious on their body. Most days you didn't think of your word at all.

Like almost every other case though, the day when it did was one you'd remember.

You sighed, happy for the cup of hot chocolate in your hands. It was just warm enough you wouldn't freeze out here during a short walk but not warm enough that you could skip the winter wear. Hot cup between your hands, you decided to cut through the park on your way home. You'd seen a few people around but the park was mostly empty still. It was peaceful and quiet. Snow and slush crunched beneath your shoes as you walked.

Taking the time to enjoy the scenery, you spotted someone walking their dog coming your way. You moved to the side without much thought. As you neared, you could see it was a man with a big, happy looking dog with him. You sipped at your hot chocolate.

Just as you went to pass him though, your foot slipped against a patch of ice. One weightless instant later you were on the ground. You wince at the stinging in your hands, seeing that you'd crushed your cup as you fell. Lamenting the loss of your hot chocolate was the least of your worries though.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at the man in front of you. His coat was well and truly soaked. Hot chocolate dripped off him and his dog sniffed at the puddle around his feet. Luckily you missed the pooch completely.

His owner was less fortunate and blinked down at the mess he suddenly found himself in. You realized you should be apologizing right now. Preferably before the both of you froze out here.

"Oh my god," you were scrambling to your feet as best you could, trying not to fall again, "I'm so sorry!"

Now that you looked closer, that looked like a pricey coat. One that might need to be dry cleaned and preferably not, y'know, covered in hot chocolate.

"I can pay for that?” You offered lamely. You desperately hoped it wasn't that expensive.

The guy glanced down at himself and back at you, eyes wide. You grimaced at the wet feeling in your shoes, unsure if it was just water or more hot chocolate.

"It didn't burn you, did it?" You eyed the wet splotch on him. A shuffling at your feet drew your attention downwards and you saw his dog sniffing your shoes. "I'm glad I didn't get any on your dog at least."

Still the man just looked at you. He didn't even seem upset about the coat. In that moment, he stared at you like you'd appeared out of thin air. Like the world had stopped with you standing here in front of him. The sort of look that you weren't at all used to getting.

Then, and only then, did he speak.

"Oh."

The cup dropped from your hand. Now that you were on the other end of it, you think you might know how he felt. You thought over what you'd just said to him. There was heat rushing to your cheeks but it wasn't from the cold.

"I think I should probably apologize again," you said scratching the back of your head, "considering you uh- have all that somewhere on you?"

He huffed a laugh. This whole time he hadn't taken his eyes off you. "Better than what I gave youse. I had somethin' to go off of at least."

"Go off of?" You asked.

Nodding quickly, he unbuttoned the wet coat and yanked up the hem of his shirt. Written across the right side of his stomach was what you'd said to him in your handwriting. It took up a good chunk of real estate.

"See, I was always a dog person but figured I would actually need to have a dog at some point," he stooped down and scratched the dog between the ears. "Plus he's a good walkin buddy, so, thanks for that.”

"You got him because of your words?" As if he knew you were talking about him the dog wagged his tail, expecting pets. "What's his name?"

"Ah, well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "his friends call him Wheels."

"His friends?" You asked, giving Wheels a good scratch.

The man let out a little laugh. "Well that's how ya get the best nicknames."

He held out a hand, a dopey little grin on his face. "Name's Yancy."

You introduced yourself, returning the handshake. Yancy didn't bother buttoning his coat back up, instead taking it off and tying it around his waist. You grimaced.

"Still feel bad about the coat though."

"What, this?" He picked at the sodden fabric. "Ain't mine. Friend I borrowed it from won't miss it neither."

"If you say so," you scooped up the cup you dropped before chucking it into a nearby trash can.

"But if ya really wanna make it up to me," Yancy smirked as he pointed towards the park exit, "youse could let me buy ya a new drink sometime?"

You couldn't help it. The tension broke then and you laughed. "How's that supposed to make it up to you?"

"I've been waitin' years for this," Yancy was already walking ahead you, Wheels trotting happily by his side. His words were easy like you’d already known each other for years. Bubbly, he turned as he walked so he could face you. "I got lotsa questions, doll."

[luciferloser]

Brothers reacting to an insecure MC

Lucifer

Hearing a knock at your door, you quickly pulled your shirt down from where you were scrutinising yourself in front of your mirror. Turning around, you saw Lucifer leaning against your doorframe, with his arms folded. For a brief moment, neither of you said anything. You began to shift slightly under his intense gaze as he strolled into your room to where he was standing right in front of you. “MC, I don’t care how much you weigh, or where your weight is more prominent, you’re beautiful both inside and out.” You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he quickly pressed his index finger to your lips.

“Don’t interrupt me, I’m not finished. As I was saying, you must be beautiful both physically and personality-wise if you managed to make me fall for you.” It wasn’t often Lucifer expressed his feelings for you, which is why his confession meant that much more to you. Burying your face into his chest, you whispered softly, “thank you.”

Mammon

Mammon was lounging in the living room on his DDD when you walked in. Feeling particularly bold, because none of his brother’s were around to torment him, he pulled you onto his lap just as you went to sit down beside him. You yelped as you crash landed on him, immediately going to stand up again. “Oi oi, where are you going? You should be grateful I wanted you to sit on MY lap!” he whined, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place.

“I’m too heavy Mammon...” you murmured, gently trying to pry his arms off you.

“Huh? No you ain’t, remember I’m a demon. Besides, who told you you’re too heavy to sit on their lap? I’ll give ‘em a piece of my mind!” he muttered angrily, pushing his nose into your neck gently. “Anyways, let’s make the most of having the room to ourselves before one of my brothers comes in, you’re fine where you are.” he mumbled, his cheeks heating up; not that he would ever tell you that.

Leviathan

Sitting in Levi’s room playing a multiplayer game, both your DDD’s buzzed with a text alert. Waiting until the round was over, you unlocked your device to see it was this week’s popularity contest results. “Good afternoon everybody. We decided to mix things up this week by changing the criteria to attractiveness. In tenth place, Leviathan, ninth place, Barbatos...” Levi trailed off as he continues to read the rest of the results in his head.

“I didn’t even make the list...” You signed, locking the phone and moving to stand up.

“Hey where are you going? MC, wait! Don’t let that stupid list upset you, you should know you’re worth way more than what those stupid normies think anyways.” Levi declared, not being able to meet your eyes towards the end of his confession.

“You really think so?” you murmured, taking a seat next to him once more.

“Duh. I don’t just let anybody hang out with me. Especially in my own room.” He smiled gently, handing you your controller once more.

Satan

You and Satan were reading in his room, quietly enjoying each other’s company when you managed to spill tea down your shirt. Muttering curse words, you leapt to your feet.

“Not to sound like a pervert, but you should take your shirt off before you burn yourself.” Satan suggested, moving to help you take it off.

Hugging yourself, you began to back away as Satan reached out to you. “No it’s okay, I’ll go and get changed in my room.” You whispered, turning to leave.

Eyes lighting up in understanding, Satan headed to his closet, returning with one of his sweaters. “I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, MC. However, if it’s any help to you, I think you look absolutely stunning all the time. I’ll let you get changed.” His eyes crinkled as rubbed your arm gently. Feeling your cheeks heat up as he left, you mumbled “damnit Satan.”

Asmodeus

Sighing to yourself, you knocked on Asmo’s door, shuffling from foot to foot. Tilting his head, Asmo took in the sight of you in front of his door. “MC, my dear, you know you don’t have to knock! You are always welcome.” he reassured softly; sensing something was bugging you. “Come in, I was just about to try out some new skin care products!”

“Actually, that’s what I came here for. I just haven’t been feeling that great about my skin lately and-” you began to ramble as Asmo pulled you to him.

“Oh sweetie, why didn’t you say so sooner! I have just the products for you! You’ll be feeling like the god/goddess you are in no time!” Asmo exclaimed, taking your face in his palms tenderly. “I know I talk about being beautiful a lot all the time but when I say you are one of the most stunning people I have ever met, I truly do mean it.”

Beelzebub

Beel was busy raiding the kitchen as you sat on the counter with your DDD in hand. “Hey MC do you want some of this scream cheese chowder?”

“Ah, no thank you Beel. Keep it for yourself.” you uttered, briefly glancing up at him.

“Is it poisonous? I could’ve sworn this one wasn’t, what about this seaweed soup? This one’s delicious! You won’t be disappointed.” he grinned enthusiastically.

“No no, I’m okay, watching you enjoy your food is enough for me.” you said, hopping off the counter.

“But MC, you barely touched your dinner.” Beel frowned, stepping in front of the doorway to stop you leaving the kitchen. “Maybe I’m reading this all wrong and you just don’t have much of an appetite today, but I think you look great as you are.” He confessed, glancing down at you with what can only be described as pure adoration.

Throwing yourself at the soft redhead, you whispered into his chest “Thank you Beel, I really needed to hear that.”

Belphegor

You woke up to find yourself curled up with Belphie in his bed. Glancing down, you noticed that your shirt had risen up in your sleep. In your haste to pull it back down, you threw Belphie’s arm off from where it had rested across your waist. Sitting up in indignation, Belphie asked as he yawned, “What’s up with you?”

Seeing as you were both awake, there was no point in going back to sleep; it was already gone 10am anyways. Peeling back the covers, you also sat up. “Nothing, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Hm, well anyways, your shirt rode up last night, I thought you looked quite cute.” he stayed nonchalantly.

“You noticed, and thought it was cute?” you quizzed, genuine shock flitting across your face.

“Well why wouldn’t I? To me you’ll always be cute, knowing how different we are in strength. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you feel embarrassed about your tummy; you have no reason to. Just means there’s more of you to cuddle.” Belphie announced, curling back up with his pillow. “Now come back to bed for a bit, I’m still tired.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

I think i’ll make a second part for this, with the undateables responses. Feel free to send in requests or just to chat to me!

[tales-unique]

MEMORIES OF THE WEST  III

Needless to say, Dutch is Interested. After the initial shock and suspicion subsides he hounds you with questions, all while marching you over to his tent, motioning two men over with a swift motion. Arthur and Hosea, the same men he had been talking with earlier on. You stand awkwardly between the three, fidgety under their gaze. Hosea seems the most agreeable of them while Arthur is wary of you, if first introductions are to go by, but Dutch doesn't waste another minute with the pleasantries. “Miss DuBois, if you please.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat, eyes flicking between them. You suddenly feel small , but you try to hide it as best you can. “His name is Jebediah Kramer. He’s a gambling man from Saint Denis who, I happen to know, has just come into a large sum of money.” “Just how much money are we talkin’ here? And how do you know about it?” Arthur speaks up, eyeing you suspiciously. He looks intimidating, all broad shoulders and piercing eyes. If it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the sight. You give him a tight-lipped smile instead. ”At least a couple thousand, and I know ‘cause the no good, pompous, cheating son-of-a-bitch took it from my brother in a rigged poker game!” The three fall silent. Dutch has his hands on his hips. Hosea crosses his arms with a slow nod. Arthur just watches you with suspicious eyes. “So that’s why you’re more than happy to let us rob him blind!” Arthur breaks the silence, throwing his hands up in the air. “You just need someone to do your dirty work, huh?” He turns to Dutch, a scowl on his face. “I bet it aint even that much money, it’s not worth the risk Dutch! Not with all the heat we already have!” “Easy, Arthur,” Dutch waves his hand dismissively, “any lead is welcome, you know that—” You’re surprised by his support, but none-the-less pleased. “—But I admit, I am curious why you would let us ride away with your brothers wrongfully taken money. Care to enlighten us further?” Now, not so much. “Well, the money wasn’t my brothers to gamble with,” you sigh, fidgeting, “he took it on loan, and was supposed to pay it back, but obviously he couldn't with it all gone. Jebediah, ever the kindhearted rich man,” you sneer, “offered to pay off the debt and give a little more besides for a trade,” your voice tapers off into a murmur at the end, your teeth nipping the inside of your cheek, anger bubbling in your stomach. “Well?” Dutch probes, impatient, “what trade ?” “For my hand in marriage!” You hiss low, stomping on the mound of dirt you hadn’t realized you were shoveling with your foot. “And the damned idiot said yes ! Like I’m some pet o-or a piece of furniture that don’t have feelings or a mind of her own!” Flustered, you take in a deep breath in order to try and calm yourself, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “So yes , it’s a little bit of dirty work on my behalf, but the way I see it you’re the ones who get the better end of the deal. And you can keep anything else you find too, I don’t care. It ain’t mine after all,” you shrug, cold and distant. It’s a little sobering for the men before you but you don’t care. Jebediah is a rich man who doesn’t give two hoots about anyone or anything but himself; he deserves far worse than this, but at least your brother will have learned a harsh lesson and you won’t have to marry that fool Kramer. He’ll be too busy nursing his ruined ego to focus on you, after all. You hope. “Well,” Dutch drawls, breaking the stalemate, “ain’t that something. What do you say, gentlemen?” He asks Hosea and Arthur, both of whom have stayed quiet after your little outburst. “I doubt Miss DuBois would be so, well, so animated over nothing,” Hosea states, “I say we take a look into this Mr Kramer.” He offers you a small smile and a dip of his head, which you return. “And you, Arthur?” Arthur grumbles, shuffling from one foot to another before he shakes his head. He takes out a cigarette, holding it between his lips before looking you dead in the eyes. “Better not be setting us up like fools, Miss,” he growls, striking a match. Through the smoke he looks like one of those mountain men you’ve read about in your books, all rugged and rough. Now you can see why they sell so well among the ladies in the gentry. Dutch nods, a hand coming to your shoulder in a reassuring pat. “Well then Miss DuBois, I think the matter is settled! Now, all we need is a plan .” Reconnaissance — the first phase of Dutch’s plan. A trip to Saint Denis was in order, he explained, to return the stolen bride-to-be and in the process integrate themselves into the business of Jebediah Kramer directly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, you told yourself, but humored Dutch with a smile and a nod anyway. “We should have taken the train! ” You huff, shifting in the saddle to try and get the blood flowing to your legs. You’ve been riding for a while now and while you’re grateful not to be walking all the way to Saint Denis, you would have preferred your own mount instead of sharing one. Especially with a certain ill-tempered cowboy. “Quit your whining, we’ll make camp as soon as we get to open ground,” Arthur grumbles, growling in frustration when he, too, has to readjust to get comfortable. The large stallion he rides, a hulking Ardennes, snorts in complaint at the unruly riders. You shush him gently, smoothing your fingers out along his neck. “Only if you mean it this time,” you counter sourly. Arthur just chuckles, recalling how you fell for the lie twice before you called his bluff. He does mean it this time though and it’s not long before Arthur picks out a suitable spot to set up camp. It’s just enough for two weary travelers on the road. Two small tents, two bedrolls, and a small fire. You sip at a strange concoction that Hosea gave you, made out of American Ginseng, which he said would help boost you up a bit after your ordeal. It tastes funny, but you do feel better. Arthur is smoking, eyes on the rabbit that he’s cooking. You’re curious of him, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man that enjoys being quizzed and questioned. You decide to do it anyway. “So...” You start, trying to make small talk to fill the deafening silence. Arthur flicks his gaze briefly to you, but it’s soon back on the rabbit. “So?” He repeats when you remain quiet, raising an eyebrow. “So, what’s it like being an outlaw ?” Not the most original question in the world and you know it. You cringe inside and you can see the tension in Arthur's expression. He’s probably been asked that before, plenty of times, by all sorts of people and you feel stupid. He scoffs and shakes his head, distracting himself with the now cooked rabbit. You awkwardly decline his offer for some. You’re too busy hoping a hole would open up and swallow you whole “Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly, “that was, God, that was awful!” Arthur snickers, making you smile. “Well I wasn’t gonna say anything, but now that you mention it,” he teases, the awkward tension leaving your shoulders as you laugh. It didn’t sit right with him, how uptight you were. Especially since he knew it was because of how standoffish he’d been with you in camp. The stress of everything with the law, that mess in Blackwater, and Dutch acting strange was weighing heavily on him but that didn’t give him the right to be mean to you. He could have been civil about it. Hosea always taught him to be, even when disagreeing, not that Dutch ever minded him being more of a brute. And a brute he had been. Until he saw that look in your eye, that is. Like a puppy who was kicked for being a little too excited, a little too much for those around it. With a sigh, he gives you the once over before sitting up straighter. The cooked rabbit meat is stowed away for later, when you’re both on the move again. “You really wanna know what it’s like to be an outlaw?” He asks and you visibly perk up, surprised that he’s answering your question. “Are you really gonna tell me?” You counter, narrowing your eyes. You’re suspicious, but the smile creeping onto your lips betrays your excitement. Arthur finds he quite likes this side to you; maybe you are more suited for this life than he gave you credit for. “Well, it ain’t fun,” he breaths, “I mean, you’re practically living it already. You’ve been kidnapped, starved, hustled into some fools errand by a gang of misfits, and now you’re planning to rob some rich fool blind and get out alive to spend the money!" He chuckles. “All we gotta do is get you in a gun fight and girl you’ll be the real deal,” he adds, smirking. You’re quiet for a moment, studying him, before you break down into laughter as Arthur watches you in amusement, illuminated by the firelight. “You really think so?” You laugh, shaking your head, “I don’t even know how to use a gun!” “Then I’ll teach you,” Arthur says after a moment of contemplation, “you’ll need it if you’re gonna run with us.” The resoluteness of his tone stifles your laughter and you once again look at him with those wide eyes, barely contained excitement brimming within. “You will?” Suspicion radiates from you again but he waves it off dismissively. “Yeah, you’ll need to know just in case things go wrong,” he explains, “but c’mon now, it’s getting late. We should get some sleep while we can.” Stifling a yawn, you nod. Arthur will have you up with the dawn chorus so that you can make good time so you need all the rest you can get. Burrowing down into the blanket on your bedroll you sigh contently, peeking up at the stars as the fire becomes glowing embers. The stillness of the night surrounds you, coaxing you into a restful sleep as twinklings lights above fade to black. Arthur listens as your breathing evens out, steady and constant in your slumber. He stares up at the stars, ruminating on just how it came to be that you were there, with him, about to pull off something daring and downright foolish with the possibility of no pay off. Before he left with you Hosea had told him to have faith in you and your knowledge, but could he really be so quick to trust? Turning onto his side, Arthur watches you with interest. You’re curled up like one of those pretty cats in a basket, soft fur and sweet purrs. Long lashes kissing the tops of rosy cheeks. You’re an honest girl, he’s sure, but the more he watches your peaceful, sleeping face, the more he’s concerned that you’re in over your head, and that just doesn’t sit right with him.

[fourmarkdove]

South-Bound Polecat

Title: South-Bound Polecat

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Sy is furious you’re not taking better care of yourself.

Paring: Syverson x reader

Warnings: Disordered eating

A/N: Based off of this post. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

Setting down your oversized bag on the bench near the door, you then leaned over to tug off your heels. You moaned out loud and stretched your toes, unbuttoning your suit jacket. Sy came around the corner and leaned against the double door frame leading out to the hall. Arms folded across his chest, he tilted his wrist and checked the time.

“It’s 9:30,” he complained, watching you shrug out of your jacket. “You said you’d be home three hours ago.”

“I know my love. I’m so sorry.” You came to him and lifted up onto your toes to gently kiss his bottom lip. “Time just got away from me. Good news is that I got all of the quizzes graded and entered into the system.”

“You’re runnin’ yourself ragged, babe.”

“I’ll be fine, darling. I just need a hot bath and then to fall into bed.”

“I grilled steaks for us tonight,” he called up the stairs after you, “three and a half hours ago.”

Ever the keen observer, he caught the scent of - what was that? Ranch dressing? Instead of heading back to the couch, he thumbed open your bag to find the offending smell.

Since he was back from deployment and had more free time than ever, he took it upon himself to look after you like he always said he wanted to. And like you apparently needed. He’d taken to waking on schedule, hours well ahead of you, and he’d go for a run, have a shower, and sip coffee while making your breakfast - usually a smoothie because you flat out told him your “nervous stomach” couldn’t handle eating real breakfast with him.

Every morning he’d pack a lunch for you too. He thought of it as an extra little reminder during the day of how he cared for you by taking the time to slice up thin baby carrot sticks or apple slices earlier that morning.

He sighed a gruff sound, peeling sticky note reminders off of the cracked open container. Ranch dressing had spilled out and leaked all over inside your bag. He popped open the container heading out to the kitchen, discovering you’d not even touched any of the chicken tenders he’d made. That made three times this week that you hadn’t eaten lunch.

When he was all done cleaning up, he sat on the couch and flicked through channels mindlessly. It wasn’t long before he heard the familiar padding of feet coming downstairs and wandering over to the fridge to scrounge for food before bed.

“Babe?” you called, pouring yourself some water. “Any more of that steak? Oh nevermind I found it.”

Coming to the couch in his t-shirt and freshly washed hair, you slide some of the thinly sliced meat into your mouth and cooed, tasting the salty goodness of the rub he’d seared it with. You fold your legs under you as you come to sit next to him, mesmerized by the football game on the screen.

He sat a few long minutes, arm thrown over the back of the couch, and watched you devour the sweet potato fries, steak, and grilled pineapple. Sliding your plate onto the coffee table, you sighed and laid down, using his muscular thigh as a pillow.

Two minutes into the game and you were rolling over onto your side, drawing your knees up and whining about a stomach ache.

“Course it hurts, bug. You just inhaled dinner. You know you’d not come home every night ready to eat the north end of a south-bound polecat if you’d just dig in to the lunches I been makin’ ya.”

You sighed and rubbed your cheek against his leg. “I know. I just get busy…”

“Ain’t nothin’ I ever heard about in your particular line of work that means you can’t stop for 10 minutes to get chow.”

Sitting up, you didn’t have much fight in you between the stomach ache and exhaustion, but still you want him to understand. “Lunch is the only time I can get stuff done. They’ve taken away my planning period. I have to get papers graded. I’ll try to be better about eating but…”

“You an’ I both know ‘try’ is about as worthless as tits on a bull,” he huffed, flexing his fingers over the couch armrest.

Stunned, you gave him a wide eyed look and pulled the damp hair from your face. “Sy, are you angry at me?”

“Geez, woman!” Yes, he was in fact angry. “All I’m asking is for you to look after yourself better. I’m not askin’ for the gotdamn moon!”

He stood up abruptly and paused halfway out of the room. Even in the dim light you could see the muscles across his back were tense and twitching. His fists were balled up and his whole body was rigid.

Your Sy had a temper and there were times when that rage benefitted both him and the men and women who served under his command. His unit needed the discipline he provided because every last one of them knew the training built trust that kept them alive even in the most desperate situations. Most of the time his temperament was fairly sanguine as a natural leader and his charisma was enough to get the job done. If pressed, however, he could and did square up with any soldier who dared to step over the line and disrespect him, the position he held, or ignore instructions given. Even the charisma was calculated. There was never a moment of downtime even if he appeared relaxed.

That’s what frustrated him so damn much dealing with you. He planned to look after you, calculated to make sure you were prepared for long days you faced on your own front line of sorts. He wanted you to feel that same kind of “until the end of the line” support that his unit felt when they trained, when they fought, and when they had down time. Together.

That was the thing - he couldn’t do any of that from home while you went to a school campus. You had no down time together other than collapsing in his arms always for sleep. And he sure as hell couldn’t engage in any kind of training like he was used to. The one and only time he barked at you was earlier on in your relationship, over something altogether innocuous, like how the ladder wasn’t set properly when you climbed up to wash windows. He was correct and it was unsafe but the delivery sent ice through your veins. When you climbed down and approached him, shuddering with fear and bottom lip quivering, his heart broke in two.

He spent the rest of that night cuddling you up in his bear arms, nuzzling your neck and barely speaking above a whisper. He swore he’d never raise his voice to you like that ever again.

When things came across like this not eating lunch thing, it was difficult for him. What was that bullshit book you made mention of about love languages? His was clearly acts of service; why weren’t you seeing that?

I make you lunches because I want to provide for you. I want you to feel supported and loved even when I can’t physically be with you.

That’s what he wanted to say; what he meant to say every time he closed the lid on those containers and slipped them into your bag as you ran out the door and forgot your smoothie.

For you not to even have opened them? Whether you meant to or not, he felt flat out rejected. Did you really not want him? He tried so hard in his own way to tell you how desperately he loved you. But it felt like you couldn’t be bothered enough to care, hence ranch dressing spilled in your bag.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” he sighed. “Night, bug.”

Ten minutes later, he heard the bathroom sink and then the sheets being lifted as you silently slid in on your side of the bed. He faced away, feeling like sinking down into himself and closed his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, he heard a faint whimper as you curled up smaller in your sleep and began to rock yourself. Sitting up, he glanced over his shoulder and sighed. Your belly must have still ached.

Rolling over, he pulled you close and turned your body over so he could rub his large hand over your stomach soothingly.

He felt your little gasp and fingers curl against his chest when you woke with a start. “Mm I… bad dream…” you mumbled. He wrapped a steady arm behind your back so you could use his bicep as a pillow while he rubbed your midriff.

“I know, babe. Shh you’re safe…” he whispered, pressing his cheek to your forehead.

“Please don’t be mad,” you sniffled barely awake, pressing your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

Even barely awake, you said it so easily. It felt like a miracle every time the words fell over your beautiful lips. He tucked a hand behind your head and kissed your forehead gently. “I love you, bug.”

You cooed and settled down, drifting fast now that you were tucked into him.

“Can I take you out for lunch tomorrow?”

“Mm… sounds nice…” you sighed one last time before passing out completely.

He could not have been more awake, however.

His cheeks burned and something tightened in his throat - what was that - choked up like tears? Even if you didn’t remember it, he’d managed to say it out loud.

I love you, bug.

But you remembered.