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cheswirls · 5 months ago

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short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no. You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience.

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

#writing #op #whery if i realized anything while doing this its that we need 2 get you a custom theme....#1) anyone whos not logged in will be able to see all your posts w/ no limits #2) (and the more important COUGHCOUGH) it'll be so much easier to find shit on your blog #if you want a cool blog layout lmk and i'll hook you up but for now #there are many benefits to a custom tumblr url........ being able to search /tagged for better blog organization is one of them #if there's a switch to writing style i wrote the first half of this in april 2023 so thats why!!#also lmao i jus spent the weekend w/ my brother so if its too mean-spirited thats unintentional n i'm prolly channeling is all #sighhhhhhh i love when they look after each other its so very very good #wittb has been great but i do wanna see them get up to other shenanigans later #after the comic (plot) at large i mean #little one-off side things still in the modern au #enjoy the rest of artfight month for now tho!!!#(< says someone who has been putting off af attacks to write things again)

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dootdootwriting · 2 years ago

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♡ SLEEPING with the HSR men ♡

featuring: dan heng; welt; sampo; gepard; jing yuan tw: some light cursing from me, sampo's is a bit suggestive type: fluff, a bit silly pronouns used: none a/n: recreating the genshin version of this post which went viral to announce that i'm now writing & accepting requests for HSR.... and not b*ha that was a moment of weakness sorry everyone LOL

utc for length!

DAN HENG

naps all the goddamn time

the astral express will be cruising along and he'll let out this giant yawn and march gives you the side-eye and you know. your boyfriend is about to gently grab your hand and sleepily lead you into his... room (?) for a power nap

these can last anywhere from fifteen minutes, where dan will just barely wrap his arms around you and close his eyes for a bit, to three hours, where his head will hit his unfortunately thin pillow, and he won't even have time to give you a kiss before he's down for the count

he's an incredibly heavy sleeper, which works to his benefit and his detriment

he gets nightmares relatively frequently. while they don't happen every time he gets the chance to rest, it's around a third of the time, and sometimes he'll even wake up in a cold sweat and flail around to make sure you're still with him

even if you don't wake easily, seeing your sleeping form nearby calms him down. he knows he's safe.

actually, just having you sleep next to him makes it less likely for the nightmares to appear, and eventually, he makes such a habit of getting you to come with him every time he goes to bed that he can't actually sleep without some part of his body touching you

if you're on a particular stop or for some reason you have to sleep away from him, dan heng gets little to no sleep. he clutches his pillow as a (not very effective) surrogate, and wakes up with a sore neck and less braincells than usual

he needs his beauty sleep.

if dan is asleep next to you, and you wake up before him while he's holding you, don't bother trying to get up. he won't stop you from leaving, but he'll do something even worse: he'll lightly grab your arm as you get up and look at you through one bleary eye with the haziest expression on his face, and he'll ask you to stay, please?

alright fine. after you use the bathroom. needy ass (affectionate)

WELT YANG

"i don't need sleep, i have coffee"

get into bed old man or i swear to god

welt tries to have a sleep schedule, honestly. he's just not very good at it

he's a chronic caffeine drinker, and while he knows it's not good for him, he's also a slight workaholic and when he gets into the groove of working on something, he needs to stay awake to see it through. unfortunately, this means he's often up until the early hours of the morning, and you're fast asleep in bed before he even realizes what time it is.

he makes it up to you. whenever this happens and he finds you conked out how you were waiting for him, he picks you up and puts you in a more comfortable position, and tucks you into the covers next to him once he joins you

he needs to realize that taking a nap with the love of his life is just as refreshing, if not more, than a mug with four shots of espresso is

(you have seen him go to a coffee shop and order a "quad espresso" with the most tired, deadpan expression and have the baristas look at him in awe and fear)

the type to tuck the both of you in and forget that he has his glasses on. luckily at this point pompom is an experienced glasses mender.

he has lost at least six pairs to this plight.

welt is an average sleeper, and he doesn't move around much, so despite his aversiveness to actually getting into bed, he is a good sleeping partner.

GEPARD LANDAU

gepard enjoys sleeping with you so much that bedtime is his favorite part of the day

well, for multiple reasons, actually. he really likes the intimacy that goes along with washing up together and getting ready for bed

he's one to lie awake with you for a few minutes and read or scroll through your phones or just talk to each other before you go to bed. it's his favorite time to unwind and destress from the duties of being captain.

he tries so hard to let you fall asleep first, but damn if he isn't exhausted. he usually ends up falling asleep before you.

gepard's sleep schedule is very strict and regular. he goes to bed probably between ten and eleven at night and has to wake up for work around five am (rest in peace)

this gives him anywhere between six and seven hours of sleep every night, which is just enough to get him through the day and back to you in the evening.

he's not exactly a light sleeper? he wakes pretty easily but it takes a few buzzes of his alarm before he realizes that he's supposed to be waking up then.

gepard wants so badly to be the partner who stays in bed "five more minutes" with you, or calls in sick from work just to stay in bed for the day. unfortunately, with his position, it just isn't possible, which breaks his heart every morning.

to make up for that, he leaves a note at his spot on the bed -- it's anything from "extra hard day today most likely. i'll miss you <3" to a silly, horrible doodle of him giving you a kiss

and then he's off to smack monsters over the head with his sister's guitar case

SAMPO KOSKI

"sampo koski always goes to bed on time!"

lies. or, well, he tries? i guess?

he means to, anyway... there's just always something to distract him, whether it be you, or social media, or some brand new business opportunity pinging him

being a traveler, the two of you often sleep in hotels or motels across belobog. it's not bad! sampo always reserves rooms in the nicest area nearby -- he likes to treat you to the nicest sheets and the best room service

i mean, you can't really have any fun if you're not comfortable~

smack him with a pillow please. or a brick!

doesn't have the tiniest bit of a bedtime routine. he decides he's tired, he flops on top of you, and he's out

sleeps like the dead. there is no waking sampo koski until it is time for him to wake up

the morning is when you remind him he has to shower and brush his teeth, to which he reluctantly agrees and smiles at you bashfully

which, actually, is kind of cute

this isn't to say he doesn't care about his appearance -- he DEFINITELY DOES. he just oftentimes forgets to wash up before he fals asleep.

he's another one who has to be touching you at all times while he rests. whether it be a hand, a foot, his head on your chest, your head on his chest... it doesn't matter. he likes the security he feels when he knows you're there with him.

JING YUAN

jing yuan always goes to sleep on time!

truth. he actually gets agitated when his sleep schedule is thrown off.

he has it written down in his head; his bodily clock is incredibly regimented. his sleeping times, eating times, and self-hygiene times all have to be the same every day, or his whole day feels off

he doesn't need an alarm clock. he wakes up at the same time every day, give or take a half hour. if he wakes up any earlier or later than his usual waking up zone, he goes into a sour mood as if he just knows the rest of the day will be bad.

he's another heavy sleeper. jing yuan prefers to sleep on his back and have you sleep on his chest. or on some occasions, he'll spoon you.

the lion sleeps at the foot of the bed

another part of his nightly routine is goodnight kisses and bedtime meat. he grabs a little chunk of chicken or beef for the kitty and gives each of you a kiss before he turns out the light and goes to sleep

if you prefer to stay up for a while doing your own things, he has no qualms with that, as long as it doesn't disturb his rest. things like having your phone out or a reading lamp on don't bother him -- he can go to sleep regardless of the lighting conditions.

i'm just imagining how fucked up he gets from jet lag. poor guy. aeons forbid he ever travel to a different planet with a separate passage of time

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esamastation · 1 year ago

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Part thirty-two of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one

The first few hours in the forward camp go by quickly, for Angeal. Mostly in putting down brushfires and smoothing down ruffled feathers.

"That was Sephiroth, right - Sephiroth is in our camp!"

"Where is he then? I want to meet him!"

"Think he would shake my hand?"

"Does anyone have a camera - I want to send a picture to my Ma!"

Most of the troopers are excited - and they have every reason to be. More SOLDIER means less dangerous work for them while the SOLDIER members take care of the more dangerous missions.

But you can't please everyone.

"Well?" the infantry Colonel in charge of the town demands when Angeal presents himself to the man. "Isn't he even going to come to introduce himself?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," Angeal says awkwardly, with the Turks' warnings still in his ear. No one is to know that Sephiroth isn't at hundred percent right now. And Angeal agreed. "It was a very busy time in Midgar just before we left, and the plane wasn't exactly comfortable - he's resting before we start tackling missions tomorrow."

"Couldn't he sleep on the plane? Isn't he supposed to be a veteran - doesn't he know you're supposed to catch all the sleep you can get, when you can get it?" The Colonel huffs, offended and superior. He's an older man, in his fifties, and though Angeal doesn't know him, he recognizes the type.

A lot of older military types didn't really… believe that SOLDIERs were worth the hype.

"What if we were in an emergency situation here and the camp was under attack?" The Colonel asks. "Would he have sauntered off then, just willy-nilly?"

"I'm sure in that case Sephiroth would've fought, but as that wasn't the case," Angeal says slowly, "I'm sorry sir, in favour of the missions ahead, he's getting all the rest he can, now."

It takes more than that to placate the camp commander, and Sephiroth would need to present himself first thing in the morning, but at least Angeal manages to keep people from trying to bother Sephiroth. Who… really didn't look too good, before.

Angeal had got him two folding screens and a table from the loot storage - he'd even found a nice tea set, and some tea in a tin - and if he didn't know better, he would've said Sephiroth almost… cried.

He's never seen the man look so lost.

Which sends him here, to the mess hall set up by the infantry in one of the larger buildings of the town. It's impossible to miss, and he had to wonder how the pompous Colonel didn't claim the building for the command - it's easily the grandest in the village, with spacious interiors and the inner courtyard with a mossy garden.

All the plastic folding tables probably would have made Sephiroth sick, though.

Angeal approaches the field kitchen with his proverbial hat in hand, asking, "Hey, do you have any chocolate here?"

"We do - for a price," the cook says, apologetically. "Sorry, sir, it's protocol - the company provides you grub and meds, but all luxury goods are Gil only."

And the prices are, of course, through the roof.

"... And if it's for Sephiroth?" Angeal asks hopefully, because the poor kid in him can't stomach paying fifty Gil for a candy bar.

The cook hesitates and then narrows his eyes. "... Sephiroth eats chocolate?"

"It's his favourite," Angeal lies shamelessly.

There's a moment of painful hesitation between protocol and idol worship. "... Fine, but just this once, okay?" the cook mutters and quickly shoves two bars towards him. "I can get away marking these out as damaged in transit, but after that they'll start taking it out of my pay! And don't go spreading this around either, sir, or else everyone will be begging for charity!"

"I won't tell a soul," Angeal promises and adds two chocolate bars to his tray. "Thank you so much."

He fills the tray with enough food for him and Sephiroth and offers an apologetic smile to the group of SOLDIER Seconds before heading out.

He doesn't quite make it to his and Sephiroth's quarters.

"So, the big guy is not doing so hot, after all."

It's Reno, accosting him along the way, lounging back against a bit of painted wall. He's not quite hidden - except that coming from the direction he did, Angeal couldn't see him.

"Mood seems to go up and down; he's practically swinging from side to side, that man," Reno continues, watching the street idly. "You got it handled?"

Angeal stops and takes a steadying breath, staring down the street. It's getting late and dark, and the green-tinted electrical lights by the Shinra troops clash with the red paint of the buildings. "Sephiroth is meditating."

"Yeah, because that's totally something he does," the Turk snorts, folding his arms. "I've read his file, man. A homebody he is not. If this was your usual mission, he'd already be out there, fighting."

Angeal hesitates, looking down at the tray. "He's going to be fine," he says. "Now excuse me, the food will get cold -"

"Hey, man, I'm on your side here," the Turk says. "I'm just asking. We just want the best for him!"

Sure. "The Turks are very invested in this," Angeal comments pointedly and gives the redhead a look. They are - hell, they'd sent not just one, but two Turks to the front lines! That's more than investment.

The camp had been excited to see Sephiroth and Angeal there - they'd been less excited to find out that they came with Turk company. Turks don't generally take part in anything to do with Wutai, the war front isn't exactly their area of expertise, and that's how the military likes it. Though they're technically all part of the same department, there's no love lost there. The Turks very much aren't welcome.

That's probably why Reno is here - in the shadows, out of view. The Turks hadn't been seen much since their landing, really. And probably for a good reason.

"We're invested in damage control," Reno says, peering up at the sky lazily, leaning against the wall with all the grace of a cat. "Whatever's going on with Sephiroth isn't normal, and it's in the company's best interest that it doesn't come to head in Midgar."

"Right. Far better if he loses his cool here," Angeal mutters, watching as a curious firefly investigates a flood light. "Less collateral damage."

"That's it," Reno agrees lazily. "Personally, I'd prefer that whatever is going on with him is resolved quickly, so that we can all go home. But we will be here as long as it takes. As long as he needs."

Great, that's just wonderful. But… that also means that they're not in a hurry. Even the dozen or so missions pressing in on them aren't that high priority. They don't have the forces or the resources to make another try at Fort Tamblin, and most of the fighting out there has been fought into a standstill.

The war is essentially in a stalemate until further notice. The point of Sephiroth being here - before his incident, anyway - is more about morale than anything else. It always looks good when they send in the big guns, after all.

"As long as he needs," Angeal repeats. "Really?"

"The President approved it and everything," Reno agrees and looks at him. "Whatever Sephiroth needs."

Well. He knows that's probably bullshit, but in case it isn't… "Sephiroth needs time," Angeal says after a while, following the firefly with his eyes as it flies away. "And I think more than anything he needs privacy."

Reno narrows his eyes. Then his expression clears. "Alright, privacy we can arrange," he says flippantly. "Never much cared for military camps anyway. Right then. Good night, Hewley."

Angeal watches him go suspiciously, but it appears that was that. "Right," he mutters and hopes it wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass later.

Shaking his head, he returns to the house, to find that Sephiroth had finished rearranging the furniture to his liking - he's also made tea, and is holding a steaming cup in his hand as he stares into nothing.

His hands, Angeal notes with relief, are no longer shaking.

"Here, food," he calls. "Also found you something special."

Sephiroth blinks and looks up as Angeal puts the tray down, handing him both of the chocolate bars. "Oh," he says. He looks guilty. "Angeal, I…"

"Special gift from the commissary, free of charge - next one we will have to pay for, and they charge through the nose here," Angeal says cheerfully and sits across from him, divvying up the plates and utensils. "So you better enjoy it."

"... I will. Thank you," Sephiroth murmurs, closing his long fingers delicately over the treat.

"Good. Now come on, let's eat," Angeal says, pushing the plates closer to him. "We have a lot of work tomorrow. Better stock up."

"... Monster hunting, right?"

"Yes," Angeal agrees. "Just you and me and a bunch of wild beasts. It should be great."

Sephiroth looks at him for a long moment and then, finally, nods slowly. "Alright."

They eat, and the tightly wound coil of anxiety in Angeal's gut unwinds, if only a little.

#Fanfiction #ff7 #ffvii #svsss #angeal hewley #reno of the turks #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan

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fearandhatred · 10 months ago

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thank u so much to my beloveds @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and @seven-stars-in-his-palm for tagging me, kissing u both for this omg <3 i'm doing two of each because i can

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations.

transitional heart taxidermy [5986 words, wip]

They fit so perfectly together, the both of them, always. Not side by side like pieces of a puzzle, no, but like molten lava over sand; one over the other, one mellowing the other, changing its chemistry into something different, stronger, useful. The kiss tastes of Aziraphale, of copper and saliva and something holy. It's a taste he'll come to get used to, bloodied and bruised, a taste he chases after as the angel pulls back.

and one from an unpublished chapter:

It's been a day, two, maybe three. His hands are stained with blood and phantom glass, reeking of alcohol and rot palpable enough to taste. Aziraphale doesn't come for him, and he feels relief but also a pain so deep it's paralysing. It's a revelation in itself.

blood in my eyes [1953 words]

This is the first time in years he has stepped foot back into this place. It's a spontaneous decision, driven by a mellow melancholy and a soft wistful night. Muriel isn't in, so the bookshop is dark, and the streetlights cast an eerie, lonely glow on the ancient hardbacks. The rearing statue that once held his glasses every other day is coated in a thin layer of dust; he leaves them on.

Crowley wipes away a tear from Aziraphale's cheek with his thumb. It leaves a bright red streak. After, hours pass by before Aziraphale washes the blood from his face, imprinted in the vague shape of Crowley's hand. In those hours, when he sits in the quiet of a bookshop once again burned to ash, the blood stays there as a reminder, maybe, or as punishment.

sub-consequence [11567 words, wip] — six of crows

He wants to say everything he could possibly say to persuade Kaz to change his mind, because if he says everything in the world, strings together every word in every possible combination, there has to be at least one thing that would convince him to stay.

Sometimes Inej thinks Kaz cares about himself less than he cares about getting what he wants. It feels sometimes as if he's completely detached from himself, his own person becoming just another means to an end. People would scream at her that this isn't selflessness. It's ruthlessness, or psychopathy, or numbness. That's how the name Dirtyhands came about, after all. The willingness to do anything no matter the cost. To get his hands dirty with blood, be it others' or his own. But what is selflessness, really? A lack of selfishness, or a loss of self?

to sleep, perchance to dream [662 words] — the sandman

God, Calliope. His heart, face of cloud fields and white lily springs, a hope so blinding in contrast to his shadowed being that he had known from the start the hands of The Fates would pull them apart to opposite poles.

His lifetime of constraint allowed him to face the knowledge that any selfish will to see her in the wake of remembering all he had forsaken, all that had been ripped from him, would seal the vestibules to acceptance and he would beg with no dignity to stay by her side. And his heart burned, scorched unpleasantly at her parting words, just as the skin she touched and had once touched long after she was twice gone.

tagging those whose words i'd love to see (no pressure!!): @actual-changeling @sentientsky @irispurpurea @springofviolets @demonsandpieohmy

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bogkeep · 6 months ago

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last year i wrote my opinions on all the movies i watched on my Very Long Flights to australia, since long flights are a great opportunity to watch some movies i probably wouldn't have bothered to seek out otherwise. here's the stuff i watched this time around

the first 13 episodes of rurouni kenshin: okay so back when i watched demon slayer for the first time i asked around like "does anyone know any other Good Sword Animes. i'm in a big mood for Sword Anime" and a friend told me that they were going to tell me about THE sword anime, but with a BIG caveat. and the caveat was such that i went "ah yeah maybe i won't look into that one". i've since heard more about this series and been very curious about the story, because it sounds like My Shit. i figured in-flight entertainment is probably one of the more ethical ways to watch it, and i have confirmed that it is indeed My Shit. extremely skilled swordsman torn between his bloody past and a new life? he can win any fight, but at the cost of his soul? yeah. yeah. will say that the subtitles left in a lot of japanese terms and words that i think i would've greatly benefited to know the meaning of - like i figured it out from context eventually, but yeah. so Now I Know. at least my curiosity is sated.

the new wonka movie - it was Fine! i appreciated the sincere efforts of whimsy and trying to stick to a roald dahl-esque tone, though in hindsight it's ENTIRELY too magical and sugary sweet (hah). could definitely have done without the fatphobia - something that is very present in the source material, so i shouldn't have been surprised that it features in the prequel, too... it just made me go "nooo noooOooooo don't do that uuughhh noooooooooooooooooooo" a lot. honestly, as far as vibes go, this movie reminded me the most of the first f*ntastical beasts movie (you know, the one that came out in 2016, when we were still young and innocent) - like, decently charming, very cgi.

the old willy wonka movie - i had never seen this one before, and it provided me a lot of context for the New movie :') now THIS really hits the Unhinged Dangerous vibes the new movie lacked. easily the best played willy wonka. a grand old time. i <3 practical effects.

3/4ths of the barbie movie rewatch - is the barbie movie still fun to watch, even after a year of Essays and Takes? i think so. i was in a practical effects mood and had less than two hours left of my flight. like, it's The Barbie Movie. it will never be That Deep because it cannot escape its corporate mainstreamness, but i love the actual play-pretend whimsy and exorbitant amount of pink paint and funky outfits.

killers of the flower moon - i'd considered watching this on my previous flight, i had heard of the movie and put it on my to-watch list, but the THREE HOURS AND TWENTY SIX MINUTES runtime scared me off. not because i didn't have time (my flights were 12 hours and 7,5 hours respectively), but because i knew it was gonna be Heavy and Depressing and you gotta have the right mood for three hours of That. both of my flights had the exact same entertainment catalogues i gave it a try first thing on flight #2, knowing i don't have to finish it if i don't want. it was very good but oh boy heavy and depressing was correct! really good buildup of dread and despair as the web of murder closes in like water circling the sink. very good period piece, and everything i've read about it after indicates that martin scorsese worked very closely with the osage people to create this movie.

the lego movie rewatch - this is one of my favourite movies that i've seen many times but haven't in a while, and after the Three Hours And Twenty Six Minutes of indigenous people getting poisoned and murdered i REALLY needed something light-hearted. i was also severely sleep deprived at this point. all this to say that i was almost overwhelmed by how fun this movie is and kept tearing up at almost every scene. it's just such a good time!!!! my critique of this movie has always been that it has two tropes that annoy me - the "highly competent girl is reduced to an assistant for the clueless 'chosen one' dude" and "person who has changed their name goes back to use their ~*real name*~ because it's more valid than whatever they picked" - that only annoy me because of how prevalent they used to be at the time when this movie came out. in isolation, the story works really well and i still like it so so much. everything is awesome!!!!!!

anyway those are my movie thoughts

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finalgirlkateausten · 1 year ago

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📚📚📚 (that’s right, three rounds s’il vous plait ;)

haha thank you for the triple ask! I'll give you the other two in separate posts. this is sort of a prequel to a s4 canon divergence fic I'm working on, and... I did not intend for it to get this long 😅 (this is for the pinterest ask game 👀)

PUT ME BACK TOGETHER AGAIN

Succession s4 canon divergence ~ kenrava ~ 1,213 words ~ rated M

He calls her once, twice, three times, after the funeral. Way after the funeral. It's late, so late that she could be asleep, could be legitimately missing his calls, but he doubts she would answer if she was awake.

And maybe this isn't the most logical next step, after that polite but implicit denial, but earlier that day he'd threatened to lay down in front of her car so he's not feeling fucking logical on the day of his dad's funeral and Roman is AWOL and Shiv is-- fucking pregnant? Maybe staying with Tom? Not a shoulder to lean on, at any rate, so Kendall dodges business partners and politicians and everyone else who wants to probe him about the GoJo deal or tell him how deeply fucking sorry they are and finally collapses into the backseat of his car.

He checks his watch.

Half past two in the morning.

He calls his driver anyway, Fikret is used to keeping up with his weirdass schedule, and asks him to take him upstate. In the time it takes him to arrive, he double checks with the security team he still has following Rava and the kids. Which, okay, he can see how that maybe could've been a little intimidating. But it tells him to head up the coast to Connecticut, and he feels a painful weight in his chest when he gives Fikret the address to the beach house he and Rava had picked out together sometime between their engagement and honeymoon. He really... he can't remember the last time he was there.

The drive takes less than two hours, and when Kendall looks at his watch and sees that it reads 4:30, he winces a little. Rava probably won't be thrilled that he's waking her up at this hour.

He has Fikret pull into the garage, because the code is the date they got engaged and it's the same for really every password they'd both needed to know. Never their wedding anniversary, interestingly enough. Rava had said, way back when, that that was too easy to find and guess. But it feels a little metaphorical now.

Kendall is leaning against the hood of the car, frowning at the door leading into the house and wondering if he can open the deadbolt with his mind, when it opens on its own. He only wonders if he's suddenly become a Jedi for about half a second before Rava appears, wearing an old R.E.M concert tee with just her underwear, her go-to pajamas for as long as he'd known her.

"Ken!?" Her voice is hoarse with sleep and he's making damn sure that his eyes are glued to hers and she runs a hand through her bedhead as she descends the stairs, stopping a good six feet away from him. "Why the fuck are you here?"

He swallows hard, unable to think of an all-encompassing answer. "...to apologize," he offers quietly. "I... Rav, I've been saying some fucked-up shit. And I don't know-- I barely know what's going on in my head half the time, let alone coming out my mouth. But I don't want to lose you."

She raises both eyebrows, hands on her hips. "It's a little late for that."

"No, I mean..." he really doesn't need a reminder that he's divorced. He's well aware of that on any given day. "What I was saying about making a play for custody. That-- that was stupid. You're a good mother, Rava, way fucking better than I am as a dad. I just needed to say that. I need you to know that I'm sorry, and that I-- I love you." He winces at the surprise and wariness that flash over her face. "In a-- you know. Divorced co-parents kind of way." He stares at her, swallowing hard, trying not to blink. He's never gotten over her, ever, doesn't she fucking know that?

"Even though I'm hysterical?" She smiles, a little viciously, and he can tell the more she wakes up the angrier he's getting, but he takes a step forward anyway, trying to get invited in instead of kicked out.

"I didn't want you to be freaking out," he tries. "I-- I wanted the kids at their grandfather's funeral, but in hindsight, I understand why you didn't, and it was probably good that they weren't there. You were right."

She lifts her chin, regarding him icily. "About...?"

Kendall bites back a huff. "I don't know, fucking-- everything? You were right that I needed to clean up my act for the kids and you were right that I didn't have the willpower to do it and you were right that one time you yelled at me that my dad didn't love me enough to fulfill any of his promises, because he didn't and now my whole life is a gaping hole and I'm fighting the Swedes for my birthright, and you were right to resist me trying to be for the kids what he was for me because he was a good business leader and a fucking shitty dad, but I was a shitty dad anyway, you were right about that too, and you were right when you said that if I drove you away I would regret it eventually." He nods jerkily. "I do. I do regret it. You're my fuckin' lighthouse, Rava. You always have been. I think I need you now worse than I ever have before."

She folds her arms over her chest. "That's too fucking bad."

He winces. "Yeah. I deserve that."

The silence stretches out before them, and everything feels fragile and breakable, and he tries to reach out without actually reaching for her, like that will lessen the sting of rejection. "Rava. What can I do to make it up to you?"

She sighs slowly. "Drive back to New York?"

He swallows hard. "Look, say the word and I will, but I really think we should talk."

"That's the problem, Kendall," Rava says through gritted teeth, stepping closer to him. "I don't-- I am sick and tired of listening to you talk. You're all bark and no bite, and you change your mind with the weather. I stopped believing most of what comes out of your mouth a year ago."

He reaches out, since she's getting closer, gently resting his hand on her arm. He doesn't want her to think he's trying to restrain her. "Then I could... crash in the guest room? Spend time with the kids tomorrow? Give you space, but still try to fix what I've fucked up this week?"

Rava closes her eyes, leans into him. "I-- I don't know, Kendall."

Gently, carefully, he reaches out to cup her cheek, his fingers brushing through her hair. "Please," he whispers. "Let me try."

She looks up at him. "Sophie's going to be worse than I am."

"I'm prepared for that," he murmurs. "What do you need, right now? While the kids are asleep?"

She steps back from him, looks him up and down. He thinks he recognizes the look in her eye, but surely--

And then Rava is kissing him, her hands around his neck, her body warm against his. She's shaking. Or he is.

Kendall closes his eyes and kisses her back.

#succession #succession fic #ask meme #lilly tag #kenrava #kendall roy #rava roy #julie fics

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fearthetallman · 1 year ago

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Krang Pie chapter 3

Warnings: family fights, angst, knives, light krang torture

[first] [previous][next]

Chapter 3

"Wow, loving the eyebags there, sleeping beauty," Leo quipped as Mikey walked into breakfast at 9AM. "Are they designer?"

Mikey had a variety of responses he could use but considering how they would have more barb than intended, he settled on a grunt.

"You sleep alright?" Raph asked through a mouthful of cereal. "You're usually awake at 6."

"Just couldn't get to sleep." He grabbed the orange juice and poured it into a bowl before realizing he should have used a cup. Too tired to get another, he sipped from the bowl. Maybe he should get back into coffee.

Truth be told, he had barely slept. Fitful nightmares of the krang breaking free and killing them all violated his rest. He woke up multiple times, tangled in his sweat coated blankets. He had locked the krang in his closet and hadn't checked on it since yesterday. He half hoped he had imagined everything.

Donnie jumped into the kitchen with way more energy than Mikey felt he could endure. "Gentleman, we have a robbery in pursuit. Ghost Bear broke into a wrestling museum and--"

"Ghost Bear?" Raph interrupted a little too enthusiastically. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

He raced out and the others followed. Not wanting to fight evil on an empty stomach, he grabbed an apple and ran after them.

***

Their fight had been a success, despite how many injuries Raph had gotten trying to appease his former idol. Mikey laughed along with everyone making fun of him, right up until he returned to his room. The closet door was still closed. His hand hesitated a moment then pulled it open.

He gagged at the stench that rolled from within. A mixture of rotting meat, rubber and some other sharp scent he didn't care to learn more about. Had the krang died? One look at the cage told him no. But his troubles weren't over.

The krang, once the size of a cockroach had grown to the size of a baseball. Almost double the size in less than 12 hours.

"I must thank you for all the time alone," the krang said, its voice still squeaky but a touch deeper. "Before I had to constantly worry about being discovered and couldn't properly grow. If you keep me squirreled away like this, I shall grow three times faster than I planned."

A spike of panic needled Mikey's side. "How long until you're done growing?"

It preened its tentacles, inspecting them as if they were adorned with freshly polished nails. "About two months. I am still quite small." It paused. Glanced up at him. "But only about three days until I'm big enough to escape the cage."

"What?" He couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. "You can't escape. The bars are coated in acid. You'll melt if you try to get out."

"Yes, that's true. I would say I'd lose about 37% of my body to the bars." It grinned. "But I'm in my regenerating phase. I'll split into parts and there will be three of me. We might not all survive the process but one of us will."

Only three days. Dad and April wouldn't be back for another six. He needed to do something to stall for time. Something to keep it from growing. He closed the closet doors again.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

He had to force himself to ignore how much the krang sounded like a scared child. His empathy was such a pain sometimes. It was so stupid it didn't care how terrible the other pers--creature was. All his empathy could do was seek emotions and punish him for them.

Donatello was working on coding something when Mikey dropped by his room. Mikey pulled out his most carefree and upbeat voice. "Hey, Donnie?"

He didn't respond.

Mikey waved his arms and yelled, "Donnie!"

The softshell turtle paused his work. "Hm? Oh, hey, Mikey. Did you need something?"

"You know that vial of anti krang we all have?"

"You mean the serum we're supposed to keep in a safe and secure place at all times, the one thing standing in between us and another krang invasion. One of the only things we're required to keep track of and never misplace?"

Oh gosh this was going to be hard. "Yeah. I kind of…" Think of a lie, think of a lie. "Lost it." He cringed. "Any chance I can borrow yours?"

Donnie sat back from his work. “Michael, if you merely misplaced it, I can send Sheldon in to scan your room for it and—”

“No!”

Donnie blinked, taken aback by Mikey’s outburst. He had to think quick to recover.

“Every time I let Sheldon into my room, he always steals one of my comics and won’t give it back.”

Sheldon appeared after hearing the slander. “Hey!” He pointed a servo thingy at Mikey. “That was one time, dude.” A comic fell from his electronic shell. They all stared. Sheldon snatched it up again and flew off.

"I guess I'll look around my room again," Mikey said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But are you sure the other serums are in a safe place? No one can break in and steal them?"

"I assure you, dear brother, my safe locked behind three authentication codes, five ever changing seven-digit codes and twelve different motion sense lasers will not be broken into."

"Oh. Good." There goes his plan of sneaking out some extra serum. Looks like he was going to have to go old school.

Nearly every utensil in the kitchen was Mikey's. He was the one always buying new ones to make cooking a little easier or to whip up a dish in a way he couldn't before. The knives were the only exception. Dad had a nice, expensive set of knives that were gifted to him back when he was Lou Jitsu. They were the sharpest and the only ones his dad bothered to maintain.

Mikey considered taking a boning or a carving knife. They might be useful for what he needed to do. Maybe even a cleaver would work. But in the end, he settled on the utilitarian Chef's knife. It left him with more options.

The blade slid out of its holder with a metallic shwing. The light glinted off its tip. He could see his reflection within it. He looked scared and hesitant. His fingers tightened their grip and he clutched as a weapon and not a utensil. He had to be strong.

The krang almost looked scared when he returned. But the emotion its face was fleeting, soon replaced with annoyance. "That is the most pathetic looking sword I've ever seen."

Anxiety over what he was about to do sent his heart thudding. He felt lightheaded and had to focus to not lose his nerve. "I think it's just the right size for you." He pulled the cage out and set it on the floor. "I'm going to give you one chance. Tell me what you did to Leo in the prison dimension."

"A krang never gives up intel. I've seen younglings that are more of a threat than you."

That sealed it. He couldn't back down now.

Mikey knelt down. Took in a couple of breaths. Then raised the knife and stabbed at the krang through the bars. It dodged. He pulled back and aimed again.

"You can't even aim right, you pathetic--" It screeched as the blade made contact.

He pulled the knife back again. There wasn't even any blood. He had only made a shallow cut. "Talk."

"Never."

He stabbed it again, this time making sure the knife sunk deeper. A few droplets clung to the blade. It still wasn't talking so he went for a third time. He pushed the blade even farther, wedging it back and forth so it opened a wound. It was so solid. Like cutting through a thick steak. It hissed, trying to grab the weapon from him. He yanked it away.

This wasn't working. He needed to cut it even more.

Mikey drove it into the krangs stomach, dragging down and slicing through its flesh. The krang cried out, a pathetic combination of anguish and pain.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. It didn't matter that it was a monster. It didn't matter that it would do even worse to him if it got the chance. All that mattered was that it was hurt and in pain so Mikey was hurt and in pain. He cursed his stupid empathy.

The creature wheezed, breathing hard. "I knew you didn't have the guts to go through with it."

He cried even harder.

***

It was a couple hours before he went out to interact with everyone again. They were skating around the ramp when he came out.

"Where ya been, Mikey?" Raph asked. "We missed ya."

"Cleaning your room hopefully," Donnie said, before pushing his skateboard down the ramp.

Mikey's heart stuttered. He stretched his arms out and faked a yawn. "Just been taking a nap. Super tired from last night, you know."

"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Mikey?" Raph asked, staying at the top of ramp with Mikey even as Leo came back up. "You've been acting kind of strange."

The world slowed. The sounds melted away until it was only Raph and him. He could do it. He could confess everything. He opened his mouth. "I just feel bad about ruining our fort."

The tension in Raph's shoulders melted away. "Oh. Is that all?" He reached over and pulled his little brother into a hug. "Don't worry about it, man. We'll build another one."

Usually, Mikey tried to avoid being affectionate with Raph. Over the years, he learned it only made Raph treat him even more like a baby, so he distanced himself. But it had been at least a couple days since he touched someone, much less hugged him, so the sudden warmth nearly made him cry all over again.

Donnie reached the top and skidded to a stop, picking up his skateboard. He glanced between the two of them. "Whoa, what did I miss in the 47 seconds I was gone?"

Raph rubbed the top of Mikey's head affectionately and this time he did pull away. "Mikey's been feeling down since the pillow fort got messed up."

Donnie sighed. "She was a thing of beauty. I can't blame him. Hey!" He called down to Leo, the only one skating now, right as he jumped to do a kickflip. "Did you finish Dad's cushion that Raph ruined yet?"

Leo turned his head abruptly at being called. The twist threw him off balance and he wiped out, landing hard on his left arm.

Everyone let out a chorus of horrified groans. Raph cringed. Donnie shook his head. "I keep telling him to pay better attention when he's skateboarding."

Terror lit like a flame in Mikey's heart. He slid down the ramp, stumbling a couple times and almost falling over before he got to him. "Leo? Leo!"

His brother laid still for a moment longer before struggling to sit up. "Ugh. I haven't messed up a kickflip that hard since I was seven." He looked back up to the others at the top of the ramp. "Thanks a lot, Donnie."

Donnie gave them a thumbs up.

"Leo, are you okay?" Mikey reached for his arm but Leo moved away. He waved Mikey off with his good arm.

"I'm fine. Probably won't even leave a bruise." Had he not felt anything?

"I still think we should at least look at it." He reached over, his fingertips only brushing the edge of Leo's glove.

"I said no!" Leo shoved him so hard and so suddenly Mikey fell backwards. The room was silent as Leo's words rang through the air.

Mikey was faintly aware that his palms were stinging from the harsh contact of the ground but all he could feel was fear. Leo looked at Mikey on the ground, then at his own hands as if they were foreign. His eyes swung around wildly. Scared.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to--" He cut himself off, running away. Retreating back into his own room.

Donnie and Raph slid down to their little brother. Raph helped him up. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Mikey shook. He turned abruptly on his brothers. "I told you something was wrong. Why didn't you guys believe me?"

Donnie, to his credit, looked shocked. Uncertain. Raph was grim. "Mikey, just because Leo lashed out one time doesn't mean we have to force him to talk about what happened back then."

Raph reached for Mikey, but he yanked his arm away. "Then what will it take, Raph? How many times does he have to break down before you realize that he is not okay?"

"I never said he was. All I'm saying is we need to wait for him to come to us."

"Waiting doesn't work!" He was raising his voice. Yelling. But he couldn't stop himself. Even though Raph was keeping his voice low and steady. That just irritated Mikey all the more. "Leo is never going to ask us for help because he doesn't know how!"

"Mikey. I know you think you know how to fix everyone but sometimes you can be wrong. Nobody has all the answers all the time."

"You know what? You're right." A dangerous energy crackled in his chest. He knew he should stop. He was going to go far. But the words gushed out of his gut like a river. "Nobody's right all the time. Especially not you guys. All of you like to baby me and treat me like I'm so freaking fragile when the reality is that you're the ones who are weak! You don't know how to deal with anything. I'm always the one that has to tell you how to communicate, that has to confront all the problems you want to ignore. I have to do everything for you because you're too stupid to figure it out yourself!"

He was crying. Sobbing. His frame rattled with each shaky breath he took. He couldn't bear to look up at them. Felt the heavy weight of their stare. Watching him lose his temper like a child. Before they could say anything more, he took off running. Retreating back into his own room.

[next]

#I am so hardcore projecting onto them #Also Donnie is singlehandedly carrying all the comedy for this fic #rottmnt #krang pie #save rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt krang

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lindsaywesker · 2 years ago

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Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday!

Sweet potato ranks No. 1 in nutrition of all vegetables.

Paris has a ‘hospital’ for neglected houseplants.

Daydreaming is good for your brain.

A litre of beer or a litre of coffee is as hydrating as a litre of water.

Cremation causes silicone breast implants to explode.

40% of working Britons have less than £100 in savings.

The IATA airport code for Sioux City, Iowa is SUX.

Your motivation to "get up and go" starts to fail at around 54 years old.

One-third of entrepreneurs think their chance of failing is zero.

In Russia, it is illegal to tell kids that gay people exist.

Microscopic mites are currently living and having sex on your face.

The baby name ‘Karen’ is on the edge of extinction.

Only 2% of the world's population has green eyes.

80% of the world's population have never been on an airplane.

Your nipples are as unique as your fingerprints.

In 1976, more than 100 marijuana plants sprouted in the Anaheim Stadium playing field in Los Angeles after The Who performed there.

In 2014, German police issued a fine to a one-armed cyclist for cycling with one arm.

Humans spend 13% of their lives not focusing on anything in particular.

Men appear in the newspapers three times as often as women and have done since 1800.

In 2017, the US secret service advertised for a 'social media sarcasm spotter'.

Sometimes, creating a little distance will help people recognize how much you actually mean to them.

A study by Wijnand A.P. Van Tilburg and Eric R. Igou has shown that adding a middle initial to your name makes you seem smarter. This status is brought to you by Lindsay J. Wesker.

A moose can dive underwater down to nearly twenty feet in search of food. This makes killer whales their biggest predator.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, has towns called Intercourse and Paradise. It takes six minutes to get from one to the other.

Male ladybirds can spend up to four hours mating with a dead female before realising something is wrong.

Greenland lost so much ice in the 20th century that it changed the angle of the Earth’s rotation.

A sex manual in Qing dynasty China outlined 48 different ways to fondle a mutilated foot.

In December 2020, a man from Kazakhstan legally married his sex doll after 2 years of dating.

Crocodiles are fast on their feet but cannot turn very well. If one is chasing you, run in zig zag lines.

In 2013, Bill Gates said that the Ctrl+Alt+Delete command was a mistake and could have been just a single button.

4.8 billion people own mobile phones whereas only 4.2 billion own a toothbrush.

“The sixth sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick” is said to be the toughest tongue twister in English.

A python from Australia became addicted to meth after living in a drug lab and was sent to rehab for seven months.

You have a better chance in getting into Harvard than becoming a Delta Airlines flight attendant.

It's ok and "I'm fine" are the two most common lies spoken in the world.

Men spend almost a year of their lives staring at women, a survey found.

According to Psychology people are constantly wishing for something, whilst overlooking that they already have.

Admit it when you're wrong and shut up when you're right. This is a simple way to drastically improve the quality of your relationships.

According to one survey, 95% of people claim they get nervous when they hear the words, “We need to talk.”

When you become really close to someone, you can hear their voice in your head when you read their texts.

No one really knows who invented the fire hydrant, its patent was burned in a fire.

Parents of newborn babies lose about six months of sleep during the first two years of their child's life

After drummer Pete Best was fired from the Beatles, he released an album called ‘Best Of The Beatles’. Buyers were disappointed to find out it was not a Beatles compilation album.

Humans are deuterostomes which means that, when they develop in the womb, the anus forms before any other opening. This means that, at one point, you were nothing but a bum hole!

When Fidel Castro seized power in Cuba, he ordered all Monopoly sets to be destroyed. Some believe the decision was because it symbolises capitalism but close friends believed it was because he always lost.

On September 11th, 2001, Roselle, a guide dog, saved the life of her blind owner by leading him all the way down from the 78th floor of the burning Twin Towers. The descent took approximately an hour in total and both safely made it out.

According to a study, male owners of luxury cars behave aggressively on the road not because of a corrupting effect of wealth, but because men who are self-centred and unempathetic are much more likely both to be drawn to high-status cars and to break traffic laws.

In the 1640s, the Dutch inhabitants of New Amsterdam built a 12-foot wall to protect the city. In 1664, the British bypassed the wall and took the city by the sea. The area is now called New York. They took down the wall and built a street now known as Wall Street

And, finally, it’s never too late to follow your dreams. Romanian ruler, Vlad The Impaler, didn’t start impaling people until his thirties!

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #new blog #lockdown #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #tuesdaymotivation #radio

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andhumanslovedstories · 2 years ago

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@irrellavant oops you activated my trap card of asking about something I care about, please enjoy this monologue. Also it’s not comprehensive, can’t stress that enough, this is a just a lil long tumblr post made by a just some nurse who isn’t a palliative care expert and is also writing this on her cell phone on break. Some of this stuff is gonna be pretty obvious! I just would feel remiss if I left it out. And also please anyone who has pain or addresses pain, please feel free to add on. I'm always looking for new ideas and new insights, especially from the patient side so please please do chime in if you like. Okay SO

For me, the biggest thing is conveying to the patient that you care that they are in pain and that you are trying to make it better. I remember I had a patient who was in horrible pain all night, we never got it down, we never got her comfortable, but at the end of the night she thanked me so sweetly for trying and she said that knowing I was taking her pain seriously helped her feel better even if it didn't make her hurt less. Just because someone is in pain, it doesn't mean they have to suffer, if that makes sense. I think one of the worst things about pain in the hospital is the feeling that you've been abandoned to experience it. Someone gives you a pill (or not even that) and says "okay bye" then you go back to writhing in agony. I make sure that before I leave the room of a patient who is still in a pain crisis, that I let them know what the plan is and what the next step is. "You just got 5 mg of oxycodone, which will take up to an hour to take full peak effect. If your pain doesn't get better after that hour, I can give you another dose" or "I'm going to go page your doctor to see if I can get you an additional dose" or "I need to step away right now, but I'll be back in 20 minutes to see how you're doing and if the heating pad is helping." I tell the patient "we're gonna try X, which should do Y, but if it doesn't, the next step is Z” and then I make sure to follow up with them.

I also try to be honest. I never promise that they'll be pain-free, just that we'll keep trying. We aim for small but achievable goals. If it's acute pain, like you just had a surgery or something, I try to contextualize it for the patient. "We're not gonna get you pain-free ten hours post surgery, but we can get you more comfortable than you are right now." Patients are usually fine with being a six outta ten pain if they’ve been otherwise sitting at a nine. Since I’m night shift, I often tell them my goal is for them to get at least a couple hours of sleep and ask them how that sounds.

Then pharmacologically, I look at the meds I do and don't got. If a patient is having incisional pain, lidocaine patches on either side can be great for just numbing the area up. If the patient can get oxy every 6 hours but routinely gets very painful again just three hours after taking the med, then maybe the dose or the timing is not right. Maybe under prns we've got so many opioids and not a single NSAID, and there's not a contraindication. Maybe their pain is caused by muscle spasms, in which case a muscle relaxer could be a great addition. Maybe the pain is nerve pain that would respond much better to gabapentin instead. Or maybe you need IV dilaudid to quickly get the breakthrough pain down to a manageable level so that the other meds have a fighting chance to do anything. If meds aren’t available, these are things you can page the doc about and discuss with them.

I'm also a big fan of around the clock medications for patients that have had poor pain control. Ask patients if they want to be woken up for pain meds (again, patients that have been that painful usually say yes). Explain how it's easier to keep the pain low than it is to play catch up after pain spikes. Pain control works best when you avoid the spikes in the first place. There's no point getting someone out of a pain crisis if you then withdraw all your cares until they're in a pain crisis again.

I also try plenty of non-pharmacological methods of lowering pain or enhancing comfort. (Sometimes you can't lower pain! Sometimes all you can do is enhance comfort!) Does the patient have a topical cream that helps with pain? Could it be applied while gently stretching the muscles and really going to town with a foot massage? Has the patient just thrown up and would like a bed bath to feel clean again? Would they benefit from heat? Or ice? Or warm blanket? Ice and then on top of that a warm blanket? Do they want some pudding? Do they need a little candy from the nurse station candy drawer? If their lower back hurts from being in bed so long, can we get them out of bed? Even if it's three am and we need to lift them with a Hoyer to their recliner, that might still be the best intervention. I had a patient where the only thing that helped her hip pain was going on walks so over the night we went on a bunch of walks. Worked better than any meds.

What about conversation? Do they need someone to cry with? Do they want to talk about pets or their diagnosis or the bizarre TLC show that's playing on the TV? A lot of this is feeling out conversation, and I don't have great advice for that besides if you make yourself obviously available and interested in people, they tend to open up to you.

Also I’m a big fan of asking if there’s anything I can do while we wait for the meds to kick in. That’s usually when I do a bunch of those non-pharm interventions, because it’s efficient (we are in fact waiting for the meds to kick in) and it makes the waiting less miserable. I think it also makes the waiting feel less helpless. We aren’t just waiting an hour for the dilaudid to do something, we’re also tucking you in with a warm blanket and giving you the finest jello I could scrounge up.

And obviously, I ask the patient if the pain they're currently feeling is uncommon for them, either in the type of pain or the intensity. This is good for general assessment stuff and to figure out if the pain itself is the problem to be managed or if there's something new causing the pain. If the cause of the pain can be managed, that's my priority with pain medication as a supportive therapy because like if you're a paraplegic and suddenly you're complaining of an intense pounding miserable headache, giving tylenol isn't the right intervention when what I should be doing is assessing for autonomic dysreflexia.

And I ask them about the type of pain they're having and if they know what works for them to manage it. Plenty of chronic pain patients can tell you what is and isn't effective. Maybe at home they're on 50 mg of oxycodone a day, but right now in the hospital they're only prescribed 40 mg. Or hell, they're still getting 50 mg but they're here because they’re sick so their baseline level of opioids isn't gonna be enough because that's to manage their every day pain and not their new super hell hospital pain. Or they know aspercreme works like a dream on their legs but not on their back. Or patients know that ibuprofen works better for them for this type of pain than a fentanyl patch does, or they don't want to take dilaudid because it makes them nauseated, in which case you can try premedicating them with an antiemetic.

Also when your shift is done, write down all the stuff that worked to control pain in your nursing note so there’s a record of it in case someone needs to do it again.

If there’s one thing that I have found successful though, and I know this might sound cheesy, but it is CARING and showing the patient that you care. You care that they are in pain, you are working with them to get them more comfortable, if something doesn’t work you will keep trying, because pain sucks and you care that they are in pain. Even when you have to leave their room, you let them know that you will come back. They aren’t left totally alone to suffer. Again, sometimes you can’t decrease pain but you can increase comfort. I believe there is genuine comfort in knowing that someone is trying very hard on your behalf to make you feel better, even if they don’t make you feel better.

If there’s one thing I feel I can unambiguously brag about, it’s that I’m great with patients who are in pain crises. I’m tenacious and stubborn about lowering 10/10 pain to something more manageable. I got a patient in “25 out of 10” pain at start of shift down to a 4 by midnight and it only took opioids, Tylenol, muscle relaxants, ice packs, warm blankets, fresh coffee, repositioning, an abdominal binder I scrounged up, a phone call to the surgeon to get lidocaine patches ordered, and some serious chit chatting with the patient while we waited for all that to kick in. We didn’t end up needing IV medication, we didn’t have to increase opioids, we didn’t need to add any medication that would potentially delay discharge, and the majority of what I did is all stuff she can also do at home so it’s a sustainable pain management plan. This is my absolute favorite thing with nursing, I love love love managing pain, I know I talk about it a lot but it’s the most satisfying thing in the world. I love watching someone emerge from a horrendous haze of pain until they feel like a person again. Also I’m scheduling this to post well after my shift is done so that I don’t jinx anything, also while I was writing this post I had to take a quick break for two hours half way through because someone started having a seizure. My job is wild. I used to be a barista.

#nursing tag #long post

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cyclicalaberration · 3 years ago

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Scar had learned not to ask questions. Grian didn't speak of his time before hermitcraft and Scar didn't ask. If Grian wanted him to know, he would tell him. But sometimes his curiosity would get the better of him. And sometimes other people would ask for him.

"You know, I've never seen you without your sweater. Why do you wear it so often?" Mumbo asks one night as they trek across the continent. All three of them are sweating, Mumbo had ditched his tie and suit somewhere on a tree, opting for a Hawaiian shirt and the palest kakhi shorts Scar had ever seen, and Scar had taken off his jacket and vest, but Grian just laughed at them.

"Oh you know I was born in this thing! Besides, I'm meant for hot weather." He brushes it off, but the slightest twitch of his wing gives him away. Scar doesn't press, and Mumbo is satisfied with the answer.

Grian never quite moved right. Scar isn't an expert in normal mobility by any means, but he is an expert in abnormality. He moved too fluidly, sometimes, his limbs turning too smoothly, a well oiled automaton built to mimic humanity. And like an automaton, the illusion breaks if you look too hard.

Watching Grian take off, his movements become choppy, he hovers in the air a few seconds too long. And then gravity remembers to work on him, and his wings beat, and the moment is over. Grian doesn't have creative mode. His wings hold him in the air. Scar is being watched.

Scar always knew Grian was more than he said he was, but everyone is on hermitcraft. He remembers the first time he saw Grian rifle through his eyes, back in season six, looking for a new shulker of materials.

It nearly gave him a heart attack, and when he asked about it, Grian just said it was his inventory.

He's grown used to it now, watching his friend pull his eye wide and shove his arm down into it. But that doesn't mean it shocks him any less, or that Grian's gaze doesn't come with a sense of wrong stronger than Doc could hope to achieve with his copper nether portal.

He looked Grian in his eyes and he was floating in the boatem hole, waiting for the pain to set in, unable to breathe, unable to claw his way back out. The blackness is pulling at him, pulling his chest apart and ripping his heart out from it. The cold of the void seeps through the eyes of his friend, and it says comfort.

It's a dangerous sort of comfort, the void, but it's comfort nonetheless and Scar comes back to it, drawn to it, a moth to a flame, time and time again.

He finally asks. They're all exhausted, showing off after hours of building, all a few minutes from passing out. All but Pearl, but Pearl was built on the timescale of gods.

They're playing party games around the boatem hole. Truth or dare, never have I ever, 20 questions. All things to keep them awake a few more minutes.

"What's your burning question about anyone in the circle?" An innocent question. A difficult answer.

"Well, I have a lot of them! If Mumbo is a potato how does he eat them without feeling guilty?" "Easily' "If Impulse is a minifridge, but he's almost seven feet tall, isn't he just a normal fridge?" 'Huh, I never thought about that. Isn't it more about the fridge size though?' "But probably why does Grian wear his mask and sweater all the time?"

Pearl and Grian glance at each other, and Pearl claps her hands. "I think all of you diurnal folks need to get some sleep, alright? That's enough for tonight, don't you think?"

Pearl, despite what she thinks, isn't very good at changing the topic gracefully. They all file off to bed regardless, knowing full well Pearl can just move them herself.

Scar wakes up that night to Jellie jumping off his bed with a thump. He sits up, startled, as Grian climbs inside.

"Oh my goodness! You gave me a fright there, G!"

"Do you want to see why I wear a mask?"

"Oh that? Don't feel the need to show me, it was just a stupid question! Just out of curiosity is all!"

"Do you want to see?" He repeats.

"Sure, if you want to show me— whoa there! There's no need for all that!" Grian pulls his sweater off, over his wings, and turns away from him, walking towards his door. Scar follows, pulling his old robe on over his shoulders.

"G?"

Grian turns to face him, holding his mask away from his body, and Scar is being watched.

He is being seen, from every direction, people are watching him, laughing at him, and he hears whispers swirling around his feet. Grian is watching him. They are watching him. They are seeing him.

Eyes upon eyes on his every breath. Grian speaks. He doesn't speak from his mouth. Any of his mouths. He speaks from all around him, voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Scar?"

Grian has four wings. He didn't have four wings before. Grian had two wings. Grian had eight wings, ten. Hundreds of feathers. Grian has two wings.

Grian has a mouth. He had teeth, he had a tongue. He has a mouth. He has a mouth. A mouth in his neck. A mouth in his stomach. A mouth— Grian opens his mouth. Grian is everyone and no one and everything.

Jellie rubs her head against his leg and he breathes again.

"Scar? Are you alright?" Hands are reaching out to him, hands he recognizes. Feathered hands. Clawed hands. Rough hands, hands that he knows.

Scar takes a breath again. He remembers to breathe and the world rights. The moon is big, the sun is small, and Grian has eyes. Eyes and wings and limbs.

"Well that explains why you move like you don't know where you are at least."

#grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #i wrote this at 1:30 filled with thoughts #watcher grian brainrot #anyways goodnight tumblr and goodnight me i have school in the morning

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stargazer-sims · 2 years ago

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previously...

56 - San Myshuno (part one)

Dylan has no idea where the week went.

He doesn’t care where it went, really. For the past six days, he and Derek have been on a practically nonstop thrill ride from one end of the San Myshuno city limits to the other. He's pretty sure he hasn't been completely sober since Monday night, and he's eaten so much amazing food that it makes him wonder why he hadn't been dining at restaurants more often prior to this. Derek talked him into going shopping after all, and they've been to see the street art exhibition, and they've both gotten new tattoos. In short, he's having the most fun he's had in ages, maybe since the last summer he spent in the trailer park, before his final year of university.

Their adventure has had its downsides too, unfortunately. They got kicked out of their first hotel because the impromptu party that sprang up when they invited some people they'd met at a club back to their room got a bit too noisy. It'd gone on past three o'clock in the morning, and the night manager had apparently received more than a few complaints about it.

Although they didn't get arrested or charged, the police were called. That'd been a scene, especially when the officers recognized one the people they were with as a known petty criminal. Luckily, that guy had behaved himself in front of the cops. Things could've been a lot worse otherwise.

Currently, they're staying in less reputable accommodations, and if Dylan is being completely honest, it's a place he feels far more at home in than the previous one. The walls are thin and there are suspicious stains on the floor in his room, but the bathroom and the bedsheets are clean, and the diner next door has awesome all-you-can-eat breakfasts.

He finds that he's comforted, falling asleep to the sound of traffic and to all the noises of the city’s humanity around him. In this place, people aren't just existing; they're living. No one is putting up a façade of class and respectability. No one is holding anything back for the sake of politeness or public image. All of it is real and it's raw, and Dylan can't deny that he loves it.

Another advantage of their current motel is that it's cheap enough for them each to have their own room. This has worked out in Derek's favour particularly, since it means he's been able to bring in all the women he wants. There have been several, and Dylan is astounded that his brother hasn't had to pay any of them to entertain him. All of his women have been random clubgoers who, for whatever reason, find Derek irresistible and can't wait to have their way with him.

Dylan, for his part, hasn't brought anyone back to his room. Watcher knows, he's wanted to, though. He'd met a sweet boy last night who made him start to get hard just by looking longingly at him from under his thick, dark eyelashes. The boy, with his mop of black hair, peach fuzz beard and gorgeous brown eyes, was called Nadim, and he was suitably impressed that he didn't need to teach Dylan how to pronounce it correctly. He'd sat on Dylan's lap for nearly half an hour while they both drank straight vodka shots. Nadim put his hands in places where Dylan hadn't been touched in at least a couple of months and told him all the things he could do to him, if only Dylan would take him home.

Nadim swore up and down that he was nineteen, but Dylan knows an underage kid with a fake ID when he sees one. After all, he'd been an underage kid with a fake ID himself once. That was one of the things that kept him from inviting the beautiful boy to spend the night with him. Regardless of anything else, he definitely did not want to get into trouble for sleeping with someone who wasn't a legal adult yet.

"You really need to go find someone your own age to play with," he'd told Nadim. "I'm too old for you."

"But, I want you," Nadim whined, somehow managing to pull himself even further onto Dylan's lap, so that their faces were just centimeters apart. "Can't you tell how much I want you?"

Dylan could tell, and that was the problem. He ran his hands down Nadim's sides and over his tiny hips, and the boy squirmed and moaned. Dylan gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. "I think you'd almost be worth the risk, but I can't do it."

"I won't tell anybody," Nadim said, almost breathless. He put his hand over Dylan’s and tried to guide it. "No one has to know."

"Believe me, I'd love to do everything you want, but you and I both know that I'd get in trouble if I did. You're what? Seventeen?"

"I'm nineteen," Nadim insisted, but the way his golden brown skin darkened across his cheekbones told Dylan he was lying.

"How much would you have asked me for?"

"For you? I'd do it for free. You seem nicer than the usual. I actually want to, with you.”

"How much?" Dylan persisted.

"A hundred dollars," Nadim told him, looking embarrassed. "But, I'll do it for free. I promise. Top, bottom, whatever you want."

"No." Dylan wiggled his wallet out of his pocket and gave Nadim some money. "You can tell everyone how mind-blowing I was."

Nadim pouted, but didn't refuse the cash. "I think you would be. I would've liked to find out."

"Look me up in two years, when I'm divorced and you're legal." And when I haven't got a fucking parasite in my abdominal cavity.

Admittedly disappointed and most definitely unsatiated, he watched Nadim saunter off. He would've enjoyed a night with such an eager boy, and things might've ended differently if Nadim really had been nineteen.

But, maybe it was for the best that he'd caught Nadim in a lie about his true age. It meant he would have to satisfy himself, but he supposed that was better than having to answer awkward questions if the alternative should ever have come to the attention of the wrong people.

And there was Zahir to think about as well. As much as Dylan's entire body ached for what Nadim had offered him, in the end he knows he would've felt guilty for betraying the man he still loves, no matter how hurt and angry he is at the moment. Yes, he wants to make Zahir suffer for mistreating him, but not like that, not in a way that would guarantee they'd never reconcile.

Contrary to what he'd said to Nadim, he doesn't want a divorce. Zahir might not give a rat's ass about his mental health or his wellbeing right now, but some small part of him hopes that will change. If only they could come up with a solution that wouldn't completely wreck Dylan's future and would somehow still be acceptable to Zahir, then maybe there'd be a chance of getting something close to their old life back.

Intellectually, he realizes this entire line of thought is stupid, of course. In reality, there is no solution that can work for both sides. Either Dylan gets what he wants, or Zahir does. Perhaps they will get back together at some point, but it'll never be like it was. There's no possible way it could be. The moment he let Dr. Zira stick a needle into his stomach, they were locked into a new trajectory, one which was destined to destroy everything good that they'd spent the past fifteen years working for. He just hadn't seen that until it was too late.

Why had he even agreed to it? He's asked himself this question a thousand times.

He recalls what he claimed his reasons were, but they hardly make sense to him now. He isn't so overflowing with love that he needs to spread it outward to an extra person. He wants to shower all of it on Zahir, and he wants Zahir to give all his devotion to him in return. The real reason for doing it was because he thought it was what Zahir wanted, and he wanted to make him happy. He'd convinced himself that Zahir's potential happiness was enough to make him happy too, but that's turned out to be a fallacy.

In the beginning, he may have tricked himself into believing that everything was going to be fine, and he may even have thought he'd been interested enough to see it through. But then, things started to get challenging, and he became the object of Zahir's constant nagging and harassment. He began to crack, and it was then that he understood perfectly what an absolutely fucking huge mistake he'd made in agreeing to do something so drastic, solely on the basis of pleasing his husband.

He should have known better. He's spent the majority of his life trying to please the people around him, and it's never made him happy, not once.

When he thinks about the times he's been happiest, they haven't involved hard work, achievements, money or success. Playing the piano, gardening, cooking with his mom, tinkering around with old electronics out in the garage with his dad, pizza and beer and bonfires in the back yard with Derek and their cousins are the things that make him feel most settled and content. Playing on the beach with Zahir, travelling with him, wandering around secondhand bookshops with him, bringing him breakfast in bed on rainy Sundays, walking hand-in-hand downtown, and cuddling in front of the fire; that's his spiritual happy place.

Sure, he likes having money and a nice house, and he enjoys his job, but he doesn't need any of that. He could have done something else with his life, something meaningful and fulfilling. His dream job might not have paid as well as being a software engineer does, but at least he wouldn't have had to cram himself into a mold that was created by someone else and which was never meant for him.

He imagines himself as a professional musician, like he always said he wanted to be. He could spend his days practicing and composing. Maybe he wouldn't be rich, but he'd be doing what he was really passionate about. He could live in the trailer park, among his people, and nobody would care if his house and yard weren't immaculate or if he wore nothing but sweatpants and flip-flops every day. He could have a beer on the front porch, eat mac and cheese straight from the pot he'd cooked it in, and race motorcycles on Saturday nights. Nobody would give a fuck how many times a day he said 'fuck', and nobody would say he lacked etiquette, because they'd hardly have room to criticize him about that.

It might not sound idyllic to some people — it wouldn't to Zahir — but Dylan is positive it's the life he was meant to lead all along. Instead, he's trapped in a world of manicured lawns, professional networking events, refined manners and proper speech, and special forks for salad, dinner and dessert. And with sudden, painful clarity, he realizes he hates it. The only part of it he cares about is Zahir, but he could no more expect his affluent, well-bred husband to leave his neat and tidy existence than he can expect himself to continue pretending to be happy in a world where he so obviously does not belong.

So, he can live the way he wants, but with a Zahir-sized rip in his soul, or he can stay with his love and be tied down by the drudgery of parenthood and miserable in his forced fake sophistication. Either way, he loses something vital. It's all dead ends, no matter which way he turns.

He'd finally convinced Derek that he wasn't suicidal, but Watcher damn it all, maybe he is. Disappearing off the face of the earth would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to figure out what he's supposed to do from here. It'd be so simple too, in a place like this. Someone could give him something that would make him fall asleep and ensure that he'd never wake up. He's too big a coward to jump off a bridge or a building. He'd much rather go painlessly and quietly, and not be terrified in his last moments.

He stares into his glass. If he's contemplating this, obviously he's not drunk enough.

Tonight, he and Derek are at a club called The Spice. It's a different venue than the one they visited last night, where he'd met sweet, sexy little Nadim. They'd chosen this club because while they'd been wandering around town in the afternoon, Derek spotted a poster advertising live music here this evening. They're flying home tomorrow, so they've decided to make their last night in San Myshuno a good one, and what better way than with booze, ecstasy, and a live band? He knows he's going to feel like shit in the morning, but he'll have fun tonight. He can always sleep on the plane.

The band hasn't come out yet. Right now, there's a DJ who's also pretty good. The band should be starting soon, though, judging by the number of people bustling around the area on the dancefloor that's been marked off as the stage.

Dylan watches them for a while. He pulls in a sharp breath and nearly aspirates on a mouthful of liquor when he thinks he recognizes one of them.

Derek gives him a puzzled look. "You okay?"

"Uh... yeah." Dylan coughs a few times. "Sorry. I just... saw somebody."

"Oh, yeah? Someone caught your eye?"

"You could say that."

"I'll bet it's that guy with the braids, isn't it?" says Derek. "Dude in that gay-looking glittery jacket? He looks like he'd know his way around another guy's bedroom."

"He's married," says Dylan.

"What? How the fuck would you know that?"

"I kinda know him from support group."

"You mean the weird alien science support group? The pregnant dude support group?" Derek scrutinizes the man in the purple jacket. "He doesn't look pregnant. He looks fit as fuck. Like, you can tell from here that he's totally fuckin' ripped. Good choice, bro. I'd probably want a piece of that too, if I swung the other way."

"He's not pregnant," Dylan says. "His husband is. Anyway, I doubt I'd ever get near him like that even if I wanted to, which I don't. He treats his husband like fucking royalty. It's like, as far as he's concerned, the sun rises and sets on Félix."

"Lucky Félix," says Derek. "Weird question, but does he look pregnant?”

“Who, Félix?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I don’t know. I guess ‘cause I’m curious. You’re pregnant but you don’t look like it, so I was just wondering."

"Can you not remind me about the pregnancy, please?"

"Sorry,” says Derek. “But, does he? Look pregnant, I mean.”

"Yeah, he does," Dylan says. “Félix is so thin, he started looking pregnant weeks ago. And he’s proud of it too, sashaying around in those stupid fucking dresses with his belly sticking out, like he's the queen of Willow Creek. And then there’s Davian acting as if he's as fragile as something made out of glass and sunbeams. It's annoying."

"So, I can tell you're not the least bit jealous at all."

"Shut the fuck up, Derek."

"Thanks for the mental image,” Derek says. “Now I'm trying to picture this skinny-ass pregnant dude in a dress."

"With a beard," says Dylan. "That really completes the look."

Derek laughs out loud and nearly spits his drink. "Oh my fuck. That's literally the weirdest shit I've heard all week."

"Those two are the living definition of weird shit. Get this. Their latest stunt is to adopt a mentally disabled alien."

"Why?" Derek asks.

"Damned if I know," Dylan says. "Probably to get noticed. I'm sure the point of pretty much everything they do is to get themselves noticed. I mean, Davian's trying to be famous. If you want people to sit up and pay attention and remember your name, then what better way to do it than to set up your own online show and then put yourself out there in the most bizarre ways you can think of?"

"Ah yeah, I see. They're those people. The 'bare their metaphorical ass and shake it in your face' type."

"Their literal ass, too. You should see the stuff Félix wears when he's not in a dress. The getup he had on at Tae's birthday party... holy shit. His top looked like, I don't even know. A fuckin' sports bra with frills, and his shorts were so short, I could see part of the tattoo on his ass when he bent over to pick up something. Like, seriously, the only time you'd see more skin is if you went to the beach."

"Okay, then. 'The tattoo on his ass' isn’t a phrase you hear every day."

“Well, he does have one.”

“Seriously? Who actually tattoos their ass?”

“The same person who thinks ‘slutty cross-dresser’ is a fashion aesthetic, I guess.”

“Bro, I’m picturing it, and I gotta say I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cringe.” Derek quirks an eyebrow. "The crop tops and short-shorts must look super attractive with the pregnant belly."

"If you really wanna know, they do."

Dylan looks up abruptly at the sound of a new voice in the conversation. He'd stopped watching the stage area while he and Derek were talking, and he hadn't been aware that Davian had left it. Now, the tall, muscular man is standing next to their table, arms folded across his broad chest, copious gold jewelry and purple sequined suit jacket glinting in the club's multi-coloured lights.

Dylan suffers a very real moment of panic, but he recovers quickly, probably thanks to all the alcohol and controlled substances in his bloodstream. They're making him feel kind of bulletproof, really.

He conjures up a smile and says casually, "Hey, Davian. Big coincidence, seeing you. How long have you been standing there?”

"Don't 'hey Davian' me, you asshole," Davian growls. "I've been standing here long enough."

"Oh shit," Derek mutters, probably just loud enough for Dylan to hear.

"What are you doing here, Dylan?" Davian demands. "And why the fuck are you talking about my Félix?"

"It's none of your business why we're here," Derek interjects.

"Nobody asked you," Davian says. He gestures at Dylan. "I'm talking to this trash bag."

"Excuse me?" says Dylan.

"As if I didn't already have a low opinion of you," Davian tells him. "You're in a place like this, showing absolutely zero regard for yourself and your poor kid, not to mention your husband, and now I come up on you talking shit about mine? Félix tried to be your friend, you know. He was fuckin' worried about you, and here you are talking about him like he's the one who's trash."

"Well, I'm sorry to have worried his pretty little head when he's in such a delicate condition," Dylan says. "But, as you can see, I'm fine."

"No, you are way far from fine," says Davian.

"With all due respect, that's not for you to decide. Where I go and what I do is none of your business."

"Maybe not, but Zahir’s been looking for you, and I'll bet he’d like to know where you are and what you're doing. Maybe I should call him and tell him."

"You wouldn't," says Dylan.

"You don't think so?"

"Fine. Go for it, but if you do, I'll tell Félix that you were here, whoring around in San My without him."

"He wouldn't believe you," Davian says.

"Wouldn't he? You've got a reputation for that, don't you? Why do you think he wouldn't believe me?"

Davian smiles, and the effect reminds Dylan of nature documentaries, where the camera zooms in on the leopard who’s about to pounce on its prey. "Because, asshole. We're here together. He’s right behind you, over at the bar."

Dylan tries to glance over his shoulder as surreptitiously as possible. To his consternation, Félix is indeed at the bar, squeezed into a tight blue dress that accentuates his belly, and balanced on impossible sparkly stiletto heels that accentuate his slim legs. He's leaning with one hip against a bar stool, as if he's just gotten there and is planning to stay for slightly longer than the few minutes it'll take the bartender to get him his drink, but not long enough to sit down.

Davian catches his eye, and Félix gives him a flirty little wave and a seductive smile. Félix doesn't appear to notice Dylan, because he immediately turns back to the bartender and holds up two fingers like, Give me a second one of those. Dylan wonders vaguely what he ordered. Probably cranberry juice or some other healthy shit.

He guesses from the second drink that Félix expects Davian to come over and join him, but it seems Davian has his own agenda.

“Watcher almighty, what the actual fuck…?” Derek mumbles. incredulously. “He literally is a skinny-ass pregnant dude in a dress.”

Davian glares at him. “You don’t wanna go there, man.”

“Uh… right.” Derek’s expression is one of stunned disbelief. “Gotta be the drugs making me see shit.” He gulps the remainder of his drink without pausing for breath, and avoids any further eye contact with Davian.

Davian locks eyes with Dylan. He reaches around to his back pocket, and pulls out his phone. "So... you wanna start explaining yourself, or should I just call Zahir right now?"

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #san myshuno #Dylan Middleton #Derek Middleton #Davian St-Jean #Félix Blanchet #tw alcohol #tw drugs #tw suicide mention #tw pregnancy #tw sex work #tw marriage #tw drinking #stargazersims #aucieletoile #aucieletoile1

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years ago

Text

Prisoner's Game Pt. 1 (Rowaelin)

Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You's. He didn't believe her, and she's about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life's just a game, after all.

The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn't showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.

And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease--happy even--as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.

It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn's eyes, it worked.

"Hello, Rowan," she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn't taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.

She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.

The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.

"Aelin," he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. "Been a long time."

Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.

Not that she was counting or anything.

She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.

"What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?"

Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he'd ever do was work for her.

"You know why I'm here."

She did indeed, but she still said, "I must be exceptionally smart to know why you've come all the way here-"

"Cut the shit," he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, "I want to know how you did it."

She frowned at her split ends. "Did what?"

Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. "You know what."

Sighing so deeply it should've rattled the walls, she said, "I can't believe I've spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I'm some sort of oracle genius."

Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.

When he'd taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.

It was clear she wouldn't admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.

Predictable, proud little man.

Eventually, he took his loss and said, "I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold."

She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn't used in a long time.

She'd been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.

According to what she'd heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan's apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.

"Why do you think it was me?" she asked, still smiling.

He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he'd have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.

Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, "You left a goddamn business card."

Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. "Maybe I'm being framed?"

"Your fingerprints were on it."

She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. "Rowan, in case you haven't noticed, I'm incarcerated."

She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.

The bastard just smiled.

Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it'd started to creep toward the pillow.

"So how would I rob you?" she asked, getting her mind back on track.

"That's what you're going to tell me," he demanded angrily. "I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up."

Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.

It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn't been warm in almost nine years.

Because of him.

Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.

Then she said simply, "I didn't."

"Stop lying!" he shouted at her, eyes flashing.

She wasn't, but that was besides the point.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes like he'd won. "I got my cousin to-"

"Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying."

Once again, she wasn't lying.

Aedion sure as hell hadn't been in Wendlyn last night. She'd just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.

Sighing again, she asked, "Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?"

His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. "I'll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you've done with it."

She tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it.

It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.

He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.

"I'm serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot."

One for each and every one of her "victims."

"I'll make it nine," he offered generously.

"Even if I was a cat, that'd still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else."

He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she'd expected.

"That's what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I'm not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it." She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. "But it isn't about what you believe, it's about what you can prove. Isn't that right?"

His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.

~Eight years ago~

~Rowan~

Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.

Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.

And it felt so fucking good.

He'd never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.

It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.

"What are you going?" she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.

"To get some water. Go back to sleep."

He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.

They'd been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn't imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.

He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.

He was whipped, and he didn't even care.

Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.

Then frowned as it sputtered.

He figured he'd at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could "figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube."

So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.

Except he never got that far.

His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.

Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.

Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.

The list of names wasn't long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.

And they were all dead.

He wouldn't know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn't even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.

Why did she have this list?

And what did the numbers next to the names mean?

One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn't ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.

He didn't trust himself with her, so he'd have to go the traditional route.

He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he'd found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.

He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.

There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.

But he had to know for sure. Had to know if he'd been an idiot this past year; an idiot who'd spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he'd been searching for.

So he started investigating his girlfriend.

Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin's prints on them.

Two days after that, the woman he'd thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.

Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.

Even though he couldn't imagine her killing anyone.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove."

That was the last thing he'd said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.

The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn't trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.

~Present~

~Aelin~

Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they'd obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.

She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he'd served to her on a silver platter.

The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion--in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt--that she couldn't bring herself to do anything.

He hadn't even bothered to ask her first. That's what had hurt the worst.

He'd seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.

She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she'd thought that if the worst happened, he'd at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.

But he hadn't. She'd gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.

"See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn't kill those people."

He rolled his eyes. "Aelin-"

"And I'm not only going to prove it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine."

She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.

"If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place."

He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.

"That's never going to happen," he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.

Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.

His pride, she'd decided, would be the first thing to go.

She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, "Let the game begin, then."

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan #rowan whitehorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction

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gildedmuse · 3 years ago

Text

Hey, everyone.

So recently I've (predictably) very not well. Actually, whenever I don't post for long periods, just assume my body is trying to kill me. But I've gotten messages from three people asking if I. Okay, which is super sweet. I am actually trying to work on the next All Hearts, a really long ZoLaw post and two request fics, but mixing chronic kidney pain and capitalist society's mandate to work 40+ hours is not recommended.

But to prove I'm okay and still me, here is some Shanks antics with him being a total slut while Mihawk and Beckman just roll their eyes and go along with it. [Shout out to @jhaernyl who not only listens to me ramble about this stuff, but actively encourages it]. I also have many thoughts on the latest episodes and so many screenshots it's embarrassing. Hopefully, when I'm in less pain, I'll get around to actually posting those. Otherwise I just look like an insane person who literally takes by the second frame shots every time Zoro is on screen.

.... What is that? I look like that anyway? Fair.

Shanks Is A Bad Influence

It feels like Buggy and Shanks split up after Roger's death (the crew was told to, and they are the only ones who went to his execution) and I find it impossible to think Shanks didn't immediately set out and find a crew; like, pirating is the only thing this kid knows in life. This means two things:

He set out from East Blue. Also, he seemed at ease and familiar with the East so it's possible he spent like a year there getting everything together. Maybe he even played around in the other blues for a while before heading back to the Grand Line. I say this because his crew is from all over so either he found and recruited them in the Grand Line or visited various blues. Either way, I'm gonna say it took him about two years before getting a 'proper' start. In that case, he would have started out properly at the age of 17 and we know One Piece likes it's parallels.

That still puts Shanks at 17 to Benn Beckmen's 28. How the fuck did Shanks manage that? I'd call it grave robbing, but let's face it, the little tyke probably got up to some actual robbing of graves as well.

My point being everytime Shanks teases Mihawk about keeping this 19 year old kid on his personal island, mostly shirtless, Benn Beckmen just lifts an eyebrow.

Excuse me, captain, who had prefected the 'opps still don't have my sea legs' trip-and-fall into their first mates lap by the age of 17?

Shanks: Beckmen, you caught me! *Shamelessly nuzzles up* Thank goodness! I could be a devil's fruit user after all and - Ahh!

Benn: *Drops Shanks straight over the side of the ship into the water*

Shanks: *Sputtering* What what that!?

Benn: Checking to see if you had eaten a devil's fruit on us, Capatin.

Benn: You didn't.

Smart ass. But he can't resist Shanks forever. Shanks will wear him down eventually.

Next time Mihawk tracks him down for another match - because you know he gets bored way quicker than he'll ever admit and Shanks is at least amusing a challenge - Shanks makes a big deal out of how Mihawk follows him around, "accidentally" revealing they slept together, sighing about how it's so hard to resist him.

Benn Beckmen is just leaning against the side of the ship, sipping his booze.

Shanks: -and I can't stay for hours like last time!!

Mihawk: Are you quite done?

Shanks: *whispering* Does Benn look jealous?

Mihawk: He looks bored. Much like I am. Is this some strange attempt to get out of my challenge, Akagami?

Shanks: What? No, come on I told you I was game. But, hey, could you do me a favor? Maybe like try and kiss me or something? Like take a swing like your going to hit me but then stop shot and grab me by the waist instead.

Mihawk: .... Trickery is beneath you. Besides, you're absolute rubbish at it.

Shanks: Oh, come on, I would totally help you get laid if you asked!

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* I want a proper match afterwards.

Mihawk: *In a forced, monotone voice* After this I will take you to my lair and have my way with you, Akagami.

Mihawk: ... My lair? Really?

Shanks: *Holding up cue card with quickly scribbled line* What? That is how you talk.

Mihawk: I can't believe I wasted precious hours of light tracking you to this atrociously rural port.

Shanks: See? Now, read the next one.

Benn: Captain? If this is going to take all night, I am going to go join the rest of the men in the tavern.

Shanks: Huh? Wait! Benn! What if Miha really stabs me this time!?

Benn: *Salutes Shanks with his bottle* Sounds like that is his plan captain. Have a good 'challenge'.

Shanks: What? No... *Reaching out hand, like he might die if Benn leaves, looking completely devastated* Not even a little jealous...

Mihawk: You couldn't have thought that pantomime would actually work.

Shanks: Benny, don't leave me.... *Turns to Mihawk, immediately brightening* Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Hey, Miha, guess whose free all night and horny as a pirate in the calm belt?

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* Very well.

Mihawk might as well get something for the trip he made. Although, he's reconsidering if the sex was actually worth the trouble after he ends up listening to Shanks worry half the night that Benn is shacking up with someone else (after a couple hours of rough and raw fucking, admittedly).

Is it the hat? He likes his captain's hat. Miha, you think his captain's hat is sexy, don't you?

Mihawk: It's utterly ridiculous.

Shanks: ....

Shanks: *Smile* Ahh, Miha, I knew you liked the hat!

Shanks: What do you old Northerns find sexy?

Mihawk: I am only four years older than you.

Mihawk: And silence.

Trying to convince Mihawk to go spy on Beckman for him. Shanks doesn't actually care if he does sleep with someone else, it's more that Beckman didn't immediately turn angry and jealous like Buggy would have that has him paranoid.

Mihawk is going to fuck this annoying red head again just to shut him up.

Mihawk: Maybe he doesn't like red haired boys who don't know when to be quiet?

The next morning Shanks is pacing among his poor crew that's gotten stuck listening to Shanks obsess about Beckman again. IS IT REALLY THE HAIR!?

It's not even a matter of Shanks's age (or obvious immaturity). I mean, Beckman got on board and stayed, didn't he? Beckman just enjoys watching Shanks try so hard to get his attention. Like Benn's attention isn't constantly on Shanks. He had to when his captain is always one step away from disaster.

He only left him with Mihawk because it was clear Dracule is not a real danger to Beckman's captain.

Except maybe insulting him to death. But Beckman is pretty sure Shanks can handle it. He's met Buggy. He's suspects Shanks LIKES it if anything.

It gets to the point where when they dock somewhere and see Mihawk waiting, or come back to the ship and spot his familiar silhouette, most of the crew goes off somewhere for another drink (sometimes the newer kids will stay to watch such an awesome fight, everyone else is like... Look, you'll have plenty of opportunities later. This is not a one off.)

Benn just takes a look around, nods to Mihawk (a silent signal for, "he's all yours, do with him as you please, if anything happens to him I will track you down and make sure your last few hours on this blue world are as painful as humanly possible") and heads off.

Oh, it's just the Hawk boy.

That's fine then.

Benn use to be a sailor on a trade ship between the North, East, West and Grand Line. He's seen it all.

They called him The Gun Slinger BEFORE he joined Shanks's crew and became a pirate.

So this young, broke ass kid from the streets of some near artic northern island trying to pass himself off as a Lower North rich type has a thing for his captain? Not really enough to keep Beckman up at night, no matter how good at swords he's supposed to be

Besides, he's pretty sure for the kid to keep tracking down Shanks, he must be bored out of his skull. He's not going to do anything to endanger their captain.

Not if Shanks is the only thing he can find to keep him entertained.

One day, Mihawk is going to be waiting on the dock when a bunch of Red Haired pirates are stumbling home, laughing and chattering amongst themselves (Shanks's crew always seems to be in a good mood). One of them will catch sight if Mihawk and walk by with a smile, patting him on the shoulder.

The captain's occupied. Seems likely he'll be 'occupied' for a good while, too.

Mihawk won't smile, but he will think "So you finally warmed him up to you, Akagami?" and snort lightly.

Poor Benn, though. Mihawk could never imagine being with someone so much younger than him. Shanks is only four years his junior and already it strains Mihawk to put up with his occasional moments of "youthful whimsy" (aka being an annoying, immature child)

"A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair"

Mihawk just putting that on his Not To Do List.

That lasted until Roronoa.

(Mihawk just looking at Zoro knowing this is bad news.)

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

*Cross out, scribbles*

*Hands back to Benn*

Do Not Do:

- A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair a silly hat, who is overly dramatic and in any way, shape or form related to Gol D Rogers.

Ace: Hey what's up?

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

Go ahead, Benn, laugh it up. Mihawk is aware he has a type. Young, pretty, and utterly insane.

After that night where Shanks was otherwise 'occupied', it's over six months before Mihawk sees his friend his rival again. He is, as expected, far too smug and proud looking.

Shanks: Oh, Miha, so sorry you came all this way, I'm-

Benn: Well, I'm off, captain.

Shanks: What!? But we, you, I... Benn, hessoeexyarentyouworriedforyourcaptain?

Benn: *patting Mihawk on the shoulder* Have fun with him. Don't forget to return him by noon tomorrow, we have a schedule. Oh, but if you can babysit him for at least four hours? That would be great.

Shanks: BABYSIT!?

Mihawk: I suppose I can be troubled to do so.

Shanks: TROUBLED!?

Benn: Thanks, Hawkeyes. I owe you.

Shanks: *Fake tears clinging to his lashes* You two are so mean!

No, don't feel bad for him. Shanks is just trying to guilt the two of them into bed at the same time, and they both know it.

Thanks no thanks, they're not into that. But Shanks can be pretty cute when he's trying so hard (Benn) and at least he's not as boring as everything else in this world (Mihawk) so they allow him to keep up the act

Shanks: *looking at Zoro's wanted poster over Mihawk's shoulder* But I feel like you'd gladly go to bed with him and his captain if he asked. That doesn't seem fair to me. You'd never go that far with me and Benn.

Mihawk: *Eyes Benn*

Mihawk: *DEAD. ONLY.*

Mihawk: I have my reasons.

They can and do agree on plenty of things, including reciprocally not being that attracted to each other.

Shanks: Sounds fake to me

Shanks: But guys!

Shanks: This isn't about you

He's gonna need you guys to drop the egos and focus on what HE wants. I.E., being in the middle of two sexy Northern men.

Honestly, so mean to poor Shanks!

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renjuseyo · 4 years ago

Note

I'm the one that ask about poly. I want to make request now if you're okay with it about male reader jihoon and seungcheol. Seungcheol being jealous when reader babied jihoon even though Seungcheol get it most of the time. While jihoon hate it when reader doing that but only whine and do nothing at all. Reader didn't stop because he know Jihoon enjoy it and also watching Seungcheol pouting and making a fuss is one of his entertainment.

pay attention to me ; s.coups & woozi

group: seventeen

pairing: choi seungcheol / lee jihoon / reader (male)

synopsis: just because seungcheol’s dating you two doesn’t make him less jealous when you direct your attention to jihoon, even if he always receives your pampering.

genre: fluff

i hope you liked this anon! i think this is a very cute prompt, and i had fun playing with jicheol’s dynamics. i kind of lost inspo if you couldn’t tell though lol... anyways, feedback is always appreciated!! ^^

age order goes as: seungcheol > reader > jihoon

jihoon: i won’t be home until late, so don’t wait up for me [11:58 PM]

that was sent to you and seungcheol four hours ago. seeing how seungcheol had gotten off work at a decent time (if you consider ten-thirty decent) compared to usual, you had assumed it would be the same for jihoon, too. apparently not.

normally, by the time the clock strikes three am, you would be fast asleep, squished between seungcheol and jihoon. but instead, you’re parking your car outside of the pledis building, with seungcheol struggling to stay awake in the passenger seat. “you know, i could’ve driven here instead,” the older offers, yawning.

you roll your eyes, pushing your door open. “don’t be ridiculous. you can barely keep your eyes open, and you’ve worked all day. driving is the least i could do.”

you two step out of your car. after locking it, you begin walking towards the studio. the dim glow of the lamp posts and the faint twinkle of the stars are your only guides to the entryway, and you’re reminded once again just how late it is when you take in your surroundings. not a single sound can be heard, and the sky above you is blanketed black. what in the world is jihoon doing so late?

(well, there’s only one thing he could be doing this late. but most importantly, why? the members of seventeen are supposed to have the weekend off, so he has plenty of time to finish up any projects.)

once seungcheol unlocks the door, you two trudge inside, yawning. it takes a few minutes for you both to find jihoon’s studio, but it isn’t hard to spot. in the dark hallway, there’s only one room lit up, with a blue, fluorescent light splashing its walls. you glance at the small window, and just as you had suspected, your boyfriend is perched on his chair, hunched over his desktop.

luckily his door isn’t locked, so seungcheol twists the doorknob and pulls it open. the intrusion startles jihoon, evident by the way he flinches in his seat. when he spins around, you frown at the weary look on his face. the bright blue of his room highlights his eye bags, and you can see him struggling to stay awake. “what are you two doing here? you should be asleep,” he says.

you stride towards him, eyebrows furrowed. “that’s what we should be saying. do you have any idea what time it is? you’re supposed to be at home with us.” seungcheol nods in agreement, probably too tired to engage himself in a conversation.

“not until i finish this,” the younger protests, gesturing at his monitor. you peek behind him to look at what’s pulled up, and unsurprisingly, there’s a new project loaded up, probably one of the songs he’s working on for seventeen’s next album. “management said i have to get this done by next week.” he glances at the clock. “plus, it’s only three am. i’ve had less sleep.”

“by less sleep you mean no sleep,” you correct, propping your hands on your hips. you almost look the part of a disappointed parent. “that’s so bad for you, you know.”

“hoon, we have this weekend off. you can work on it then,” seungcheol replies, yawning. “come sleep with us. anyone with a pair of eyes can tell that you’re tired.”

jihoon rolls his eyes, but the yawn that leaves his throat is evidence enough. “i’m just fine. i already downed a whole bottle of soda, anyways.”

you tiredly trudge over to him, tugging at his sleeve. he raises a questioning eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything as you drag him over to the couch by the wall. “hoonie, you’ve been up since six am. it’s not good for babies to sleep so late.”

he flushes at the implications, frowning. it ends up looking more like a pout, though, further proving your point. “i’m not a baby. you’re acting like one right now,” he protests.

you pull him onto the couch, arms trapping him. “but you’re the youngest, so you’re the baby. right, cheol?”

instead of agreeing with you, the oldest of you three pouts, flopping down beside you. “that’s no fair, (name). both hoonie and i worked today, so why are you only babying him?” he whines. for someone who’s supposed to be the oldest, he sure craves attention like a child.

you wave a dismissive hand, scooting over so seungcheol has more room. this causes you and jihoon to squish even closer together, and as discomforting as it is for all three of you, no one makes any moves to go to a more comfortable area. but then again, you three usually wound up like this more often than not, so you all stopped minding altogether. “hush, cheol. we cuddled for like, an hour when we were home. hoonie hasn’t had anyone to take care of him yet.”

jihoon rolls his eyes, pressed against your chest. “i’m right here, you know.” as much as he dislikes skinship, he’s too tired to move, and your embrace is comforting, though he’d never admit it.

you hum, snuggling closer to him. “lack of sleep makes babies grouchy. you can worry about your project tomorrow.”

“but-”

“don’t talk back to the adults,” you murmur, dozing off, pressing your forehead against his.

jihoon grumbles, though he doesn’t try to move. “this is crazy. i’m only a year younger than you and seungcheol-hyung. what do you mean don’t talk back to the adults?” he snorts.

when you don’t respond, he can only assume you’ve fallen asleep. he rolls his eyes and cranes his neck to peek at seungcheol. his eyes are also fluttering close, arms firmly wrapped around your waist. sometimes he wonders why you call him the baby when seungcheol is right there, constantly whining for your affection. if anything, he’s the baby of you three.

seeing how he can’t wriggle his way out of here (not that he would. drinking a whole bottle of coke-cola has done nothing to lift his drowsiness), he can do nothing but surrender to your clutches and lay limp in your arms. he closes his eyes in an attempt to fall asleep, but hearing your voice in his head makes it a tad difficult.

you’re the youngest, so you’re the baby~

jihoon huffs, glaring at you, who’s oblivious to his piercing eyes. “says the one who always needs to hug something before he sleeps,” he quietly grumbles, poking your cheek.

to his surprise, the subtle motion is enough to stir you awake, and he feels himself heat up when your eyes flutter open. even when you’re tired, you still manage to look breathtaking. “go to sleep, hoonie,” you remind again before dozing back asleep.

when jihoon glances at the clock, the white, neon digits show him that it’s nearly four am. so this is what he ends up doing, but not because you told him to.

jihoon knows that despite your constant babying, you recognize that he’s a functioning adult who’s more than capable of handling responsibilities. even more than you, he might argue. you just have an affectionate nature and make it your sole duty to take care of everyone around you, even if they’re older than you, like seungcheol. plus, you just like calling those younger than you babies. if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only a few months older than him, he would’ve thought you were the oldest of you three.

though he claims to despise your affectionate nature, he’s thankful to have your presence, especially around him and seungcheol. he knows that as the leader of one of the biggest boy groups - both metaphorically and physically - the stress is undoubtedly more burdensome than the ones the other members have. he knows that seungcheol spends more time structuring himself as a strong leader and wise oldest member than as a twenty-five-year-old man who likes music and video-games. which is why he’s grateful that you’re around to give him the pampering and leisure he deserves, reminding him that it’s okay to be taken care of sometimes.

he isn’t mad that you direct most of your pampering at seungcheol. if anything, he’s more than happy, because now you’re there to give him the attention he complains about when he can’t. your presence, for a lack of better words, acts as a balance for you three. but there are times where you choose to baby (read: pester) him, simply because he’s the youngest and needs attention once in a while. your words, not his.

now is one of those moments.

jihoon blinks, staring at the shoe box perched on the table before him. he looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you gesture at the shoe box in a flourish, widely grinning like a child who’s won candy. “ta-da!” you exclaim. seungcheol, who had been immersed with a mobile game, is now looking his way, curiously staring at the box. judging from his expression, he guesses he doesn’t know what the contents are, either.

“and what exactly am i looking at?” he asks.

“open it!” you exclaim.

he does as he’s told, lifting up the lid of the box. to his surprise, they’re a pair of black slide-ons. he remembers eyeing a pair a week ago at a mall he had gone to with you and soonyoung, but had dismissed the thought after seeing the number shopping bags soonyoung had on each arm. he isn’t sure if you remembered or if this is a mere coincidence. either way, he’s surprised you bought him a pair of shoes out of the blue.

“what!” seungcheol exclaims. he throws his phone onto the couch, the device bouncing on the cushions. he walks towards you, instantly wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “you bought shoes for hoonie, but not for me?”

you roll your eyes. “cheol, you’re the one giving people your credit card information. you’re quite capable of buying your own shoes... actually, you’d buy them, unprompted.”

“but it’s different when it’s a gift,” he whines. “i want you to buy me shoes, too.”

ignoring your whiny boyfriend, you gesture at the sandals. “i saw you looking at them when we were at the mall with soonyoung last week! i know you don’t have a lot of time to go shopping, so i bought them for you,” you explain.

jihoon frowns. he’s the one practically swimming in a pool of money, so he should be the one buying you nice things, not the other way around. “oh... you didn’t have to.”

when he looks up at you, he sees the excitement vanish from your face, being replaced with a pout. seeing you like that makes him wonder why he and seungcheol never try babying you, especially when you have the audacity to look as cute as you do now. “do you not like them? i can always return them and get you something else...”

he practically flies out of his seat, eyes wide. “no!” he blurts. you and seungcheol are startled by the sudden outburst, your eyes mirroring his. “i mean-” he clears his throat, “i like them, i really do. but i should be the one buying you things, not the other way around.”

thankfully, you smile. “don’t worry about it! a baby like you should be bought nice things, even if you probably have better versions of them,” you tease, blowing him an air kiss.

jihoon scoffs. "you know, now that i think about it, you always pay for my things even though you’re the, and i quote, broke college student. what’s up with that?”

“because babies shouldn’t be paying for things.” you size him up, feigning innocence. “are you even allowed to have a debit card?”

seungcheol snorts at your comment, stifling his laughter by burying his head in your shoulder. on the other hand, jihoon’s jaw drops in disbelief. “this is bullying!” he yells, exasperated. “i’m being bullied by my boyfriend. hyung, you can’t be siding with him.”

the older shrugs, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “when i do it, you always kick me, but you never do anything when it’s him. it’s so fun, seeing you get all flustered.”

he glares at you both. “i actually hate you two. especially you,” he seethes, pointing at you.

you lean over to whisper in seungcheol’s ear, but you’re side-eyeing him, obviously trying to get him to hear you. “has he been fed yet? you know babies get grouchy when they don’t have food in their system.”

“(name) (last name)!!”

seungcheol knows that like him, you’re usually the oldest in most situations. because of this, taking care of those around you has practically become second nature. making sure everyone around you is healthy and happy has become instinctive, and you’re willing to go through hoops and hurdles just to achieve that. it’s one of the many traits he loves about you.

he’s grateful to have you around to take care of him, but most importantly, he’s glad that there’s someone like you taking care of jihoon. sure, he whines about not being the center of your attention, but he knows that there are times when jihoon needs it more than he does. viewed as the genius producer and leader of the vocal unit of seventeen, there’s no doubt that the pressure he receives to repeatedly produce big hits is unimaginable. though it’s something that the two of them share in common, he knows he would never willingly open up about his thoughts, afraid of burdening the already stressed leader.

thankfully, there’s you, with a warm and loving aura encompassing you. you just have this aura that makes people want to lower their guard, even for those as whole and reserved as jihoon. it undoubtedly helps relieve the tension that the young producer has, even if he claims to hate it.

even if he knows this, though, that doesn’t stop him from wanting all of your attention. you’re the only person jihoon allows to pamper him (even if he denies it), so it’s not surprising that you take every opportunity you get to do so. while it’s fun to see him get riled up, seungcheol can’t help but act bratty when your attention isn’t on him.

on an exceptionally mundane day where the members of seventeen are lounging in the practice room, taking a break after excruciating hours of nonstop dancing, you knock on the door, arms loaded with bags of takeout. a few seconds later, the door swings open, and you’re standing in front of a sweaty chan. “oh, hyung! what brings you here?” he asks, surprised.

“hey chan,” you greet with a smile. he moves to the side, giving you space to enter the room. when you do, you’re greeted by twelve boys who seem equally sweaty and exhausted, who slur their greetings. “i was going to drop off some food for cheol and hoonie, but i figured you guys would be hungry,” you explained, gesturing towards the bags. from the way their eyes light up, you can tell they’re pleased with the surprise. “i have fried chicken, tteokbokki, japchae... just a bit of everything.”

immediately, the thirteen boys gather around you, salivating at the scent wafting out of the bags. “thank you hyung, you didn’t have to do that for us,” dokyeom smiles.

you shrug, seating yourself between seungcheol and jihoon. “it’s the least i could do, don’t worry about it. now eat up! you all are probably starving.”

another chorus of thanks echoes throughout the room, and soon, everyone begins to dig in. as you chat with the other members, catching up on each others’ lives and learning about comeback preparations, you suddenly feel someone pulling you up by the armpits before placing you down on their lap. startled, you crane your neck and see seungcheol, who responds by pecking your forehead. “what was that for?” mingyu asks from across you, voicing your question.

“you haven’t paid attention to me at all,” he murmurs.

you simply hum, leaning forward to stab a piece of fried chicken. you aim the fork at seungcheol’s mouth, who eagerly sweeps in and takes a bite. from the corner of your eye, you can see the other members eyeing you two with disgust. “sometimes i forget this is a three-way relationship, seeing how you both react so differently around (name)-hyung,” seungkwan snorts, scooping more japchae onto his plate. “why can’t you be more like jihoon-hyung? at least he doesn’t whine when (name)-hyung isn’t around every five minutes like you.”

you roll your eyes. “please. hoonie likes it when i baby him, too.” you send him a wink, to which he responds with by rolling his eyes.

“you’re talking nonsense.”

“don’t lie~” you coo, leaning over and ruffling his hair. “our cute baby hoonie~”

above you, seungcheol pouts, resting his chin on your head. “why don’t you ever treat me like that, (name)? this is unfair.”

you add more tteokbokki onto your plate. “it’s fun, seeing both of your reactions. hoonie’s more fun to tease, and it’s fun seeing you get all mopey.” he pouts, though he can’t refute your claims. jihoon does have funnier reactions than he does, and judging by both the amused and unimpressed looks the other members give him, he’s sure that he looks nothing short of glum.

“you know,” wonwoo begins, “i never would’ve imagined that jihoon would’ve gotten together with them. maybe with (name), but not with seungcheol-hyung. you both cling onto him more than to each other, anyways.”

“cheol here just comes to me more because he’s scared of hoonie,” you laugh, patting his thigh. “besides, they have each other when i’m not in the picture.”

“(name), you shouldn’t spoil cheollie so much. he’s already so bratty when you’re not here,” jeonghan sighs. “i’d love to see you tease jihoon more, though. you’re the only person who can get away with it unscathed, anyways.”

both seungcheol and jihoon darken in embarrassment. “shut it, yoon jeonghan,” they snap in unison.

when seungcheol and jihoon wake up one saturday morning, they don’t expect to be clinging onto each other in bed. they also don’t expect you to be awake already, seeing how you’re usually one of the last people to get up.

“where’s (name)?” jihoon groggily asks, scooting closer to an equally tired seungcheol. though he rarely lets seungcheol hold him, his need for warmth overpowers his disdain for skinship.

the older doesn’t seem to mind his sudden touchiness, wrapping an arm around him. “dunno,” he mumbles.

neither of them further questions your disappearance, cuddling closer to each other. they both begin to drift back asleep when the floorboards of the hallway creak, signalling a new presence. the bedroom dear squeaks open, so when they both turn to face the source, they see you tiptoeing your way in. “oh, morning guys,” you whisper, sheepishly smiling. “sorry for waking you two."

“it’s fine,” jihoon yawns, slowly sitting up. beside him, seungcheol turns to dig his face into his pillow, stretching his limbs. “why are you up so early? it’s-” he pauses to glance at the clock, which reads 11:30 am. “okay, maybe it’s not so early. but what are you doing up?”

you shrug. “cheol elbowed my face earlier, and i couldn’t fall back asleep again, so i decided to get out of bed.”

seungcheol turns around and looks at you with guilty eyes, sitting up. “sorry babe,” he apologizes. he grabs your arm and pulls you onto him. “is your pretty face okay?” he asks, rubbing your cheeks.

you thread your fingers through his hair, untangling the knots as jihoon rolls over. “why don’t you come back to bed and sleep some longer? i know how irritable you can get when you don’t get enough sleep.”

you shake your head at his offer. “it’s okay, but thanks.” you reposition yourself so you’re sandwiched between seungcheol and jihoon, which is when they notice the navy apron hanging around your neck. “i made food not long ago, it should be warm still. come eat with me.” you wriggle your way out of the human sandwich, standing up again. “get up, lazy bums!”

“kiss me first,” seungcheol jeers like the brat he is.

you lean in close until your breath fans his lips. when he looks like he’s going to reciprocate, you move your lips last minute and peck his forehead instead. “brush your teeth first, brat. your breath smells like ass.” before you leave, you swiftly move your head and place a kiss on jihoon’s cheek, running out of the bedroom before either of them can do anything about it.

half an hour later, jihoon steps out of the bedroom and trudges into the kitchen. seungcheol’s still in the bathroom washing up. when he rounds the corner, he nearly screams to see you so close to him. you take this opportunity to wrap your arms around him and lift him up, to which he responds with a yelp. “put me down!” he shrieks.

you pay no mind to his shrieking, walking towards the counter. you plop down on a stool and seat him on your lap. he’s still squirming, but your grip is tight, so his fidgeting proves futile. “good morning, my baby~”

for someone who claims to hate the nickname, he always flushes a pretty red when you or seungcheol use it. even after getting together, he still isn’t used to it. “how many times do i have to tell you to not call me a baby? i’m only a year younger than you.”

“then what should i call you then?” you pucker your lips, which are met with jihoon’s palm. “my liege? my love? which do you prefer?” you flirt.

his blush darkens, and he can only look away in embarrassment. “shut up.”

your laugh is so loud it hurts his ears, but it’s endearing and true, something he never gets tired of listening to. “our baby is so cute when he’s flustered~”

“is today a bully seungcheol or a bully jihoon day, i wonder?” a voice in front of you asks. he cranes his neck as much as he can and sees seungcheol pouting in front of you two, bangs wet. “do i not get this treatment because i’m the oldest?

you stick your tongue out at him before flicking his forehead. “come on, let’s eat! you two took forever.” fortunately, seungcheol pulls out a stool for jihoon to sit on, so he’s all too eager to hop away from your clutches.

you’re sitting across from the duo, who are seated beside each other. the kitchen is mostly silent, save for the clinking of utensils. it isn’t when seungcheol takes a bite from an egg that you notice a band-aid plastered near his chin. “did you hurt yourself?” you ask, aiming your fork at his wound.

he absentmindedly runs a finger against the band-aid. “oh, this? i was shaving earlier and accidentally cut myself,” he explains. he gauges your reaction, from your furrowed eyebrows to worried eyes. just then, he lets out a cry, startling you and jihoon. “oh (name), it hurts~”

you laugh at his silliness, while jihoon snorts. “you’re so embarrassing. gosh (name), this is what happens when you spoil him too much. one single mishap and he comes running to you with fake tears. look at the monster you’ve created.”

you glance at seungcheol, and the mischievous smirk on your lips only spells for disaster. “cheol-ah, you were just fine a moment ago. i think you’re strong enough to handle a tiny cut, aren’t you?”

normally he would never allow for someone to question his strength, but when it comes to you, all he wants is your pampering, even if he makes himself look like a fool in the process. “don’t tease me, (name)~ don’t take jeonghan’s words so seriously!”

you laugh, recalling your friend’s words. you love to indulge your boyfriends, though teasing them is also fun, too. you used to only tease jihoon with your sickening babying, but seeing how seungcheol whines only fuels your mischievous nature. “i think you can handle it, cheol.” changing the topic, you smile at jihoon. “how’s the food? i think i did a good job for someone with abysmal cooking skills.”

“babe~” he whines.

“the food’s good, although your chopping skills could use some work,” jihoon comments, poking at an unevenly cut tomato.

you snort. “i’m cooking for you guys, not gordon ramsay. as long as it tastes good, it should be fine.”

“this is bullying.”

you turn to face seungcheol, who’s still pouting. “why don’t you ask hoonie?”

“because he’s going to say no. or worse, he’ll kick my shins.”

you laugh, getting up to refill your water. before you enter the kitchen, you cup seungcheol’s face and press a chaste kiss on his band-aid. “there. happy?”

the dopey, lovesick look he gives you is answer enough, and as confident and nonchalant as you are when it comes to flirting, you can feel butterflies swarming in your stomach. it never gets less exhilarating, knowing you have him wrapped around your finger. “suddenly, my cut doesn’t hurt anymore.”

jihoon gags. “disgusting.”

“you like it when we’re disgusting,” you mumble, pressing a kiss on his hair. before he can react, you swoop down and squish his cheeks, leaning in to press your lips together. he makes a disgruntled noise, though he doesn’t make any attempts to pry your hands off or to move away. when you pull away, a satisfied smile rests on your lips. “see? i knew you liked it when i babied you.”

you move your hands away from his face and lay them atop his hair. on the other hand, seungcheol squishes your cheeks together and begins peppering kisses on your face, drawing out little giggles from you. below you, jihoon frowns, folding his arms. “you’re so annoying. i could step on your toes if i wanted to.”

“if you wanted to,” you reiterate, turning your head so seungcheol doesn’t muffle your words with his lips. “key word is if, my dear. you would never actually hurt me, our cute baby.”

seungcheol relinquishes his attacks, sitting back onto the stool. “i wonder what would happen if i called him that?” he wonders out loud. suddenly, he squishes jihoon’s cheek, mirroring the fond look you always give them. “our cute baby jihoonie~”

right when he does this, seungcheol decides then that is the first and last time he’ll ever try to baby jihoon again - at least, if he wants to stay unharmed. pampering is more of your forte, anyways.

#seventeen #seventeen hip hop unit #seventeen vocal unit #kpop #seventeen x reader #seventeen x male reader #s.coups #choi seungcheol #woozi #lee jihoon #jicheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x male reader #woozi x reader #woozi x male reader #renjuseyo : seventeen #renjuseyo : fics

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