#i have done an insane amount of baking over break and it will continue .

[remitro]

i’m such a messy baker it’s unbelievable how the fuck is there bread dough on my shorts . how did that get there . the other day i found this huge smear of red velvet batter on my arm and i’m pretty sure powdered sugar is boiled into my bloodstream they should invent a baking that doesn’t get everywhere

[sylvie-writes]

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before. 

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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine. 

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny. 

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature. 

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather. 

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache. 

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals. 

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.” 

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness. 

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal. 

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon. 

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant. 

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home. 

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 At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last. 

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was. 

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke. 

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness. 

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber. 

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Lunch break at last. 

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest. 

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course. 

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible. 

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty. 

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them. 

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance. 

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven. 

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“Babe, dinner is ready!” 

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten. 

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister. 

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain. 

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple. 

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for. 

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially. 

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more. 

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.” 

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.” 

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt. 

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“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed. 

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you. 

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture. 

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips. 

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” 

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else. 

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair. 

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made. 

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair. 

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy. 

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor. 

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand. 

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison. 

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help. 

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages. 

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look. 

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you. 

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own. 

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis. 

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk. 

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague. 

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat. 

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

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The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes. 

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on. 

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose. 

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors. 

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Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer. 

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

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For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak. 

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions. 

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.” 

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure. 

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room. 

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve. 

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!” 

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.” 

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.” 

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you. 

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued. 

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face. 

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand. 

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”  

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.” 

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him. 

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.” 

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!” 

He really was too good for this world. 

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a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

[levishousewife]

Some random Levi fluff..just random scenarios and thoughts that were on my mind.

Does get kind of suggestive but nothing too bad

‼️MINORS DNI‼️

- Levi would be cuddling with you in bed and when you’re pulling up the sheets and getting ready to cuddle into his chest he’d be looking at you with so much love and admiration thinking he’s so lucky to have you and how grateful he is to have you in his life.

- While y’all are watching movies he would definitely be the one to hold the popcorn bowl and have all your fav candies all ready and opened up for you so you don’t have to be all distracted from the movie trying to open up the noisy candy wrappers.

- Continuing the movie scenario..it would be an at home late at night movie date he’d be in his all gray pjs and y’all are sitting on the couch while watching some random romance movie y’all saw on Netflix and he’d have his arm draped over you and his feet kicked up on the coffee table while you cuddled into his side and ate from the popcorn bowl that was placed in his lap and sometimes he’d tilt his head to lay on top of your head if he just wanted more contact from you or his neck was just hurting

- He’d be the one to do your laundry even though you insist on doing it yourself. Levi grew up in a very unclean environment which is why he takes cleanliness very very seriously and he doesn’t want the person he loves the most to feel like shit bcs their clothes aren’t clean and/or doesn’t smell nice bcs.. well.. he knows how shitty of a feeling that is...so he takes that extra stress off your shoulders and cleans and folds your laundry for you. You’d never have a wrinkle in your clothes

- Levi loves big fluffy covers bcs it somehow makes him feel like he’s trapped in a whole other comfy warm world with the love of his life..even though he never really sleeps due to insomnia, the bed is one of his favorite places bcs you’re there with him in such a peaceful quiet state and he gets to watch you peacefully sleep. He’s happy that you feel comfortable enough to sleep with him.

- He’d never really play video games I don’t think unless it’s like little phone games but if it’s a game you really like and enjoy he’d be down to try it bcs you like it..and since you like it..it must be a good game he’d sound like he hated the idea of playing a video game with you at first he’d sigh a lot, “dude I’m not playing this shit it looks like a baby game” but deep down inside..hes been wanting to play it and spend time with you

- He’d always keep your shampoo/conditioner and just bathroom essentials stocked up. He’d never want you to worry about running out of your fav conditioner.

- He’d love more powdery or soapy scents on you cause it smells clean to him and that makes him happy and just makes you seem so elegant to him

- I feel like you wearing rings or just any sort of jewelry..specifically sliver jewelry would make him melt..idk why he just thinks you look absolutely stunning with jewelry on. He definitely get you some diamond earrings or necklaces.

- Your wedding ring would be very simple neat and clean looking nothing big or extravagant. Would probably end up getting those rubber wedding bands bcs he uses his hands a lot for work and he’d literally off himself if he’d ever lose or break his actual wedding band.

- I think y’all would have a black or gray cat or a French bulldog

- I don’t think he’d want kids (which is perfect imo lol) he knows and has come to terms with the fact that he has way too much trauma

- Your sense of fashion would definitely influence his sense of fashion vic versa

- Would laugh at you when you rage while playing games he thinks it’s cute but he would also think wow..you’re kinda hot..

- I don’t think he’s a hard dom..never thought he was and cant picture him being one with you he’s either a soft dom or a switch (isayma said he’s a sun though Ik) cant change my mind he’d never want to hurt you it any sort of way unless you tell him to be a little more rough

- Aftercare is insanely important to him and he always makes sure you’re physically mentally and emotionally okay after

- Doesn’t get too jealous but is kind of overprotective but nothing crazy

- Communication is hard for him definitely.. that area in your relationship will need ALOT of work and an insane amount of understanding cause this man has been through a lot.. but he’s truly trying his hardest

- Does cry but not often, will only cry around you and will also cry when you cry bcs seeing you cry hurts him more than anything in the world.

- Will always be the one to do the cooking and cleaning cause he wants it done a certain way cause yk..Levi’s way is the best way...but he really loves when you just chill in the kitchen with him on your little step stool the two of you use to get the brown sugar off the top shelf for your weekly cookie baking and y’all just talk about dumb shit or whatever is on your mind. Also I’m in full support of the Levi male wife agenda.

[the-young-and-forgotten]

Gingerbread and Mistletoe

Ficmas Gingerbread House - @wonderful-writer 

Warning/s: tw food mention, tw swearing

prompts: 

4) “Will you make a gingerbread house with me?”

25) “You’re already under the mistletoe, so will the two of you stop stalling and kiss already?”

Prompts will be in bold

It was a couple of weeks into the Christmas break. Your friends had all gone home for the holidays. You had nothing to do but look out at the raging blizzard happening outside now that you were stuck like a schmuck at Hogwarts. You had absolutely no one to hangout with. Or so you thought. 

Of course, Sirius had to be annoying you every second of the day, not that you minded all that much. The two of you had known each other before you had moved to Hogwarts and he had taken it upon himself to annoy you with every step within this castle. 

You had met him a couple of years ago while he was on vacation in America. He and his family had been visiting your state and you might have run him over in the street with your bike. After rushing him to a doctor, you also might have developed a slight crush on him (I mean who wouldn’t crash their bike after seeing him?). You were only too happy to bump into him again the next day to hear that he wanted to “hang out with the girl brave enough to make his proud family introduce themselves to a muggle doctor.” He introduced himself as Prince Sirius Black, succumbed to a life of misery and riches. You had discovered that while you went to Ilvermorny, he went to the highly praised school of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Then, about 3 months ago due to some issues, you and your family were driven out of America to England. It took much persuasion, but your parents finally let you enrol in Hogwarts. Which brought you to the present. 

You were glad to see Sirius again… sort of… You had a fair idea of how annoying he could be but his constant presence and prying questions was driving you insane. You had wondered how his friends coped with it. But after a day of observing, you included they were all equally insane as him. Well, the exception being the scarred boy. He just looked like an exhausted mother on her last cup of coffee. 

Unfortunately, the school transfer did bring back that old crush you were sure you had got rid of. Obviously you hadn’t quite squashed those feelings enough. The only one in this school who knew about your crush on Sirius was James and you had sworn him to secrecy. He knew if he told anyone or did anything to push it along, he’d be instantly dead. 

But, no matter how insane Sirius seemed you could deal with it. After all, this wasn’t the first time. But one thing you couldn’t handle was the throngs of girls that nipped at his heels and hung onto his every word. You knew he was good-looking, but did he deserve his own cult? The girls aggravated you so much, making you wish violent thoughts on them and causing a pang of jealousy in your heart. 

A few days with those fangirls was okay, but when you found out this happened everyday, you could now understand Remus’ constant look of aggravation and the quiet sighs from Peter and James when this happened. 

But today was worse than usual, due to the quidditch game he’d won a couple of days ago, girls were swarming him. You snuck away to the library, before the jealousy caused you to act rashly. You hid amongst the Divination books, hoping he and his herd of girls wouldn’t find you.

But to no avail. “What a boring section to hide in, love.” A cocky voice called out. Sirius walked out between two stacks of books a wide smirk on his face. “But then again, you and I had never seen eye to eye on everything.” He picked up a book with an eye on it and tapped it, his smirk somehow stretching wider. 

You cross your arms in mock anger but you couldn’t help smirking at his pun and seeing that he didn’t have any desperate girls tagging along. “That pun was lame and you know it. Plus, no one likes Divination so I figured this would be the best place to hide.” He plonked himself down on the boxes beside you. His smile stretched even farther, irritating you slightly. 

“Pretty obvious spot though. People would expect you to hide here. If I were to hide, I would go to the Transfiguration section, it's a painfully obvious spot, but no one expects it. So you failed.” “It didn’t fail if it means there were no brain-dead bimbos following you here.” You snap at him.  “Ahhh, so you wanted to be alone with me.” He leant in close, making your face light up like a lava lamp. 

You turn away and stand up, trying to distract yourself. “C’mon, Y/n. Is it that hard to believe I just want to do something fun with my friend! We have a lot of options! Afterall, it's Christmas time!! We could go sledding, sneak out to Hogsmeade or we could-” His eyes light up. “Will you make a gingerbread house with me?” you turn to stare at him in disbelief and scoff. “A gingerbread house?!” He nods his head comically “Sirius, you haven’t even touched any baking ingredients, how will you know what to do?” 

He picks himself off the boxes and grabs your arm. He pulls you out of the library and towards the kitchens. “It’s called an adventure Y/n, search up the definition.” “I’ve done enough crazy shit with you to know what an adventure is.” You grumble under your breath. 

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

The two of you stood at a counter in the kitchen, the decorations and gingerbread house pieces spread out around you. “Right… so what's next?” Sirius asks, the confusion prominent in his voice. You pull all the pieces towards you and start filling him in on what's happening “Luckily, the house elves were nice enough to get us the muggle pieces which are already pre-made, so we just have to decorate it.” 

Hearing no response, you turn towards him, question on your lips. You stop short and stare at him. He was leaning on the counter and staring off into space. Doing nothing but continuously eating the bowl of lollies in front of him. You slap his hand away, startling him. “Those are for the house! Not you!” He lowered his head looking awfully sheepish. You relented. “Okay, maybe a few.” You wink at him and pop a few into your mouth. 

“Right!” Clapping your hands together you turn back to the gingerbread house pieces. “Let's get into it!!” 

Long story short, It was messy work. The sides fell down about a dozen times,causing a lot of anger. The two of you alternating between eating the lollies and putting them on the house. Luckily for the two of you, the house elves had endless amounts of sweets so you never ran out. 

Adding the icing with Sirius was extremely aggravating for you. He couldn’t seem to get the hang of the piper and was putting it everywhere. But he kept on persisting that he could do it. After he had covered practically the entire bench with the icing you snatched it off him. “Oh, just give it here you incompetent pureblood.” It took a bit of time, but you finally finished decorating and icing the whole thing. 

When it was finished, you were positively bursting at how great the gingerbread house had turned out. Reaching over you, Sirius picked up the tray and started out of the kitchens. Turning back, he smiled at you. “Lets go share this with the boys, I know they’ll want a bite.” 

“Wait up!” You run after him, trying to grab the tray from him, but he just pushed ahead faster and faster. “Slow down!” you shout desperately trying to catch him, weaving between random students. “Why do you have to be so goddamn fast?” You said, with a slight whiny tone. But he just laughed and ran on. 

When you guys finally arrived at the Gryffindor Tower, you were panting for breath. Several people had been pushed over along your run. You had certainly made your presence known in the hallways. Taking a deep breath, you walk up to Sirius who was standing a little way away. “Can I hold the house now?” You whine. He rolls his eyes at your tone of voice but hands it over to you. 

He turns towards the Fat Lady and gives the password. As it swings open, he holds it open long enough for you to walk through. You stumble on the threshold but Sirius catches you before you or the house falls. You blush furiously as he helps you right yourself. The two of you look away from each other, the air now extremely awkward. 

You hear an ‘ahem’ from the corner of the common room and look up to see the rest of the arauders there. Peter had a sly grin on his face, Remus was giggling and James looked extremely aggravated. You knew straight away that knew where you had been. James stared you down before throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re already under the mistletoe, so will the two of you stop stalling and kiss already?” Gaping in shock, you look up and see he’s right. You hear Sirius groan and bury his face in his hands as you glare back at James. ‘You’re dead’ you mouth. He just smirks and points to the mistletoe. “Get on it” he shouts. 

You reluctantly look back at Sirius. Much like you, he was a blushing mess. You had never seen him look this hesitant about anything. He seemed to weigh something in his mind before leaning toward you. 

Due to the huge gingerbread house in your arms he had to awkwardly lean over it, which made the situation 100% more weird. Hesitantly, he placed his lips on yours. 

The kiss was sweet and short but it might as well have lasted a lifetime. He gasps in shock, and you knew he had felt the same thing as you had. The two of you pull away giggling, blushing more than before. 

You hear the shouts of joy from the boys and you remember James’ betrayal. “Wait here, Sirius. I need to kill your best friend.” You transport the gingerbread house to Sirius’ arms and run towards James, the boy's laughter echoing in your ears.

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

taglist: @just-a-belgian-girl @loonyvee @kashishwrites @lilgoddesshines

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

“Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. ��I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

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

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

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

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

[quepasta]

A Relentless Past - Chapter 1

Author: Quepasta | AO3 | Twitter

Summary:  Link wakes up with no memory but discovers he has been asleep for 100 years. Now he must struggle with remembering his past, a painful past he has no memory of, and confronting his destiny in the present. Not to mention dealing with the crazy characters he meets while exploring the new world he has woken up in and the foes he runs into. Takes place during Breath of the Wild and expands on the story we know from the video game. (Part 1 of this trilogy. Also, you know I ship Zelink but this is the slowest slow burn I have ever written)

Author’s Notes:  Just a quick explanation of this story. This fic started out as a writing exercise and then it got out of control, as they usually do. This will be a trilogy, the first one (this one) being Link’s story during the game. Staying somewhat canon, but adding things that will round out the story and lead to non-canon things.    I will say that the story might be slow at first, but I promise I am building up to something. The first two chapters are setting up the scene and building Link’s character. My focus is on exploring his emotions during the game and how much he actually remembers, since we don’t get to see a whole lot of that.    The next story will be Zelda’s story before the calamity (not following Age of Calamity’s story, for obvious reasons). Mostly because I wanted to know more about her story and so I decided to write it. I actually wrote that story first, but I wanted to experiment with story telling by starting the trilogy in the present and then going back to the past. Also, the second story will answer questions that the first story will create.    The last installment will be after the game, following both Link and Zelda. The aftermath of the calamity and both of them rejoining the world after 100 years is very intriguing to me, so that is where my focus is. Also exploring some of the lore of the series. (We will see who puts their story out first, me or Nintendo lol. Please let us have an update on BOTW 2 soon)    The series will be an expansion of the canon story but also adding things that I would like to explore. Each installment will have many, many chapters. This has been the biggest project I have worked on so far. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any polite feedback or questions. Thank you - Quepasta

   The fire crackling was the only noise that was made as the two strangers sat across from each other. One of them, a young man, tentatively ate the baked apple that the other stranger, an older gentleman, had given him. The young lad was starving but also felt sick to his stomach, but an apple had seemed like a good thing to try to settle himself.

  The young man squinted at the sunlight poking through the clouds, his eyes still adjusting. The sun shined brightly, searing its light into his retinas. His head hurt and he was insanely thirsty, but more than anything he was confused.

  He played the events that had just happened back in his head. He had seen the golden bright light and heard the voice, telling him to wake up. What had the voice called him? Link?

  He had woken up alone, no one else being in...well wherever he had been. But he was sure that not only had he heard someone, but had also felt someone’s presence there with him.

  Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he continued working through the rest of the events that had happened since waking up. The voice had told him to pick up the sheikah slate, some sort of technology that was now hanging off the belt at his hip. The voice said the slate would guide him after his...long slumber. That’s what it had said. Whatever that meant.

  The slate had opened the door to the...chamber? That word came to his mind. He found clothes to change into inside some old chests after leaving the chamber, a pair of pants and a shirt that were both a size too small. But it was better than nothing.

  After going through another room and pressing the slate against another pedestal, Link found the way out. Finally he had been able to see outside, the door opening up to a tunnel that led outdoors. When the door opened, he had seen the bright light once more. And the voice spoke to him. It had called him Link again. What had it said?

  He racked his brain trying to remember, but it was as if his brain protesting back. An intense amount of pressure found itself at his forehead, and the young man closed his eyes until it went away.

  Then he finally remembered. The voice had said that he was the light that must shine upon Hyrule once again. The meaning behind that meant nothing to Link, finding himself lost at what the voice was trying to tell him.

  Climbing out of the tunnel, Link had felt the urge to run. The air up here was much fresher than the thick air back in the chamber. He let the urge take him to the edge of a cliff, and he stared out at the land below him. He gasped at how large everything was, he suddenly felt dwarfed by the world. Huge mountains, hills, valleys, forests, and rivers took up the landscape. A large mountain stood out to him, but it didn’t look like the rest of the mountains. Volcano, the word popped in his mind. It was a volcano.

  Link looked to his right, and that is when he first noticed the old man. It seemed like the old man had been watching him and when Link noticed him, he had turned around to walk away. Curiosity taking over, he walked down the slope to where he had seen the man sit down.

  As he approached the stranger, the smell of food overwhelmed him and he spotted the baked apple laying on the ground by the fire. Link had grabbed it without thinking, which caused the old man to finally speak.

  “I beg your pardon! I do believe that is my baked apple. You can’t just go about taking whatever you please!” The old man exclaimed.

 Instantly Link felt bad, of course he knew that. Why had he done it?

  Seeing Link’s expression, the old man laughed. “Oh ho! Forgive me, I could not resist pulling your leg. Please, help yourself.”

  Link watched the old man, checking to see if he was serious. The old man had nodded, and that’s when Link had sat down to eat the apple.

  “You know, it is a bit strange to see another soul in these parts.” The old man said, breaking the silence.

  Link looked up from the almost finished apple, raising his eyebrow in a question. “Who are you?” Link asked, the words feeling unnatural to him.

  “Me? I’ll spare you my life story. Ha! I’m just an old fool who has lived here, alone, for quite some time now. What brings a bright-eyed young man like yourself to a place like this?” The old man asked, leaning forward with his head slightly tilted.

  The fire in front of them turned his long white beard to a shade of amber, but somehow deepened the shadows the hood around his head created on his face.

  Link thought about the question for a second while chewing on the apple. He didn’t know the answer to that, which he figured he should know. It occurred to him he had no idea what this place was.

  “Where are we?” Link decided to ask, finishing the apple and flinging the core behind him.

  The old man laughed again. “Answering a question with a question. That is fair enough. This is the Great Plateau. According to legend, this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule.”

  There was that word again. Hyrule . It was a familiar word to Link, though he couldn’t pin down why.

  The old man got up and pointed to a building in the distance. “That temple there...long ago, it was the site of many sacred ceremonies. Though ever since the decline of the kingdom 100 years ago, it has sat abandoned, in a state of decay. Yet another forgotten entity. A mere ghost of its former self…” The old man trailed off and sat back down.

  Link watched him as he did so, he could see a different emotion pass over the old man’s face that had not been there earlier. Link racked his brain for a word to describe it. Sorrow. Pain. Sadness, were the words his mind provided back. Link stared at the old man. He had said he had lived in this area for awhile. Had he witnessed the decline he talked about?

  The old man looked at him, and nodded his head toward the path behind him. Link got the message, move along now.

  “Wait. Do you have a name?” Link asked.

  “Whatever you want to call me is fine. Do you have a name?” The old man asked in return.

  He thought about it for a second. “Link.” He replied quietly.

  The old man nodded, as if agreeing with him that was his name. But he said nothing more. Link gave him a nod in thanks, and walked on.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

Twitch Streamer AU???

(I planned on pushing out a FEW AU asks, but then realized I don’t even have so many. There’s going to be a FNAC event, but that will be an event, not a specific AU ask, so- I guess this is it! Very cursed AU, thank you very much Anon Small warning for mentions of blood, I think? Nothing too bad.)

Streamers, youtubers, content creators. Some people are all of these, some people are none, and some are just one- because each of them needed a very different talent. Those who could do seemingly everything were few and far between- And they ruled the entertainment scene! Thankfully though, the main three as most called them, were also always out for new content to watch. Thus they boosted those that they saw potential in. With some taking the boost and then going off to do their own thing- And some becoming good friends. It always started with a letter. Mike had the habit to do things on stream, as long as no personal details were not visible on them. He used a false email which he regularly changed, and he generally kept himself as safe as possible. Opening emails on stream could be rather fun, even if it was a risk. Sometimes it encouraged people to send bad things- So to prevent the worst, nothing would be downloaded and all emails containing images would be put into the spam bin. Better safe than sorry, the internet was full of terrible people. This day so far had been successful. And by successful it meant that Mike was SCREAMING. “I HATE SUPER MEAT BOY. I WILL COMMIT VIOLENCE AGAINST MEAT IN A MINUTE. I HAVE A BIG F-CKING STEAK IN THE KITCHEN, AND I WILL THROW IT AGAINST THE F_CKING WALL. I WILL GET A HAMMER.” The chat was going wild, cheering. The chat’s phrase of today was “tender Mikey” and it didn’t help at all. “I DID. NOT. HIT THAT! I DID NOT!” A donation popped up, with a robotic voice. ‘Oh hai Mark!’ “NOT FUNNY! NOT F-CKING FUNNY. I’M SUFFERING HERE AND ALL OF YOU SUPPORT IT. YOU’RE ALL F-CKING MONSTERS HERE, I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT. AND I’M NOT F-CKING TENDERIZING THE MEAT WHEN I SLAP IT AROUND, I’LL RIP IT INTO PIECES AND CONSUME IT RAW!” Standing up, he genuinely went to get it- And fifteen minute later he had slightly calmed down, his hands and room slightly bloody. The chat was still celebrating and donating- another thing that never failed to make Mike BEG them to stop and use the money for something GOOD and SENSIBLE, LIKE THEM-FUCKING-SELF- but he had gotten out most of the energy. “Alright. Alright everyone. ENOUGH. I gotta stop you HERE. It’s email time.”   A celebratory jingle played, as Mike booted up the website, opening the inbox. Memes, storytime, I’m-not-fucking-reading-that-and-you-know-it, and- One of the emails caught his- and the chat’s- attention, however. Sender: Fazbear Entertainment Topic: Challenge Needless to say- once again the chat was out of control and this time there was NOTHING Mike could do to stop them. After opening the email, Mike slowly took a deep breath and looked into the camera, between concerned and honored- But that wouldn’t be enough to rip him from his carefully maintained persona. So he audible scoffed- albeit him being unable to hide an excited grin. “Alright bitches and bastards in the audience- we’re firing SuperMeatBoy up again. You won’t be catching ME losing to a pink son of a bitch anytime soon!” After the letter- provided it was accepted and responded to, the production happened. The deal was that a teaser was dropped on the big channel- The entire video itself was put on the smaller one, attracting the viewers over and hopefully make them more likely to want to see the other works the creator had put out. It was a win-win overall, the big channel being able to vary their content, testing the water for new things- and the smaller channel getting a boost and a lot of tips from very experienced creators. Henry and Dave were very generous people. Jeremy was sitting there, taking deep breaths, trying to stay calm. So far, everyone seemed to be rather kind, even if Jeremy was basically a complete nobody. Hell, he never wanted to be anybody. He just wanted to stream himself baking, for those who never had someone baking with them. Because baking could feel stressful, especially when you were missing ingredients or- many reasons, actually. Not only baking, but cooking too- Sometimes playing games on request, but not much in terms of requests ever came in. And now he was here in an actual studio, soon to be seen by an insane amount of people. A cooking competition. Sounded silly- you couldn’t really FIGHT in something like that… But… Henry and Dave had promised it would be fun. And they were nice. With and without the cameras rolling. Speaking off- There they were, approaching, their assistant coming along. He wore a weird phone-head, to ensure his privacy. Or something. It was kinda weird, but he had just accepted the answer he got. “Why, there you are, Jeremy! Would you like to see the equipment we have prepared?” Henry warmly asked, reaching down with his hand to help his guest stand up. “We have gotten a few extra things, just in case.” As they entered the studio, Jeremy’s invisible eyes went WIDE. “Woah- that looks really nice! I love it here! This is high quality stuff-!” “Fantastic!” Pleased Henry opened his arms in his typical theatrical manner- Before being abruptly interrupted by Dave jumping in, halfway over Henry’s shoulder. “ARE YA READY TO GO!? CAMERAS ARE READY!” “Ah- I- I guess- but-“ “YOU HEARD HIM, BOYS! GET IT ROLLIN’!” “W-wait, I don’t even have-“ “Everyone! Welcome to NOTHIN’ AT ALL!” Henry swiftly fitted in, continuing on with the intro. “Todays challenger is the man, the legend, the baker and occasional chef- Jeremy from Baking With Jeremy!” “Wait, what- that’s seriously your channel name, pal?” A bit offended Jeremy looked into the eyes of the people behind the camera. “U-uh- you guys here- I mean- he has literally called his channel Henry Miller! I- uhm- I-“ Snickering Henry put a hand on his guest’s shoulder. “You are very right about that. Say, are you nervous about losing?” “… n-no. I mean- maybe a little. This place here is big and very professional and I’m not used to many people looking at me…” Taking a deep breath, he gave off a nervous smile for the audience. “… yet, I know- it’s a good thing! And as long as everyone has fun, everything will work out!” “Awwwww, look at him!” Dave said, pleased. “You’re so right! We’ll be havin’ fun!” “But also, I will win.” Henry pointed out. “That is when I have the most fun.” Slightly playful Jeremy smiled. “K-keep that attitude, that will make it even easier to blindside you!” Simon whistled, clearly bemused as he held the camera in place- And Henry smirked. “Sure. Anyhow, the stakes are-“ “Steaks? We’re makin’ steaks? I thought we planned on-“ “Dave. I swear to god.” Henry looked at him from the side, before shaking his head. “What is on the line is easy to see- we have roughly an hour to cook the best meal. If Jeremy wins, we will donate 5000 to a charity of his choice!” “And if the young pal loses, he’ll be joinin’ our channel!” Dave chirped. This was news to the brown-haired boy. “W-wait, we never agreed to that-“ “GET TO YOUR STATIONS!” Someone in the back announced. “WHO’S TODAYS FAVORITE?” Simon checked the stream. “The chat says Jeremy is a clear winner. Nobody trusts Henry to keep his two braincells together for long enough to not forget the salt or something.” “Excuse?!” Not only Henry was APPALLED by the chat, Dave joined right in. “Ya guys have NO taste. I’ll be clearly winnin’… but hey, maybe ya peeps don’t know that I plan to cheat!” Surprised Jerry looked over to Dave’s cooking station. “How… how can you cheat at cooking-“ Before he could finish his sentence, he shrieked as Dave pulled out a flamethrower. “HELL YEAH BABY, I AIN’T WAITING 30 MINUTES FOR SOMETHING TO COOK IN THE OVEN, I’LL BE DONE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES MAX!” “W-WAIT THAT DOESN’T SEEM SAVE-“ Henry just raised his hands, cheerful. “Ready… set…” The Phone Guy made eye- well, rotary- contact with Jeremy, slightly raising a fire extinguisher that was by his side. … alright, it seemed the people here were well-prepared for this scenario. So instead he focused on the ingredients in front of him. Almost manic, Henry’s voice rang. “GO!” And… … that was it! Some joined, with amazing results- Mike rubbed his face. “Who thought that was a great idea. I fucking hate this.” Dave next to him on the couch just grinned. “It’s amazin’ what these websites all offer to sell. You won’t be BELIEVIN’ what’s in this box!” “I’M NOT OPENING IT.” “YOU WILL. OTHERWISE IT’LL HUNT YOUR DREAMS. I’LL PUT THIS BOX NEXT TO YOUR BED. YOUR TOILET. ONTO YOUR DINNER TABLE. INTO THE FRIDGE. I’LL ORDER MORE OF THESE BOXES.” “Jesus CHRIST, calm DOWN-“ “I WILL FIGHT YA TO THE DEATH OLD PAL-“ - and some people just went back to the usual pattern, with the occasional raid from Fazbear Entertainment. They asked first, of course. Each of them fulfilled their own niche, each of them had caught Henry’s and Dave’s attention in one way or another. Henry and Dave however- Well, Dave was the varied creator. Henry liked his niche. He played horror, investigated ARGs, read stories about real and fictional crimes against humanity. The world was a terrible place, wasn’t it? Yet he reveled in it. Aside from that he showed extra effects, he built machines and thought everyone one or another thing about creating special effects at home. From dry ice to genuinely ridiculous chain-reactions, Henry showed them it all. Blood too, multiple forms of it, depending on how and where it would be used. Sometimes breaking it off with more light-hearted one-off games and listening to what his community wanted to see… but the most comfortable he was with horror and analysis. He was a youtuber, a streamer, a content creator… … and one thing more. It wasn’t easy to find the code. But his intended audience were a very small amount of people. A small number of strangers. There was no way to know if anyone ever made it to more than one show, but Henry did not care. It wasn’t for them that he did this. Him and William moved down, down below the set, into the lowest regions of the house. The workshop. Nobody really question why you added what to your home if you were a creative person. Even less so if you were a famous, eccentric creator. Yes, the free reign was what he REALLY loved about his job. Maybe he should build his studio somewhere else- But like this it was so much more thrilling! Wordlessly both of them put on their suits. It would hide their identity perfectly- especially the animal heads that contorted their voices a bit. Enough. Today’s participant wore a mask too- another phone head, differently made, different style, but to hide their identity too. However, the voice was in no way muffled. Panicked the person dragged on the chains keeping them attached to the chair. “H-HELLO!? HELLO!? S-SOMEONE- IS SOMEONE HERE!?” A noisy one! Delightful! Both Fredbear and Springbonnie stepped out of the shadows, one form each side. While Springbonnie put his hands gently on the shoulders of the whimpering person, Fredbear stepped in front of the camera, bowing. “Ladies and gentlemen-“ The low voice sounded more like the one of an animal than from a person. Yet it was smooth and comforting. “- I welcome you to yet another installment of our show. I am Fredbear, and over there is my wonderful assistant, Springbonnie. Today we have brought a simple stranger, a nobody who might not even be missed. Thusly I encourage you to truly be creative with your ideas. And while your votes roll in, maybe I point out that next time we will have another little game-show, with quite the effects. We might even get a real bull! You will not want to miss it.” The board above the camera blinked up, as a bitter fight of votes started, everyone wanting to see something else. Three tiers to vote on! Foreplay (light injuries), main course (heavy injury leading to death) and of course what to do with the body. Below it was a little measure for “face reveal”. Some of their viewers really enjoyed seeing the expressions during and after. It came with a risk to Fredbear and Springbonnie, as the victim being recognizable meant their general area of activity was more obvious- thus it was incredibly expensive. They knew there was every now and again law enforcement mixed up between the genuine watchers. It was thrilling too- Yet Fredbear wanted to keep this game alive as long as he could. Thus it was important to hide what they could. Fredbear was a creator first and foremost, an entertainer second- And there was nothing that attracted an HONEST, an UNRESTRAINED, a PURE audience quite like violence. Once blood spilled, humans degraded and it was wonderful. Behind him, the victim began rattling even more erratic. “WHAT- WHAT IS THIS?! LET ME OUT- PLEASE- LET ME OUT- PLEASE- I- DIDN’T DO ANYTHING-“ Burying his hands into the shoulders of Springbonnie downright cackled, enjoying the mania that always accumulated in these situation. “Be still, new friend! The audience HATES too much whining, y’know? And at least you could die with your tongue still intact, wouldn’t that be nicer than having to swallow the thing? Once it almost killed someone, boy, that sure was a bother!” His voice was changed to a cartoonish, upbeat pitch- “While the votes come in, how about we quiz today’s friend… maybe if you are smart enough, they will want you to live! It happened before… o n c e.” Fredbear took out a long scalpel, the face a morbid grimace. “Surprise us!”

[franklyshipping]

Never Underestimate Them ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

THIS IS A SNAZZY AWESOME PROMPT FROM A SNAZZY AWESOME ANON! Just fyi this does reference violence, but mostly at the beginning sooooOOOO LEEET'S GET TO IT!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @yandere-ipli-ler

There was always a fire of some kind blazing in Yandere's eyes, except today you could see real fire reflected inside them as Yan tended to the hearth. It was one of Yandere's favourite things to do, coaxing the sparks, tending to the coals, feeling the heat build. Yandere didn't see it as a chore, they just loved it. They were humming to themselves as they set the poker down, watching the flames dance as the crackle filled the room, making the atmosphere simply sublime.

'Ohhhh what a day!'

Yandere pursed their lips, but smiled when they turned to see Anti flopping down on the couch behind them, cleaning one of his knives which had a rather suspicious amount of crimson on the blade. Yandere raised an amused eyebrow.

'Someone's been causing trouble I see.'

Anti grinned toothily, giggling a little before donning an innocent expression as he replied.

'They started it! They accused me of cheating at the card table and got their undies in a bunch!'

'Uh huh....'

Yan mused, folding their arms as they purred.

'DID you cheat?'

That made Anti purse his lips and glance at Yan for a moment, before averting his gaze and mumbling like a kid who was fibbing about starting a fight in the playground.

'.....maybe.'

'Anti!'

'Whaaat?! They were scum anyway, they deserved to be taught a lesson!'

Yandere huffed, standing up and un-creasing their red tartan skirt before putting their hands on their hips in an attempt to be reprimanding.

'You better not have gone all the way, you KNOW how fussy Dark gets if he has to clean up after you!'

Anti gasped, as if offended, and looked up at Yan with his mouth wide open.

'Do I look like an amateur to you? And since when do you have the right to lecture me on this, you've barely even flicked someone aggressively in the last month!'

Anti sneered, not maliciously though, because honestly whenever Yandere or Anti did something remotely kind, each of them would tease the other about them going soft, every single time. At his words, Yandere narrowed their eyes and bent at the hips a tad so that they were leaning over him.

'I am inches away from a hot poker, don't tempt me to break my clean streak!'

Anti faked a fearful shiver, before smirking.

'Oh! You have terrified me into submission!'

Yandere growled at Anti's sneering sarcasm and was grateful for the ping of their timer going off in the kitchen to let them know their red velvet cupcakes were ready; on the downside though....the kitchen and living area was open plan, so they couldn't escape Anti's taunting even as they removed their baked goods.

'I'm serious! If I had boots on I'd SO be quaking in them!'

Yandere pursed their lips, purposefully ignoring the glitch and focusing on getting their cupcakes onto wire racks so they could cool down. Anti was leaning backwards over the couch, giggling as he continued.

'Wow, not even a comeback? I knew you were going soft, but aren't you even gonna defend your honour?'

Yandere rolled their eyes, huffing out a laugh as they took off their oven gloves and set their gaze on Anti as they sneered.

'Why should I, I mean, it's not as if your opinion even means anything.'

Anti's eyes widened as he developed a grin, now THAT was more like it! He vaulted over the back of the couch, sauntering over to the kitchen side of the room until only the kitchen counter pod separated him and Yandere from one another. Anti set his knife down before leaning against the counter, smirking at the prospect of more banter.

'That may be true...but you still can't deny facts. Look at you, baking cupcakes on a weekend because you have nothing else to do! I remember when you itch for a fix of....well....ruthlessness.'

Yandere raised an eyebrow, starting to pace around the counter, their crimson nails dragging across the granite as they purred.

'You can be ruthless without causing pain....if you can't see that then I truly pity your tiny, unimaginative brain....'

Anti straightened up, narrowing his eyes at the insult whilst also starting to feel curious. He knew he'd most likely regret it, but he so badly wanted to know what Yandere was alluding to with their cryptic words. Yandere was waiting for him to reply with a sly smile in place....dammit, he had to know.

'....alright, I'll bite. How can you be ruthless without pain?'

Yandere nibbled their bottom lip, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through them as they finally reached Anti. Their eyes met as Yandere purred.

'Oh I'm so glad that you asked....please....'

Anti's breath hitched nervously when Yandere suddenly gripped his bicep.

'....allow me to show you what I mean.'

Anti tried to hide how nervous he was, but with Yan's tight grip on his arm and the sneering smile growing on their face....now he was starting to regret suggesting that Yandere had gone soft. That regret set in more promptly however when Yan suddenly, and with alarming strength, hauled the man over the back of the couch and forced him down onto it on his front. Anti spluttered and grunted as his face was buried in a cushion, but by the time he tilted his head to free his face, Yan had planted themselves on the small of his back....securely.

'If your plan is to smother me then that's not really imaginati-woah c-careful where y-you putting your hands!'

Anti started off relatively smooth and snide....until he felt Yandere's hands slide to his sides; they didn't do anything, they merely rested there, but Yandere smirked....since for some reason, Anti had grown rather tense at their action.

'Ihi'm not doing anything sweetie, what's wrong?'

Anti pursed his lips, growling lowly at their badly faked tone of innocence as he twitched. Yes, Yandere's hands may not have been moving or doing anything but they were still there, touching him, touching his nerves in a manner that made his whole system tense up in defensive anticipation. It's not that Anti was sensitive or anything....he just got defensive easily....that was all!

'W-Well y-you're invading my personal s-space!'

Anti exclaimed indignantly as he struggled, but with his arms pinned beneath him and Yandere sat on him, it was useless. Yandere smirked at his stammered speech, knowing damn well how they were affecting him with their ''casual'' touch. They hummed, absently and slowly rubbing Anti's sides as they replied.

'Oh I'm EVER so sorry....but you see, I've gotten rather comfortable, you don't mind too much do you?'

Anti gritted his teeth, smiling into the couch cushion under his head as he grunted and let out a little hiss through his teeth; plus, he now started talking very quickly for some reason.

'I-It's fine okay whatever, you wanna be comfy th-thehen f-fine, s-so are you g-gohonna explain y-your ruthlessness w-wihithout pain thing o-or what?'

Anti was hoping that Yandere was simply being briefly annoying to get him of his high horse before they explained themselves....but Anti didn't fathom that Yandere's teasing touches were about to develop into so much more. Yandere grinned a feral grin as they leant down to whisper in Anti's ear.

'Oho you silly, silly boy....I am showing you.'

Anti's eyes widened. Before he could try and glitch away whilst he still had the energy and focus to do so, Yandere's sharp nails were skittering fast at his sides; Anti's cackling soon followed.

'WOHOHOAH HEYHEYHEY DOHON'T YOHOU DAHARE!'

Yandere snickered, their crimson eyes gleaming as they skittered, scratched and purred.

'With all the things I've done, do you really think a giggly warning from you is going to do anything?'

Yandere focused their scratching in the dips of Anti's sides, which made Anti cackle harder as he squeezed his eyes shut. He was head-butting the couch cushion and arching his back, just trying to struggle and do anything to distract himself from how much it tickled him.

'THIHIHIHIS IHIHIS DUHUHUHUMB!!'

Anti cried, filled with embarrassment at his ticklishness of all things being exploited. At his cry, Yandere raised an amused eyebrow.

'Is it? It seems rather effective to me, you already seem like less of an arrogant ass.'

Yandere giggled with a hint of arrogance of their own, which made Anti growl through his mirth....but he couldn't even BEGIN to look angry because of how much he was smiling.

'YOHOHOU'RE AHA BIHITCH!!'

Yandere smirked, since frankly they took that as a compliment. Their scratches at Anti's sides were so fast now that their fingers were practically a blur as they sneered through their reply.

'Takes one to know one, glitch bitch.'

Now, Anti was shrieking. Not just from the insane speed of Yandere's tickling, but also from hearing Yandere use that awful, embarrassing nickname against him! His cheeks were hot, his form was writhing, and his face was screwed up with desperation.

'NAHAHAHA YAHAHAHAHAN!!'

Yandere giggled, and let their fingers slip away from their targets for the moment; Yandere didn't want to bring Anti to the end of his tether quite yet, they did have a point to prove after all.

'Doing alright down there?'

Anti groaned amidst his panting, Yandere's query allowing his embarrassment to still rage as he replied.

'Nohohoho....'

Even as he giggled residually, Anti had his head bowed, and soon enough he'd developed quite the flustered frown. Well, Yandere was absolutely NOT going to have that!

'Awww what's with that frown? You looked so happy just a second ago!'

Yandere cooed, which spurred Anti to growl and tilt his head so he could fix them with a glare....which only served to tell Yan that Anti was well recovered from that first bout of tickles. Yandere slipped their fingers down to where Anti's jeans had slipped by just a few millimetres, which had allowed his pale hipbones to become exposed; Yandere decided that tracing them would be a good thing to do.

'Is that your angry puppy impression? Daaaawww shall we turn that wittle frown upside dooown?'

Yandere was eager to coax out Anti's mirth once more, but it seemed that the glitch had decided to be a little more defiant. After an initial snort, he'd bitten his bottom lip and started forcing his impending giggles away, only releasing the bare minimum. After being called a damn puppy AND being cooed at, he wasn't going let Yan get what they wanted so easily!

'N-N-Noho....'

Yandere nibbled their own bottom lip with giddy glee, oh how they loved breaking people! In the nicest possible way of course. They softly drew circles against his hipbones with the very tips of their nails, adoring watching Anti tremble with ticklishness.

'I bet this tickles you so bad.....it might not feel as bad if you just let yourself laaaugh....'

They cooed, keeping up the gentle, teasing treatment as Anti frantically shook his head. He could feel the titters building inside him, begging to be released, but he couldn't let himself succumb!

'I-Iwon'tIwon'tIwohon't! Y-Youcan'tmakeme!'

Yandere laughed at that. A full on joyous, mirthful laugh they made them throw their head back....whilst Anti tried to hide his face more because hearing Yandere laugh at him like that was more flustering than he ever could have fathomed. Then their reply came into play, and Anti REALLY knew the feeling of utter flusteredness.

'Mahake you? I don't need to make you! I know if I just keep this up, this softness, you'll break down aaall by yourself.....pretty ruthless, don't you think?'

Anti squirmed as his fists, trapped under his own body, clenched with his embarrassed frustration. Every scrape, every trace of Yandere's nails just chipped away at him a little more....he knew Yandere was right. It was getting to him more and more as second after agonising second passed by; Anti even started to whimper.

'Sh-shutupshutup!'

Yandere smirked.

'I'd like to see you make me.'

Anti whined through gritted teeth, because he knew damn well he barely had enough energy to even struggle properly now. Anti had had a shred of hope inside him, hope that Yandere would get bored of the gentleness....but the tracing just didn't stop; thus, Anti broke.

'Gahahad d-dahahamit stahahappit plehease stahahappit!'

Anti's giggles were frantic and high pitched as a smile spread across his face, which made Yandere snicker with satisfaction.

'But I'm barely doing anything! Surely a ruthless man like yourself can handle some simple tracing?' 

'Ihihihi cahan't ohohokahay Ihihi cahahan't!'

....yep, you heard right, Anti DID just admit that. He was a little shocked himself, frankly he was mortified at his own confession, but with the gentle torture draining him he didn't have the capacity to even take it back. Yandere had a shred of mercy once more, allowing Anti gasp and try to regain some sense of thought, whilst of course being very genuinely sympathetic.

'You poor, poor boy....if you couldn't handle that, then I imagine this will REALLY break you.'

.....look I said shred of mercy okay! Plus, it had only been gentle tickling, so Anti had some semblance of good lung capacity and such-like....until Yandere scratched the backs of his thighs with reckless abandon that is. 

'NAHAHAHA STAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHA!!!'

Anti was a shrieking, babbling mess. His usual crow's nest of hair looked like a seriously strewn mop-head whilst his blush crept all the way down to his neck, his wild, scratching laughter streaming from him as Yandere's lips parted in gleeful shock. They weren't even scratching that hard, AND Anti was wearing his skinny jeans, so it wasn't like he was completely unprotected.

'Wohow, since when were you this ticklish? Have you been holding out on me?'

Yandere gasped dramatically, but Anti could only wail and wail with his wide eyes and wide mouth....he answered in his head though. He answered yes in his mind because, aside from right now, he'd always worked to try and maintain some form of dignity, to hide to certain tickle spots and to always be ready for an attack. Now though, he had no semblance of control, and was just hysterical, his body twitching and glitching as his nervous system became overrun by the sensations. To be frank, he couldn't handle it.

'PLEHEHEHEHEEEEASE!!!'

Yandere twisted their lips a tad....ohhh there was nothing the wanted more than to carry on and see how deep and intense Anti's ticklishness really meant....well, except, there was ONE thing they wanted more. Their friend's comfort. Yandere decided that in depth exploration would most likely be better at another time when Anti's energy was full. So after beg after beg after beg, Yandere lifted their fingers up and away from the backs of Anti's thighs; now it was definitely time for MORE than a shred of mercy.

'Alright, alright I'm done! I assume you now see that I was right about my point on ruthlessness?'

Anti just nodded. Nodded and let out incoherent whines as his body slumped as his teary eyes blinked and twitched, it was almost as if the treatment he'd received was rather ruthless. He didn't even move when Yandere got off of him because of how exhausted he was, and there he lay, for probably a good twenty minutes until he heard the shuffling noise that signified Yan coming back over to him. What spurred Anti to push himself into a sitting position however, was not Yandere per say, but actually what Yandere was carrying. Namely a platter of fully frosted cupcakes. Yandere giggled fondly when Anti snatched two and wolfed them down, smiling bashfully; after a few moments, he mumbled.

'I guess....non-painful stuff c-can be uh....canberuthless....'

Anti pursed his lips as he hurried through his last few words, he couldn't believe he'd been fricking bested! Meanwhile, Yandere gigged and plopped down on the couch, leaning into their friend who spend the next half an hour alternating between brushing crumbs off himself and brushing away the after tingles from the most amazingly ruthless torture that he'd ever had the good fortune of experiencing.

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Joker (Suicide Squad)

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Boy oh boy, talking about the Joker is always fun! Who are we talking about this time? We’ve covered Ledger’s creepy anarchist and Nicholson’s unhinged mobster, so who do we have left? Romero’s madcap clown? Hamill’s multimedia masterpiece performance? Maybe Joaquin Phoenix’s fresh new take on the most iconic villain in comics?

No… sigh… we’re talking about Jared Leto. Might as well get him out of the way. And while this is certainly not a Joker I like dwelling on, I think there is a fair deal to discuss in regards to this incarnation the Joker, in particular why he fails as a take on Batman’s most famous enemy and what could have been done to fix him, because really, it would not have been hard to make this Joker work.

Actor: Jared Leto is not necessarily a bad actor, but he is certainly not the kind of guy you’d expect to play someone like the Joker. Sure, one of his most famous roles is in Fight Club where he gets his face pulverized, so we know he’s good at getting the crap kicked out of him (a requirement for being the archenemy of a superhero who loves to beat up criminals), but that was a minor role. Here he’s taking on the one comic book villain that even people who have never read a comic could probably name, and I just don’t think someone who is better in supporting roles could pull it off.

Not helping his case is his extremely creepy on-set behavior, where he method acted in incredibly disturbing ways to the point he harassed his costars. Even more baffling is that all the weird, edgy stories of his method acting showed he had no understanding of who Joker is as a character; Joker is not some weird, cringey stalker who sends people dead rats, he’s an unhinged madman who would probably bake a dead rat cake and send it to someone’s house with a bomb inside that would explode at their kid’s birthday, raining dead rats everywhere, all because the kid’s dad cut in front of him at the grocery store. 

In all honesty, Leto is probably the biggest problem because of this. It’s the same problem Eisenberg had as Lex Luthor: he doesn’t understand or care about the character he’s playing, and it shows, because it is almost entirely off the rails from what one would expect, and not in a good way.

Motivation/Goals: The Joker in film typically has the goal of causing a ruckus, overturning society in some way, or just being evil in general… but with a fun twist. Joker is always supposed to do stuff because it amuses him. Nicholson’s Joker got this down the best, but even Ledger’s anarchist take on the character got this down extremely well.  Here though, Joker is pretty much a bit player in the story, and his entire purpose in the narrative is showcasing Harley’s origin and then showing him coming to rescue her. That’s about the extent of his being in the film: he exists solely to help Harley break free from captivity, which he fails to do until the very end of the film.

This is disappointing in an extremely obvious way: this is THE JOKER. This is a character who demands to be the center of attention. This is a character who hijacked the plot of every single one of the best Batman video games ever made. This is a villain who just won’t die. This is the archenemy to end all archenemies, and yet here in this film he’s playing second fiddle to a CGI witch. A lot of his scenes were apparently cut, which makes things even worse, because we could have perhaps had a better grasp of who he is. As is, Joker is really nothing but a satellite love interest to Harley.

Personality: What little we see from this Joker is mostly unappealing. He’s creepy, he’s crazy, he’s strange, but a lot of it feels recycled from other Jokers and not a unique spin put on by Leto. However, there is one aspect of the character that is truly great and deserving of praise: this Joker almost certainly genuinely loves Harley Quinn, in his own demented way. Finally, an adaptation brings Joker and Harley’s relationship back from “romanticized domestic abuse” to the Mad Love it excelled at being. The director’s cut actually added in a little bit more to really showcase these two do love each other, as crazy as the two of them get. It’s like the saying goes: She was fearless, and crazier than him. She was his queen, and God help anyone who disrespected his queen.

Final Fate: They make it look like Joker dies in a helicopter crash… but it’s Joker. You can count on one hand the amount of times his death actually sticks in any continuity. He survived and busts Harley out at the end, ending the film on a kind of sweet note, honestly. 

Too bad it’s one that’s doomed to be undermined by later films, as Birds of Prey is almost certainly going to have Harley kicking Mr. J to the curb and Jared Leto is seemingly cut from the DCEU, and even if he wasn’t it’s doubtful he’d ever be able to get out of Joaquin Phoenix’s shadow at this point. I can’t even jokingly say “Press F to pay respects” here, because neither I nor anyone else respects Jared Leto in the slightest anyway. 

Best Scene: I’m a bit fond of the scene where he dives into the chemicals with Harley, if only because it really reinforces that their love, while utterly insane, is genuine in their own twisted way. I honestly really like this take on their relationship.

Best Quote: This entire exchange, because as corny and silly as it all is, again, it reinforces what I think worked with Joker:

The Joker: Question! Would you die for me?

Harley: Yes.

The Joker: That's too easy. Would you... Would you live for me? Hmm?

Harley: Yes.

The Joker: Careful. Do not say this oath thoughtlessly! Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power. You want this?

Harley: I do.

The Joker: Say it. Say it. Say it. Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty...

Harley: ...Please?

The Joker: God, you're so... good.

Final Thoughts & Score: Jared Leto’s Joker gets a lot of flak for things such as his design, his mannerisms, the overall performance… and I can’t really argue with much of that. While the base design isn’t terrible, the overdone tattoos, particularly the infamous “Damaged” tattoo, really don’t feel much like the Joker. His mannerisms for the most part just don’t scream Joker either, or at least not a particularly new or interesting take on him. And, overall, the performance in general is weak, lackluster, and inconsequential to the film as a whole. I believe even the director has stated Joker would have made for a better antagonist than the magical Enchantress, and frankly I have to agree, especially since it would have given Leto’s Joker more screentime as well as a more grounded threat for the Squad to face on their first mission. Really, considering most of the characters are just normal people with highly trained skillsets or mild mutations, wouldn’t it make more sense for them to fight off an insane gang leader clown rather than an interdimensional witch demon bringing about the apocalypse?

Combine that with what little is good about him in the actual film – namely, his genuine affection for Harley – and it may have actually made for a good, compelling plotline, with a conflicted Harley forced to choose between an insane relationship she loves and her newfound ragtag group of wacky friends. Not only would it have strengthened Harley and Joker’s roles in the narrative, it would have almost certainly given a better lead in to Birds of Prey. Leto’s Joker could have had more of a chance to exert his charm over Harley and perhaps even be more of an intimidating presence on the screen, maybe even use some classic Joker gags. As I said at the start, this character would have been seriously easy to fix. Just clean up the costume, give some better direction, and let him have a more central role that naturally creates conflict while allowing the Squad to develop closer bonds with each other.

Joker shockingly gets a 2/10. Yeah, I don’t think this is the worst abomination ever put to film, and honestly, even among bad comic book villains he’s nowhere near as bad as someone like Malekith, Weapon XI, or Fant4astic Doom; at the very least, this Joker has some redeeming qualities to him that I can’t ignore. He’s certainly one of the worst adaptations of the characters ever, but still, credit where credit is due, he does some things right. It was all just mishandled, as often things were in regards to the DCEU at the time.

[potterandpreferences]

47 + 52 with Spence? ❤️

Prompt List

I set out to write this as a happy piece and then this happened 🙈 Hope you enjoy it! It's not set in any particular season.

47. What on Earth is that smell?

52. I'm sorry for your loss.

It had been eight days, sixteen hours and twelve minutes since you had last seen Spencer. He was currently on a case, far from local, and it was the longest you had been apart since you had moved in together. You understood that his job was important but it really sucked that despite having the same home address, it sometimes felt as if you were in a long-distance relationship. You had no idea how army wives and husbands did it, because you were reaching levels of stress that were far from healthy and Spencer had only been gone a fraction of a time their spouses were overseas.

As it was you had, for all intents and purposes, started nesting. The winter blankets you'd brought over from your old apartment were divided between the bedroom and the living room sofa, Spencer's pillow became a feature of whichever room you were snuggled up in, and you had cleaned the flat. Extensively.

Unfortunately, you'd run out of things to clean and you were in an upwards, restless phase of your stress cycle. You had to do something, because you couldn't just sit and stare at a clock without your worried thoughts driving you insane.

The best solution you could come up with was the bake. You knew Spencer would be home soon - he'd mentioned they were wrapping the case up the last time you spoke - and maybe he would like a fresh batch of cookies to come home too? It would surely cheer him up. No doubt a case that lasted eight days for the BAU team was horrific. And once you had baked, there would be more to clean.

Now normally, making a batch of cookies would be simple. You'd done it before, even as a child, so you knew perfectly well that biscuits were within the realm of your baking capabilities.

This was not the impression that Spencer got when he walked into the flat that evening. His nose wrinkled even before he crossed the threshold of the front door, the smell of burnt something hanging in the air despite the open windows he could see. But there was something sweet mixed in with the bitter scent, and he was sure he could smell gingerbread.

"What on Earth is that smell?" He called out, in way of greeting. It wasn't what he wanted to come home to, not really, but he was just so glad to see you that it amused him that something had gone wrong in the kitchen more than anything. Of course, that amused grin slipped away the moment he saw you wrapped up in several blankets on the sofa, leaning on the pillows from the bed, eating a tub of your favourite ice cream as tears trickled down your cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart, what's happened?" His tone was soothing, breaking you out of your miserable trance as you noticed for the first time that he was home. You perked up a bit, snuggling into his side as best you could when he perched on the arm of the sofa next to you.

His fingers slipped into your hair, softly massaging your scalp just the way you liked. You ate another spoonful of ice cream before answering his questioning, fighting back a new round of tears.

"I wanted to make cookies but they went wrong, so I tried to make another batch and they got burnt," you sniffled. You really had tried so hard to make a good batch but your attention kept slipping and you couldn't concentrate on what the recipe instructions were.

"When it became clear that cookies weren't gonna work, I bought some gingerbread men from the shop but by the time I got home they were broken. I think the ice cream fell on them," you added, glumly continuing to comfort eat even if the waterworks had stopped.

Spencer knew it wasn't right to laugh - the fact he could see you were wearing one of his cardigans and that your socks were mismatched were indicators enough that you had been particularly stressed and worried while he wad away - but you just looked so young and innocent. If your biggest upset in a day was that the biscuits you'd been attempting to make were burnt then he was a happy man.

"You know my team will always look out for me, right?" He reminded you gently, understanding that your irrational upset had fundamentally been caused by anxiety over him. "They'll always make sure I come home safe. Safer than the gingerbread men, anyway," he teased lightly, pressing a fond kiss to your forehead.

"Being silly," you muttered, pressing your forehead into Spencer's side in embarrassment. He'd been on scores of cases since you first met and you had never gotten this worked up.

Spencer frowned. "Hey, hey. Look at me, Y/N." He waited until your eyes met his, his hands cupping your face tenderly. "It's not silly. I do some stupid things when I get worried about you, too. That time we had a case in D.C. and you were in the city centre for work? I was a mess. Derek had to stop me putting salt in my coffee on more than one occasion and Emily had to double check I was labelling things correctly on the geographical profile."

You giggled slightly at that, enjoying the image of Spencer drinking salty coffee while someone else checked his normally faultless work. No doubt it would be horrendous, especially with the amount of sugar he tended to add, and Emily would love the bragging rights from correcting Robot Reid.

Wanting to change the subject, especially now that Spencer was home and there was no reason for you to be so worried because he was right it front of you, uninjured, you decided to tell Spencer what your biggest concern was in that instance.

"There's no more ice cream," you said, surprised and mildly impressed that you had eaten an entire tub without realising it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," your oh so loving boyfriend replied as he stood up, taking the empty tub to the kitchen. He was happy to move on from the conversation now that you'd stopped crying. Besides, he didn't need to talk about what your currently mental health was like. His profiling skills were for more than just catching unsubs. "I'm sure there's more in the- How many gingerbread men did you buy?!"

[afabdisasterq]

Time Well Spent

Who: Quinn Fabray & Rachel Berry

When: 7/22 ; Morning > Afternoon

Where: Quinn’s apartment

What: Rachel brings Quinn breakfast and things get weird

Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Rape, Abuse, Pregnancy, Miscarriage/Loss Of Child, NSFW SEXY TIMES

Rachel is over thinking this, she knows it is too much and Quinn is not looking for over the top effort but she can’t help it. She grabs different pastries and a few bagels with different spreads and she grabs two coffee and tea before making her way to Quinn and Duke’s apartment.

She dials Quinn’s number and asks for her help with the door and waits for her to let her inside.

Quinn has barely managed to change into something more comfortable when she gets the call from Rachel to let her in. Duke definitely isn't home, which isn't all that unusual. He often goes home with men and then just showers and changes at work. Instead of trekking home and then having to hurry. Which meant that it would just be Quinn and Rachel. Which was slightly terrifying but Quinn tried not to think about it.

Heading downstairs, she's quiet, even as she pulls the door open for Rachel to let her in. The other woman has definitely gone above and beyond what was even remotely required but she wasn't surprised by it. This was Rachel, overdoing it was in her blood, Quinn was sure. She takes some of it off Rachel's hands and then leads her upstairs, still quiet as ever until they finally make it to the apartment. "Guess it's good to know you're still over the top." She teases quietly.

Rachel can’t help but blush at Quinn’s comment, closing the door behind her. “I’m not sure something like that could just change about me. Grand gestures are kind of my thing.” She winks and finds a table to set her things down.

"Grand anything is kinda your things." Quinn laughs a bit, shaking her head. "What all did you even bring?" There's so much there and she can't entirely fathom what all she's looking at. Not that she minds, it means more food for later on. It's just way more than she even remotely expected.

“I got a few croissants, bagels, muffins, I think there is a scone and a donut.” Rachel laughs. “And two large coffees.” She grabs a muffin for herself and one of the coffees. “So was the night slow?”

Quinn shook her head with a laugh. Rachel had brought a truly insane amount of food. She grabbed a couple croissants and a muffin before wandering into the kitchen to grab a mug and then filled it with milk. It was too early in the morning or late at night, really, to be drinking coffee. "Extremely."

“Are you much of a tv watcher? What do you normally do with your mornings if you’re not sleeping?”

"I watch Netflix sometimes? Watch a lot of like cooking and baking shows. But I kinda blame Duke on that." She shrugs. "Days off usually see me at the library honestly. If I can't sleep I'll maybe go bug Duke at work."

“The library? What are reading at the moment?” Rachel didn’t pay much attention to cooking shoes but she does think it would be good background noise. “We could sit on the couch and watch one of these baking shows?”

"I'm not actually reading anything. It's just a good place to work." Quinn shrugs. She was working on a graphic novel, though sometimes just spent her time drawing the people she saw around her or writing random stories. All depended on how she was feeling on any particular day. "We can, yeah. If you want. But if I fall asleep on you it's not my fault."

“It is rather quiet at libraries isn’t it?” Rachel sits on the couch and sits Indian style. “I see nothing wrong with naps Quinn. Do what you need to do. I’m happy to just be here.”

"They're a little louder in the summer cos all the kids are out of school and the library tends to have programs for the kids. But ultimately, yes." Quinn joins Rachel on the couch, knees pulled up underneath her. She laughs. "I fall asleep I'm not likely to wake until dinner, and that's if we're lucky." Truth was, if she managed to sleep in the coming days she was entirely likely to sleep through work, though Duke came home early enough to be able to call her out of work and get someone to cover her, even if it meant he worked the door so the bouncer could work the bar.

“Oh, that’s right. I did a little singing thing a couple years ago at the big public library. There were so many kids. I hope they’re all doing some reading as well as finding solace.”

Rachel’s eyes widen, “So you just don’t ever sleep?”

Quinn nodded a bit as Rachel spoke. It didn't really surprise her that Rachel had done such. "Lately, yeah. I haven't slept more than an hour or two in like a week? Maybe two? Normally I'll get home from work and lay down. If I'm lucky I'll actually sleep for a bit but the nightmares have been hell lately and sleep  just hasn't worked in my favor."

“I feel like something needs to change. I don’t know what it is but I’m going to figure it out. You need to sleep eventually and it needs to be peaceful sleep.” Rachel leans over. “May I hold your hand?”

"Figure out how to get rid of the nightmares that is also affordable?" Quinn shrugged, slipping her hand into Rachel's, intertwining their fingers as she did so.

“Does your body react at all when you’re sleeping? Tossing and turning? Jaw clenching? Noises?” She softly runs her fingers over her arm with the hand not in hers.

"Duke says he hears me anytime he's here. Says he hears me crying more often than he doesn't. Says I sound like I'm in pain." Quinn flinches slightly at the feeling of Rachel's finger on her arm, almost pulls away, but doesn't. She knows she needs to learn to trust again, especially the people who have done nothing to break it.

“What does he usually do?” Rachel slows herself down, knowing she overstepped. “You are in pain.”

"He doesn't do anything. He can't. I attacked him, the first and only time he tried."  Quinn sighs, looking down at her lap. "But I can't do anything about it. That's the thing. I can't, I'm not capable enough."

“Have you tried sleeping next to him? Or anyone?” She’s not sure if anything’s accurate but she’s speaking from her heart. “Like you nap right now with me and I hold you and either comfort you back to no dreams or wake you up.”

Quinn shook her head. "We've cuddled before but I can never sleep. I worry too much. I don't want to hurt anyone and... I dream about things that make being near other people dangerous, for them. I can't deliberately do that. Put other people at risk like that." It wasn't entirely true, there had been times she'd managed it, dozed off in his arms, but she woke up to him have to hold her in place until she realized it was him. She knew Rachel couldn't do that.

“Have you ever gotten stoned?” Rachel doesn’t want to push the subject but she really wanted to try cuddling her.

"No and I don't want to. I don't like the idea of not being in control. And yes, I understand I also lose some control drinking but it's a loss of control I know and am comfortable with and actually know in what ways I lose that control."

“I wasn’t going to lecture you. I actually started smoking to get some sleep. That doesn’t help everyone.” Rachel sighs, “I really want to help you. Is there anything I could do to even make you a teeny bit more relaxed?”

"I figured that, given the fact you brought it up." Quinn sighs. "I don't think there's anything you or anyone can do. I'm fucked up and I have to deal with the consequences of trying to bottle it up. Trying to pretend none of it ever happened. Trying to pretend like I shouldn't have gotten away sooner."

“But that’s really not how it has to be. It can’t be. Nobody deserves to live with this much pain. Can I play with your hair or rub your back? I’m good at painting toes and washing hair. I will try everything if it means it might help.”

Quinn sighed, she was so tired. Talking about all this wasn't helping either. "Don't I, though? I could have gotten out. I could have walked away. But instead I held on and it took him walking out to realize how fucked up I was."  Quinn slumped a bit and then moved lay her head in Rachel's lap, adjusting their hands as she did so, so she didn't have to let go. "You're too sweet, y'know that?" She reached up with her free hand and bopped Rachel gently on the nose.

“That’s not how it works Quinn. Sure it feels that way but you were made to feel that. You’ve settled on that being the truth.” She can never stop talking. It’s no wonder she lost her voice. 

“I’m not sweet Quinn. I just really care about you.” She feels herself getting choked up

"Please, I didn't settle on shit. That's how it is, that's how it's been. Karma's a bitch and that's all this is." She grumbles. "You are sweet. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. You caring about me is far more a side effect of that than the other way round."

“You’ve never been dealt the best hand and yet you persisted and you survived. What’s been done is not a product of you and really, neither is a lot of the things you did that you deem bad.” 

Rachel tries to lower her voice at least, but isn’t doing the best job. “I want to play with your hair please.”

"I literally took out my shit on everybody around me, for years. How can you tell me this isn't fucking karma?" She huffs and rolls onto her side, still not letting go of Rachel's hand, instead actually pulling it to her. "You have another hand. This one is mine."

Rachel just nods in compliance. Her free hand moves through the woman’s hair gently. Careful not to snag or scratch. It helps Rachel relax too. “Karma isn’t real Quinn.”

Quinn relaxes a little as Rachel's fingers start to move through her hair. "Says you."

“What does that even mean, says me?” She continues playing, happy to be this close to her.

"Says you. Just cos you don't believe in it doesn't mean it's not real. It's like God or ghosts or some shit like that." Her words are a little slurred, the sheer amount of exhaustion and alcohol in her system coming to the surface.

“Okay. That’s fair. Just relax. I really like playing with your hair it makes me feel really calm.” Rachel squeezes her hand.

Quinn just sighs, settling a little further. "Thought this was 'bout me."

“Well it is. It’s just s perk it helps me too. I would never do this for my own pleasure.”

Quinn hums a bit. While she's not 100% sure she believes her, she doesn't have the energy to argue it. Everything over the past few weeks has left her drained and the inability to sleep and the uptake in alcohol hadn't helped either.

“Do you trust me, even a little bit?” Rachel murmurs, squeezing her hand to the beat of her own heart. “Rest. If you can. I’m here.”

"I don't know. " Her words were quiet but sincere. She didn't know. While Rachel had done nothing to betray the trust she had, so much had happened that made it hard for Quinn to tell. The only person she knew she trusted with any certainty was Duke.

“Okay.” Rachel pulls away. She didn’t want to go back on any of the progress she feels she has made with her. “I’ll just sit here.”

Quinn huffs when Rachel pulls away. "Didn't say stop."

“It seems the easiest and safest way to not upset you.”

"I got into this position willingly, don't change my mind." She's huffy now.

“I’m just supposed to jump for you? Is that what you want?” She’s teasing, though she’d jump any time she was told to. “Come back.”

"You were doing the thing and then stopped because you thought I didn't want it." She'd just started to get up before flopping back into Rachel's lap, this time, facing in towards Rachel, nuzzling her stomach.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She murmurs, hands moving back into her hair. “I wish I could sing to you.”

"You understand the words, 'no' and 'stop' and I know how to use them when I need to." Quinn muttered as she relaxed against Rachel. "I wish you could too. I've missed your voice."

“I understand.” Rachel reassures. “I’ve missed you. I’m so grateful to be holding you right now.” She sniffles, just playing with Quinn’s hair.

"No crying on my couch." Quinn mumbled as she heard Rachel sniffle, placing a kiss to her thigh as she rolled over onto her stomach fully, head resting on said thigh. "Your lap is much more comfortable than Duke's."

“It’s because I’m just softer than he is.” Rachel giggles, sniffling again- though it’s to keep the tears at bay. “See, I can do as I’m told.”

"Most people are softer than he is, physically anyway. He's a big softie though." Quinn laughs a little. "You like being told what to do?"

“He has to be a big softie to deal with cranky Quinn.” She leans down to kiss the top of her head. “I do. But I’m not supposed to admit to that I don’t think.”

"Big softie with the ability to hold cranky Quinn back..." Quinn sighs, nuzzling Rachel's thigh. "Why not?"

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes even.” Rachel closes her eyes, still tangled in her hair. “Because I’m Rachel Berry and I’m not supposed to submit.”

"It's worse when I'm really angry. Or when I'm not all here." She taps the side of her head with a sigh. "Who came up with that bullshit?" She could understand it, sort of, but if it's what Rachel liked, what did it matter?

“That’s What friends are for.” Rachel explains, “to help you when your brain is malfunctioning. Kurt would tell you he helped me put a sweater down during my pen malfunctions.” Her nose scrunches up. “I guess I don’t want the wrong people to know that.”

Quinn chuckles placing another kiss to Rachel's thigh. "Kurt totally did that to save the sweater and not you." She teased. "Guess that makes sense. I used to enjoy it, being told what to do, at least in certain situations. Nowadays I think I'd choke some out for trying to tell me what to do."

“He said it was ugly and I had no reason to like it.” Rachel moves a hand to cup the girls cheek. “It depends on the situation for me too. I can say I’m a little lost without Jesse there to take the lead.”

Quinn laughed. "Oh gosh."  Kurt knew his fashion, that was for sure. "So maybe he was saving you, but still." Quinn moves just enough to place a kiss to Rachel's palm. Why she was so particularly cuddly she wasn't sure, but she was comfortable so what did it matter? "I guess I liked being told what to do when I could say no and be listened to."

“I love my sweaters.” She tenses just slightly. It’s weird because she feels so relaxed. “It is supposed to be like that but some people are pigs. Think they can take what they want like they’re entitled.” She’s squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

"Is Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry without her sweaters?" Quinn teased. She sighed as Rachel spoke, returning to peppering kisses on Rachel's thigh to keep herself distracted. "Not your fault."

“No. No I’m not.” In fact she wishes she was wearing one. “Could we maybe move to a bed? I really want to hold you.”

Quinn smirked as Rachel gave her confirmation, however, she tensed at the question. "No. Bad idea." There was a sadness in her voice,  but it really wasn't something she was comfortable with. She was getting close with Duke, but she just couldn't do it. The anxiety it always seemed to cause wasn't worth it.

“Okay.” She shifts a bit and does her best to settle comfortably.

"Sorry." She mumbles, placing yet more kisses against Rachel's thigh. Quinn knows Duke would tease her mercilessly if he saw her like this, but she was comfortable. For the first time in so long, she was comfortable.

“You’d fine. Promise.” Rachel just holds her in their own special way, eventually starting to hum.

"M'kay." Quinn isn't sure she believes her, but doesn't have the energy to mention it. Instead she continues to press kisses against Rachel's thigh every so often, but mostly she just lays there, listening at first to the silence only broken by their own breathing, and then to the sound of Rachel humming. It relaxes her and her eyes close. Content, for the first time in so long, to just be.

Rachel can’t help herself, the humming, the motion of her fingers twirling in Quinn’s hair. She sinks into the couch, really allowing herself to be in the moment.

Quinn can feel herself starting to drift. The exhaustion and alcohol catching up to her. Everything catching up to her. And she nuzzles closer to Rachel, into the crease of her hip. There is something safe about this, she'd learned that with Duke. Maybe because it was something Puck had never really done. Let her just lay like this. He'd never liked cuddling as it were. And he'd always seemed to make it sexual if she tried. But with Rachel it was different, safer. Maybe because there wasn't anything there that could remind her of Puck, maybe because she knew this was Rachel who had always been safe for her. Maybe she was just too tired to care about the what ifs. No matter the reason, Quinn could feel herself drifting off to sleep,

The abrupt silence that came from her humming having stopped; as she’d fallen asleep, is what causes her to jerk. Silence was never something she could handle. “Oh no. I’m sorry.” Rachel would have been better off sleeping- she wouldn’t be waking her up if it were the case.

The jerk had Quinn almost falling out of Rachel's lap, just barely managing to grab onto Rachel, clinging to her slightly as she tried to calm herself down. There's a faint pounding in her head and she can tell she's sobering up. But as she rolls over and re-situates herself in Rachel's lap, she sighs. "I thought I told you no crying on my couch." Her voice is a little gravely as she speaks, reaching up to bop Rachel on the nose.

Rachel helps her up, offering support behind her. “I just didn’t. I didn’t mean to cry.” She wipes at her face before rubbing the top of her head. “You were sleeping and I woke you and I’m sorry I didn’t listen.

And Quinn laughs. She can't help it. Rachel is cute and she is tired and it's the easiest reaction she has, even if it increases the pounding in her head. "You didn't do it on purpose and it's not like I was having a nightmare." She sighs. "Are you okay, though? That was one hell of a spasm or whatever."

“It just got too quiet. We’re fine. You’re fine. I think maybe you should drink some water before trying to sleep again.”

Quinn groans but sits up anyway. However, she immediately regrets her decision, holding her head in her hands. "Nope. Nope. Bad idea."

“Back down, bunny.” Rachel leads her back to her lap. “I’ll get you hydrated in a bit.”

Quinn doesn't object as she lays back down. "This is why I don't do the sobering up thing." She grumbled, rubbing her temples.

“Yeah, well. It’s happening today Quinn. Since you refused my boozy coffee.” She giggles

"Oh, I could very easily fix it." Quinn grumbles, knowing a couple swigs from a bottle in the cabinet would delay the inevitable.

“Mm, I don’t see you leaving m lap anytime soon.” She whispers. “Am I right?”

And she knows Rachel is right. If she'd been looking to not sober up she'd have done it earlier. She wouldn't have let it go this long. "Maybe. "

“I’m not surprised I’m right.” She teases

Quinn doesn't know why she thought sobering up was a good idea. Maybe she thought it would let her sleep. As if the nightmares weren't worse sober. Maybe she'd just forgotten what it felt like. She doesn't know but it's too late to stop it. "You've always liked being right."

“I have but I also like being put in my place when I am wrong. No one ever does that.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow at that. "Well that's changed since high school."

“I’ve changed since high school. We both have:” She laughs

"Have I though? Have I really?" On some level she knows she has but it doesn't feel like it some days.

“I think you have.” Rachel promises, “a lot.”

Quinn sighs, closing her eyes. Something in the way Rachel says it makes her want to believe it. Maybe it's not that she doesn't but that she doesn't want to. Still wanting to pretend like everything that happened to her hadn't changed her. Hadn't effected her to that level. Hadn't happened.

“Just rest, bunny. I’ve got you.” Rachel begins to hum again.

"Bunny?" The nickname is odd. Not that she's against it, but it's still odd. She hasn't had someone call her anything of the sort in ages, if she's ever honestly had someone call her it at all.

“Second time I’ve called you Bunny. Keep up.”

"I know, but my head was spinning too much the first time." She grumbled. "Why though?"

“It just sounded right. I can stop if it would make you more comfortable.”

Quinn hummed a bit, her answer coming in the form of her turning her head, nuzzling under Rachel's shirt and placing a kiss there.

“I like that.” She whispers, ruffling the woman’s hair.

Quinn hums against Rachel's stomach, placing another couple kisses before pulling away and rolling back onto her back to look up at Rachel. "You're nice to kiss."

“It’s because I’m soft.” Rachel leans down to kiss Quinn’s forehead. “You’re soft too.”

"Girls are always softer." She mumbled, blushing a bit at the kiss to her forehead. "M'not."

“You are, just not as soft as me.” Rachel giggles.

Quinn shakes her head. She doesn't feel soft. She feels broken and hard. Like something to fear getting too close to.

“I think you are.” She kisses the top of her head. “You don’t have to.”

Quinn closes her eyes at the kiss to the top of her head. "Why?"

“Besides the fact that your skin is soft?” Rachel raises her eyebrows. “You’ve been pretty soft with me. Always opening yourself a little to me. I’ve been very grateful.”

"Oh." Her voice is quiet and her face is pink at Rachel's words. It wasn't something she did knowingly. She just did. That was the kind of effect Rachel always had on her.

Rachel just stays quiet, enjoying the moment. It’s all she really could do.

For a while, Quinn just lays there. However, the pounding in her head is increasing and she's feeling sick. Even though she doesn't want to, she sits up. Almost immediately she's doubled over, trying to get the pain to settle again, to keep from making herself sick. "There's Tylenol, in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Please."

“Okay, yeah.” Rachel is quick to her feet, going into the kitchen for water and then the bathroom for the Tylenol. She just grabs the bottle and is back to Quinn’s side. “Here.”

Quinn takes the bottle from her first, dumping three into her hand before grabbing the water glass from Rachel. She takes a few long sips of water before finally taking the pills. Curling into Rachel's side, she continues to drink her water. "I hate this feeling."

“I can’t imagine it is pleasant. I could get some pedialite and Gatorade and the brats diet too. Just to help your tummy settle and hydrate you so your head stops hurting.”

Quinn groans as Rachel speaks. While she appreciates the sentiment she's more aware that being left alone for long enough would see her hit a bottle. Why did that feel bad? "I'm only nauseous because of the pain. Once it lessens I'll be fine." Or so she hopes.

“Okay. I heard laying on your left side helps nauseous. We could try that.”

"Laying down in general, helps." She mumbles, finishing the glass of water before laying back down in Rachel's lap, curling around her the best she could given they were on a couch.

“Okay. We will lie here then. You’re in charge.”

"M'kay." She nuzzles against Rachel's stomach again. Kissing Rachel is the easiest distraction from the pain she can come up with.

Rachel removes a hand from Quinn’s hair so that she can start tapping her fingers together quietly in hopes of keeping herself calm. “I’ve only had one hangover in my life.” Rachel breathes out.

"Are you telling me that hangover in high school was it? I do not believe you." They'd all been hungover after that party and looking back she still couldn't believe Artie had brought a thermos of fucking Bloody Mary to school. It'd been a hell of a time and the fact Schue hadn't just killed them on the spot was a miracle.

“That party wasn’t supposed to happen that way.” Rachel sighs. “But I liked being drunk but I made sure to be prepared when I was finished and before as well. I planned my drinking out carefully after that night.”

"How was it supposed to happen, hmm?" She placed more kisses to Rachel's stomach, accidentally nipping at it when she tried to readjust a little. "M'sorry." She mumbled, immediately pressing a kiss to the place she'd bit.

“It may have been even worse. I mean I had drink tickets but people thought that was lame and then it just got really crazy.” Her body jumps in response of the bite. “It’s okay.”

Quinn chuckled as Rachel spoke. "It is lame for a party. Not so much for like a wedding, cos you don't want drunk assholes at your wedding." Quinn places more gentle kisses on the place.

“I agree. Young Rachel would disagree.” She scrunches her nose. “I like that. I’ve already said that.”

"Young Rachel also had a thing for Mr. Schue. It's easily accepted that young Rachel had very bad judgement." Quinn mumbles quietly against Rachel's stomach. "Mmhmm, s'why I'm doing it."

“He challenged me. Which I see now was not in the right ways.” She shrugs. “Don’t stop.”

"At all." Quinn agreed, varying where and how she kissed Rachel's stomach. "Don't plan on it." This time she nipped at Rachel's stomach on purpose. It's gentle and she immediately soothes it with her tongue. "What bout that?" She doesn't know why she wants to, it just makes her a different kind of happy. An in control kind of happy.

She’s feeling really confused. Trying to think through her reactions. Rachel tenses But lets out the softest moan. “That’s fine too.”

Quinn can feel that moan and pauses. It wasn't the reaction she was expecting. But she likes it. Which has her sitting up and moving to the other end of the couch. "Lay down for me?" She doesn't want to stay upright for long but she also figures she might as well let Rachel get a little more comfortable, while giving herself more access to places to kiss.

“You want me to lie down?” Rachel looks to her, looking for any sense of insincerity. “Okay. I can do that.” She carefully lies down, looking to Quinn nervously.

Quinn nods slowly at the question asked of her and as soon as Rachel is laying down she lows herself back down to lay on top of her.  She's curled in such a way that her head on Rachel's stomach, one arm draped over hips, the other holding Rachel's shirt up. And then she's back to kissing, occasionally biting and nuzzling. She still isn't sure why she's doing it, but it makes her feel a certain way and all she knows is that it's not a bad thing.

“Can I please place my hands on your back? I just need them on something.” Rachel is whispering and she’s wiggling her fingers. “Your lips are soft.”

"Mhmm," she hums her approval against Rachel's stomach before nipping at it again. "Yeah?"

Rachel relaxes when her hands finally rest on her back. “Yes. You’re giving me goose bumps.”

Quinn giggles a bit. "Oh, really?" Her kisses start to move lower, towards the waistband of Rachel's pants, the biting becoming a bit more bold and frequent.

“Yes.” Rachel whispers, a bit whiny and unsure. But having thought of this before and the fact that this is what Quinn wants. She wants to so badly accept it. “Why?”

The whiny tone in Rachel's voice is a bit exciting to her and again, she doesn't know why. The question pauses her and she looks up at Rachel. "Why what?" She thinks she knows but there's a slew of foreign feelings going on and she isn't entirely clear and just wants to be sure.

“Why are you causing me to feel like this?” She shivers just slightly. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

"What?" The explanation is very confusing for Quinn and she stops what she's doing. "I can't understand if this is good or not." And she refuses to go further without knowing.

“It’s perfect.” Rachel says after a moment. “Please.”

With that confirmation she continues, biting and kissing along Rachel's waistband. Part of of her wants to go further and it surprises her. She hadn't felt any kind of lust since she'd miscarried. Since she started drinking. She pushes the thoughts down and continues to kiss and bite up and down the expanse of Rachel's stomach before her.

Rachel’s hands settle again on her bag, slowly starting to draw small circles on the woman’s back. “Okay?” The whine is back, unable to keep it away.

Quinn chuckles against Rachel's stomach at the whine she hears in her voice. "Never known you to whine unless you wanted something" She mumbles, the hand across her hips running a nail in circles just above her waistband. "So, what do you want?"

“I just want what you’re comfortable with. It just, feels really, really nice.”

"Lower?" She mumbles, hooking a finger under Rachel's waistband. Quinn looks up at Rachel, wondering if she'll get the go ahead.

Rachel takes a deep breath, but nods her head slowly. “Yes Quinn.” She flushes, fingers stilling on her back.

And like that, Quinn is re-positioning herself, staying as low as possible to keep her head from spinning too much. She pulls Rachel's pants down, gulping a bit at the prospect. With Rachel's pants pulled out of the way she bites her hip, much harder than she had been biting her stomach.

It’s bold. Bolder than she expected and she swallows down the nervous lump. But she helps by lifting up so her pants come off easier. But then she’s bitten and she has to close her eyes as she yelps.

The yelp surprises her and she immediately lets go. Quinn presses kisses and licks gently at the place she bit. "Sorry."

“No, I liked it. I’m okay.” Rachel promises, a bit embarrassed.

Quinn smiles, nuzzling Rachel's hip  as she continues to places kisses on the spot. She's partially aware that it's going to leave a mark but Rachel likes it and that makes her do the exact same thing to the other hip.

Rachel anticipates it, but finds herself biting down on her lip anyways and let’s herself appreciate that she too likes things to be even.

This bite is held longer, with just a bit of sucking before she's once again pulling away to kiss and lick the mark, with just a bit of nuzzling. Once she's satisfied with her care of it, she moves lower, biting and nipping at Rachel's thigh as she rakes her nails down the other.

Rachel’s thighs instantly press together in response, but the noise that leaves her is one of pleasure and nothing else.

Quinn chuckles. "You like that?" She mutters, dragging her teeth down the top of Rachel's thigh.

“I do.” Rachel tells her, reminding herself she needs to tell her these things. “A lot Bunny.”

Quinn grins, swapping thighs to run her teeth down the other as well. Once again she bites and licks, her hand raking her nails down the thigh she'd just left. In a bold move she bites just on the inner part of Rachel's upper thigh, oh so close to her underwear. It's still a tentative bite, wanting to gauge the reaction before doing more.

Her hips buck just slightly and she tries to close her thighs again in hopes of some relief.

Quinn bites down harder as Rachel tries to close her thigh, hand slipping to hold them open ever so slightly. It's a gentle hold, one that could very easily be overpowered if Rachel truly wanted to. "Do you want something from me?"

“I do.” Rachel relaxes again as she closes her eyes. “I’m feeling rather naughty and I need to touch...”

"Need to touch where?" Quinn purred, nudging Rachel's underwear with her nose. "Here?"

Rachel’s hand abruptly moves from Quinn’s back to cover her mouth to muffle the desperate whimpering. “Yes.” And she’s trying to keep herself from pressing against her.

Quinn looks up at Rachel from between her legs, a little too aware of just what the sound of Rachel whimpering is doing to her. It's a foreign feeling but its also so familiar to her. "Don't quiet yourself for me." It's not quite a demand but is certainly a strong suggestion. She uses her hands to pull Rachel's legs apart just a bit more, nipping at the crotch of her underwear with a grin.

It takes a moment to register but once she does her hand leaves her mouth. “Are you teasing me on purpose?”

Quinn chuckles at Rachel's question. She runs her nose up the crotch of Rachel's underwear before looking at her. "Whatever gave you that idea?" There's amusement in her voice but she almost immediately presses her tongue into the area where she guesses Rachel's clit is.

Rachel nods. She never minded begging and being teased. “It’s not very nice of you.” And she moans at the slight pressure against her clit. “Hmmph.”

"I think you like it." Quinn growls, nipping once again at Rachel's crotch. She moves back up Rachel's body until her teeth find the waistband of her underwear. Lifting her head, she pulls the waistband away from Rachel's body before letting it go, eyes on Rachel's face the entire time, wanting to see any and all reactions.

“A lot.” Rachel whimpers before she’s gasping at the sudden space between them. But then there’s s slight sting where the elastic hits her and her toes curl. “Please touch me.”

She loves the reaction she gets from Rachel and she begins to kiss and bite her way up Rachel's body. Her hand does oblige Rachel, slipping past the crotch of her underwear to tease her clit. "Like this?"

Quinn just keeps getting further away and she whines just before the hand slips passed her underwear. “Yes Quinn.”

Something about the way Rachel whines tells Quinn that she's not quite giving Rachel what she wants. And she relishes in that. Knowing she has Rachel wanting something specific but keeping it from her, for now. There's a power she hasn't felt in a very, very long time. Her fingers tease through Rachel's folds, flicking over her clit as she finds herself at Rachel's neck. "May I?" She whispers against Rachel's ear, seeking permission and sounding far smaller than the rest of her actions portrayed, nuzzling her neck gently.

“Oh Bunny.” She wiggles to get closer to her hand. “Yes please. Please, please.” And she’s practically begging. “I want you to want me.”

Her response is instead to kiss Rachel. The sudden motion upwards also lending itself to her slipping a finger into Rachel. Quinn is a little shocked by her own actions, almost immediately returning her face to the crook of Rachel's neck.

“But I’d like to keep kissing you.” Rachel numbest breathing a bit heavy. “More, like that.” She pleads with her

Quinn is surprised by Rachel's words, entirely having thought she'd done something wrong. But after nuzzling Rachel's neck a bit, more for her own sake than anything, she returns to Rachel's lips. This kiss is soft and slow and sweet. Her finger works slowly back out and the  back in, teasing.

Rachel just enjoys it, trying to memorize the feel of the other woman’s lips. The taste, the feel of her heartbeat, trying to let out her own sounds of pleasure out while maintaining the kissing.

Quinn ignores the part of herself that aches a way she hasn't since she was pregnant. It won't do her any good to acknowledge it now. Though in her ignoring she realizes the ache in her head is mostly gone, even if the ache elsewhere is entirely too strong. Even still, she kisses Rachel slow and soft. When she pulls away to breathe her head once again falls into the crook of Rachel's neck, nuzzling there. It's something that makes her feel safe, some part of her realizes, and with a few kisses to Rachel's neck she's biting down, taking the opportunity to speed up the finger inside Rachel.

She’s not surprised at the urgency, the meaning, and time given in every kiss. Every nuzzle. She whines more at the bite and her body lifts again, reacting to the intensity of it all. “You’re going to.” Rachel tried to breathe, calm herself. “It feels so good.” She finally managed

Quinn grins, teeth still on Rachel's neck. As she lets go, starting to lick and soothe the bite mark, she adds a second finger. Her thumb runs over Rachel's clit and an idea pops into her head. It's a control she's not sure Rachel will let her have but it's a shot worth taking. "I'm going to what? Make you cum?" She teases out against Rachel's neck as she kisses her way up to her ear. "What if I say you can't? Hmm? Will you do as I say?"

“I can’t control it.” She whispers, wiggling as best she can to somehow get away and get closer to her at the same time. “What if I don’t?”

Quinn chuckles a bit, nuzzling the side of Rachel's neck, just below her ear. "I know, but will you try anyway? Will you try to wait for me to tell you that you can?" She kissed Rachel's neck, soft and slow. "If you don't, you don't. And it's okay."

“I’ll do what I’m told.” She promises, moving so that she can kiss the girls arm. Just something to get her closer.

"Good girl." She purrs against Rachel's ear. "Can I call you that? Can Bunny call you her good girl?" She isn't sure why she referred to herself in the third person, much less as Bunny, but she isn't against it. Some part of her knows Bunny is just between them. Her pace between Rachel's legs picks up, even as she moves to use her knees to support herself so the hand that had been helping to support her can move up under Rachel's shirt.

Rachel tried to turn her head so the blush she feels rising to her cheeks is hidden. “Only if you really think I’m a good girl.” She whispers. She’s shivering beneath her touch. “You’re going to tease me if you touch me up here.”

Quinn smiles as Rachel tries to hide her blush. "You're good at doing what you're told." She kisses her way across Rachel's throat to the other side, letting out a chuckle. "All those years of having to do things on cue have trained you well, haven't they?" She bites down on Rachel's neck, even as her hand continues to inch it's way higher under her shirt. "Haven't you figure it out? I like teasing you." She nuzzles Rachel's neck, licking and kissing the skin she'd marked. "Do you want me to taste you?"

Rachel is just trying to quiet herself, starved of touch and lust and actually feeling good. She nods at the question. “It’s like I was trained to accept commands.”

Rachel’s thighs close in on Quinn’s hand, too much pleasure running through her at that mention. “What happens if I cum without permission?” She sniffles

Quinn hums. "That you were." She let's out a chuckle at the way Rachel's thighs close. "Is that a yes? Is that where you want my mouth?" She nuzzled Rachel's neck, her hand still going between her legs as the other finds Rachel's breast and gives it a squeeze. "We try again later. Practice makes perfect, after all." That's one thing Quinn can't do, punish. It's one step too far for her.

“Yes please. Please.” And her legs are open again and Quinn doesn’t seem to get angry at her question. “Then yes please, Bunny.”

Quinn smiles, pulling her hand out of Rachel and hooking her fingers through the crotch to actually pull then down her legs and out of the way. She sits back, taking the time to lick the slick off her fingers, moaning at the taste of Rachel on her fingers. And then she was running her tongue through Rachel's folds, moaning around her clit.

Rachel lifts herself up a bit to make it easier to get her underwear off. Her eyes are locked on Quinn, biting down hard on her lip at the sound that left her lips. 

Her body relaxes as Quinn moans into her and her fingers start digging into the couch.

Quinn's hand took hold of Rachel's hip, as she slowly inserts her tongue into Rachel. Her pace is slow, every once in a while pulling out all the way to flick her tongue over Rachel's clit. She's looking up at Rachel through eyelashes and pink hair. She wants to see her come undone. The hand on Rachel's chest slowly starts to rake back down towards her hip.

It’s the unpredictability. The change between fingers and tongue. Rachel really is trying to control herself, her body tense and there’s tears stinging behind her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” And she unclenches, relaxing as she tumbled over the edge. Her hand goes to cover her mouth to quiet the crying.

Quinn ignores the apology as she feels Rachel come. Instead she focuses on helping her ride it out. When she pulls away, she cleans her face off the best she can and then pulls the hand away from Rachel's mouth, giving it a squeeze. She crawls back up Rachel's body and settles herself on top of her, kissing the tears away. "Hey, c'mon now, no need to cry." She nuzzles Rachel's cheek.

The minute Quinn is back beside her and this time does the nuzzling into her body, shaking just slightly. “but I didn’t let you control it.”

Quinn just nuzzles her cheek, kissing it softly. "And I said that was okay if you couldn't."

“I really wanted to.” She hmmphs, cupping her face. “Okay. It’s okay.”

Quinn smiles as Rachel cups her face, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her lips. "Exactly. It's okay."

“It’s okay.” She murmurs back to Quinn, for both of them. “Can you keep kissing me?”

"Of course." And that's what she does, she keeps kissing Rachel. Because kissing is an excellent distraction. Kissing keeps her mind off the ache between her legs. Keeps her mind off the fact she hasn't had a drink in hours, that she's essentially sobering up. That she isn't numb for the first time in almost a year.

Rachel just clings to her, afraid if she lets go Quinn will run away. Or she will to be in charge of the leaving. “Mm, love you bunny.” Rachel murmurs against her shoulder and places little kisses to distract.

Quinn just keeps kissing. The words surprise her and she can't say it back, so she nuzzles into Rachel's neck. It's the closest thing she has. It's affection in it's purest form. The little kisses on her shoulder make her smile and she reaches for the remote on the coffee table. She pulls up Spotify and selects her and Duke's usual playlist. She lowers the volume, just needing that background noise, before she sets the remote back down.

The music calms hers, her rapid heart beat slowing down. She’s never actually felt this relaxed before within her body and even her mind isn’t racing. “I’m sleepy.”

Quinn is comfortable and she settles to just nuzzling Rachel's neck as she hums along quietly to the music. "Sleep then." She mumbles against Rachel's skin with a kiss.

“And you’re not going to stop kissing me?” She really lets her eyes flutter closed. “And hold my hand?”

"Not on purpose, no." Quinn knows she might drift off, but she'd try her best to stay awake. "Of course." She takes Rachel's hand, pressing a kiss to her palm before entwining their fingers.

Truthfully it’s the answer she wanted. She wants Quinn to get some sleep. “Thank you Bunny.”

"You're welcome." Quinn settles down, peppering kisses on Rachel's neck and shoulder, still humming along to the music. Just happy to be there in the moment.

Rachel lets out the tiniest little sighs and whimpers until they turn to soft little snores. She really lets herself get comfortable with Quinn.

Quinn continues to kiss and nuzzle Rachel, even as the sighs and whimpers turn to snores. But soon, even Quinn starts to slip into sleep. It's not deep, but it's enough. 

Around lunch time, Duke comes home. It's not entirely unusual, as he does it to check on Quinn. What he doesn't expect is walking into the living room to the sight of Quinn asleep on top of Rachel, much less a half naked Rachel. "Oh my gods." He mutters before clearing is throat. "I don't want to know what happened, nor do I care, but for fucks sake put your pants back on!"

The sudden sound of Duke's voice wakes Quinn. She's quickly sat on her knees on the couch, breathing heavy. Looking up over her shoulder at the man and then down at Rachel she swallows. The reality of what she'd done crashes into her and she isn't sure how to respond.

Rachel doesn’t know much about what is going on or how long she’d been asleep but she does know that Quinn isn’t as close as she was. “Come back, bunny.”

Duke giggles, eyeing Quinn with a devilish grin. Quinn flips him off and shakes Rachel's leg. "It's time to wake up, Rach." Quinn's voice isn't steady. Duke sighs and heads into the kitchen.

Rachel groans, sitting up. She didn’t tend to nap and she doesn’t like being woken up. “Fine.” She looks to her noticing he didn’t look as comfortable as before. “What is it?”

Quinn sighs as Rachel sits up. "I don't know how you didn't hear it, but Duke is here. And he would like you to put your pants back on." She can't look at Rachel and she feels oddly small. The reality of everything that had happened has settled on her fully and she's starting to retreat into herself.

“Oh.” Rachel pales, reaching down to grab her underwear and pants. “I didn’t. I’m sorry.” She just stares at her. “Should I leave? Are you okay?”

"Yeah..." Quinn sighs, rubbing her thighs a little. "It's not your fault, I didn't know either." She was rocking a little as sits there. "Do you want to?" Quinn doesn't want her to leave. She'd been so comfortable. She was sober and comfortable and had slept. "I don't know. I'm sober."

“I don’t want to leave you.” Rachel whispers, reaching for her hand to squeeze. “Coffee or a snack?”

"Okay." Quinn smiles at Rachel. She squeezes back, not really wanting to get up and face Duke in the kitchen. "Snack." Her voice is still quiet and a little shaky, but she's stopped retreating into herself. For now.

“Okay.” Rachel nods slowly and goes into the kitchen. She grabs her cold coffee and a few of the treats, offering some up to Duke as well.

Quinn curls up on the couch where Rachel had been. Duke is making a sandwich when Rachel walks in the kitchen and he smiles. "I don't want to know what happened, but thank you. I haven't seen her that calm, ever. It's nice to know she can still get comfortable." He accepts the offer of the pastries, never one to deny sweet things.

She’s blushing, thankful for his words. “I’m glad she finds comfort in me.” Rachel murmurs and hands him a couple of the treats she had picked up. “Thank you for taking care of her.” And with that she’s back at Quinn’s side. “Hi.”

Duke simply nods in thanks as Rachel leaves. Quinn looks up when Rachel returns but doesn't actually make a move to sit up. "Hi." Her voice is quiet and she feels a little distant. "I don't like this." She mumbles, tapping the side of her head.

Rachel sets the things down and sits beside her. She doesn’t embrace her or get too close, but tries not to be too far either. “What can I do? More medicine? Water? A hug?”

"Just hold me?" Her voice is small and quiet. She doesn't want to think. She just wants to be able to distract herself. Do anything but feel the overwhelming sadness she's used booze to ignore. Drowning her grief, and herself. And finding the surface has just brought the storm with it.

Rachel is holding her almost instantly. Breathing in her scent and rubbing her back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Quinn buries her head in the crook of Rachel's neck, immediately starting to press gentle kisses to the bruised skin. "You're gonna need some serious concealer over the next like week if you plan on going out in public." Quinn mumbles as she nuzzles her.

“I don’t have plans. Should I care that they are there?” Rachel just pulls her closer. “I don’t.”

"I don't know, some people don't like getting asked about hickies. Particularly single people." Quinn shrugs. She nuzzles in a little harder, trying to focus on the feeling. However, with the added pressure, her nose ring tickles the inside of her nose and she's having to pull away to sneeze.

“You make a cute sound when you sneeze.” Rachel giggles. “Did the nose ring hurt?”

Quinn blushes, ducking her head. "Not really, no. At least not at first. I couldn't rub my nose for ages without wincing while it was healing."

“That sounds annoying.” Rachel rubs her back. “You pull it off well.”

"No worse than the first time." Quinn shrugs a bit. She rested her head back in the crook of Rachel's neck, once again nuzzling. "You think so?"

“Right. And that crazy tattoo?” Her eyebrows raise a bit, playfully. “I do. I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, even.”

"Has been covered up. And isn't my only one." Quinn explains, nuzzling at Rachel's neck. She catches sight of Duke leaving but ignores him. "Why?"

“One day I would love the chance to see them.” Rachel says gently as she offers a wave to Duke as he leaves the apartment. “You’ve always been enchanting to me Quinn. Always so stunning and beautiful inside and out. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking of you that way.”

"Maybe, yeah." Quinn nuzzles against Rachel's neck. She also feels the heat rise to her cheeks as Rachel speaks. Sure, she knew she fit a certain standard of beauty, but something about hearing Rachel explain it was surprising to her. She places a kiss to the side of Rachel's neck. "Thank you."

“No pressure.” Rachel says with a giggle. She shivers a bit at the kiss and just nods. “Always Bunny.”

"I really don't like being sober, but you're a very nice distraction." Quinn mumbles as she keeps kissing Rachel's neck.

“I’ll be your distraction forever if that will help.”

"You sound like you're agreeing to enable me." She mumbled, knowing she'd go from booze to Rachel and that didn't exactly sound healthy either.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just like your attention.”

Quinn chuckles a bit against Rachel's neck. "To be sober is to need distractions." She clarifies. "So if you're my distraction I'd be sober but not dealing."

“I want to help you deal.” She whispers

"I don't know how to do that." She admits, resting her forehead on Rachel's shoulder. "I don't know how to talk about what happened."

“We take our time. Little by little. And I’ll just be here to hold your hand and snuggles and kisses.”

Quinn sighs. "Her name was Nora Grace." She admitted quietly with a kiss to Rachel's shoulder, feeling infinitely lighter, even as the emotion felt heavy on her chest.

Rachel just nods slowly, understanding as best she can. “That’s a beautiful name Quinn.”

"I was almost five months. She's just started being properly active." And so had Finn. They'd both been so active. Nora had been more forward, whereas Finn had been more internal. But she'd just started telling their reactions apart. And then things had fallen apart. "I'd waited to tell Puck until I was absolutely sure. He made me regret telling him."

“Because he didn’t. I mean...” Her nose scrunches up. “What did he do?” She pulls Quinn in closer.

"When?" The question fell from her lips and she sighs. "When he left? Or before? He did so much. So- so much."

“He left?” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Did he hurt you?”

"Worst part is, his leaving was the best thing he could have done for me. As much as I fucking hated the idea of going through pregnancy alone, I knew I'd be better off. And I was just trying to get back on my feet when I first ghosted. I just needed to come to terms with it all. Figured I'd take a couple months for myself." She nuzzles her face into Rachel's neck. "Yes."

Rachel is keeping herself calm but on the inside she’s absolutely raging. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re too good for him.”

"And yet I stayed with him, for years. The best parts were when he was deployed and I was alone. How fucking shitty is that?" Her breathing catches in her chest and instead of biting her lip, she bites Rachel's neck.

Rachel whines, “You wanted it to work. It’s not a flaw. You’re human.”

"I never understood how my mother could stay with Russell until I was with Puck."

“I don’t think it’s easy being in that dynamic to know how to get out or how to move on. You did what you could.”

"I had decided I might leave him anyway. Because I couldn't see myself raising a family with him but every time I'd thought about leaving, before then... It was easier to just give in and give him what he wanted."

“I’m sure it was easier. I don’t blame you, for anything that happened. Maybe one day you’ll get to a place you can see that for yourself.”

"I should have fucking left after the first time." Quinn bit down on Rachel's neck. It's not a hard bite, but she holds it, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to calm herself down.

“The first time?” Rachel just lets out the slightest whine in response to the contact. She likes it.

She let go of Rachel's neck, licking and nuzzling the bite mark. "Well, no, because the first time was in high school. But, the first time after we'd started dating." It had taken Quinn a long time to properly admit what Puck had done to her in high school had been force, but once she had, it made way too much sense.

Rachel nods, trying not to bump her. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know or if I ever made you feel like I was on his side.”

"I didn't realize it, or acknowledge it, for a very long time. I could't." Quinn's voice is quiet as she nuzzles Rachel's neck. "What I did earlier... before we fell asleep..."

“But you’re opening yourself. You’re doing everything right.” Rachel puts a hand on her back. “You regret it...”

"Am I? I don't feel like I am." Quinn sighs. "No... I just feel like I need to be sorry for it."

“I think you have so much.” Rachel whispers. “You don’t have to be sorry about it.”

"Okay." She nuzzles against Rachel's skin. "Are you sure? I mean I started doing stuff and..."

“It was perfect Quinn. I thought you were perfect.” Rachel sighs happily.

She nipped a bit at Rachel's neck. "You thought I was perfect?"

“I thought you were perfect, bunny.” Rachel repeats.

"Am I your bunny?" Quinn asks as she nuzzles Rachel's neck again, licking a bit as she does so.

“I’d like for you to be my bunny.” Rachel whimpers.

"What would that entail?" She asks quietly.

“I just always get to be nuzzled  by you and hold you.”

Quinn hums in approval at that. "Yeah? What about nibbling?" She asks, doing just that against Rachel's neck.

“It’s just a bonus when you feel like nibbling.” Rachel takes a heavy breath. “And biting...”

Quinn hums against Rachel's neck, biting down as Rachel mentions that she likes it. "If anyone asks, what'll you tell them?"

“Asks me what?” Rachel’s eyes close. “Mmmph.”

"Who did all this to your neck." She drags her tongue over the forming bruises and bite marks, connecting them.

“Why is it anyone’s business? What would you like for me to tell them?”

"I'm not saying it is, but we know they're bound to ask anyway." She hums, still lazily running her tongue across the marks. "I don't know."

“I don’t care. I like it. I like that you made them. I like how it feels when you make them.”

Quinn smiles against Rachel's neck, licking her way up to Rachel's ear.  "You like what I do to you?" She whispers.

“I think I’m obsessed.” Rachel bites down on her lip. “I don’t want it to ever stop.”

She chuckles, nuzzling the area around her ear. "Maybe I won't. I mean, you said you don't have plans. I could, except y'know, work." She teases, dragging her teeth down her neck.

“I’ll never tell you to stop.” Rachel admits.

Quinn pulls back at that. "You would if you needed me to, right, though?"

“Yes, Bunny.” Rachel gasps ya the loss of contact. “I know you would stop.”

"Okay." Quinn nods before leaning in and kissing Rachel. "If I asked you to touch me, would you?" She wants to know because she still aches there. It'd started creeping up on her again and the more she made her mark on Rachel, the more it'd come back. And it was getting increasingly harder to ignore.

“I would love to touch you, so long as you could tell me no of you needed.”

"I always said no." She admits quietly, resting her forehead on Rachel's.

“I will listen to that.” Rachel whispers. “I will respect you and your word.”

Quinn closes her eyes for a moment before kissing Rachel again. "Touch me. Please."

“Where?” Rachel starts with fingers running over her cheek and just teasing over her lips.

Quinn gently bites her lip. "Down." She whimpers, not entirely sure she can bring herself to say exactly where. She hasn't had any desire for sex in ages and yet she wants it now, so much more than she ever expected.

Rachel just nods, leaning down to kiss her as hand travels down and across her chest. She sneaks a hand under the fabric and kneads her breasts tenderly before swiping a thumb over her nipples. “Can you sit up for me, Bunny?”

Quinn gasps at the feeling of Rachel's hand on her breasts, moaning ever so slightly. She quickly does as is asked of her, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I’m going to touch you now.” She purrs, getting between her legs. “If you’ll let me. I’d like to make you come.” And she lets s finger run through her folds.

Quinn sucks in a breath at Rachel's words. A moan escapes her lips at the feeling of Rachel's finger running through her folds. "Oh God." She hasn't felt this since the last time she'd gotten herself off while pregnant and after almost a year of not feeling anything, it's almost too much.

“Should I keep going?” Rachel moves up to brush over her clit because pausing.

"Fuck," she gasped as Rachel brushes her clit, head falling back. "Please," she whines.

Rachel can’t help but smile, peppering kissing along her face and neck as she teases her finger inside her before swiping the wetness over her clit and she does that slow at first and then quickening a bit. “Can I put two fingers inside you?”

Quinn can't help but moan, hips rolling into Rachel's hand. "Fuck. Please." She doesn't reckon she'll last too incredibly long, everything feels so extreme after so long. But lord does it feel good.

Rachel feels like she’s on fire as she begins moving two fingers inside her, calculated and teasing before she’s really moving inside her, other hand moving to circle her clit. “You feel so good around my fingers.”

Even though she knows it's coming, she can't stop herself from moaning as her hips buck into Rachel's hand. One of her hands finds Rachel's hair, nails scraping across her scalp. "Been so long," she mutters.

“I wanna feel you come. You deserve it.” And Rachel is moaning at the fingers in her hair as she begins to really fuck her with her fingers. “Come for me Bunny,”

Quinn isn't sure she believes what Rachel says but that doesn't stop her from moaning and pulling at Rachel's hair. The increased pace drives her wild, rolling her hips in an almost futile attempt to keep pace, something she had done when she was with Puck just to get something out of it, but her hips still at Rachel's words. And in no time, Rachel is driving her over the edge. "Oh, oh God."

Rachel takes it all in. The way she moves. The sounds. All of the feelings that being let in like this has provided. “Thats it Bunny. Feel good. Let yourself feel good.” And she moves faster a little more intensely in hopes to give her the most pleasure she can possibly have.

Quinn almost feels like she's going to pass out because of the sheer amount of pleasure. It's been so long since someone else has put her first, made what she feels a priority. And just when she thinks she'll start to come down the increased pace takes her back up and over. She's having to remind herself to breathe through it which just seems to make her feel more. "Okay," she breathes out, unsure exactly what she means by it.

Rachel swipes her hand on Quinn’s thigh before leaning in to kiss her gently. “Was that okay? Are you okay? You feel incredible falling apart like that.”

Quinn has to catch her breath as Rachel pulls out of her. She kisses Rachel back, moving to lay down on the couch, pulling Rachel down on top of her. "You were perfect." She mutters.

Rachel just giggles, missing her face and nuzzling her. “You were.”

Quinn wraps her arms around Rachel's waist, giggling a bit as Rachel nuzzles her. "Happy bunny." She mumbles sleepily, the the overwhelming expanse of emotion and sensations having finally caught up to her.

“I like a happy bunny.” Rachel whispers, letting herself relax above her. “Lets nap.”

Quinn just hums at Rachel's words, a little surprised by how comfortable she is with Rachel on top of her. She's not sure it'll stay that way, should she fall into a deeper sleep than she had earlier, but she didn't have the energy to not risk it.

“I’m just going to hold you and be here.” Rachel murmurs.

[disastrousbarnes]

Stolen Dance 2 (Beckett Cain P.O.V)

Jazz 1 / Chapter 1 / Jazz 2/ Jazz 3 @lovingrxgers

Pairing: Beckett Cain (OC) x Jasmine Rogers (OC, Steve Rogers daughter)

Summary: Beckett left for college 2 years ago. Breaking thing of with his girlfriend Jazz. He thought he was over her, but now that he is reminded of her existence, he isn’t sure. Will he reach back out? Will she respond? 

Authors Note: I just felt like responding with my gorgeous boi Beckett’s P.O.V FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED.

Word count: 1109

Chapter title: Sunday’s are for pancakes with the boys.

It didn’t take more than some basic Instagram stalking to find out Jazz did indeed get into Julliard. Of course she got in. After years of training, discipline and absolute dedication. I never doubted she’d get in, not for a moment.

God, I had honestly forgotten how much love I had, have, for her. She’s like the literal embodiment of sunshine. It takes a lot for her to say a negative word about a person.

I used to be like that, when  I was young, but then everything with my brother happened and realized people aren’t always good and that’s okay. Ever since then I have been the kind of guy that’s able to charm people into doing as I say, which might sound mean or manipulating. It’s never been like that though, I was just always a very ‘liked’ person. I like being liked, I crave it.

My 2 days with Alex and Tate really helped put thing in perspective, but now it’s Sunday and they’re gone. Tate had to get back to L.A. and Alex went back to N.Y to visit his family. He was surprising them by coming home. This weekend was little baby Peter’s 2nd birthday, normally I would’ve gone along, any excuse to go home for a second. Sadly my parents wouldn’t be home, visiting my brother in Japan, and although Alex said I could stay with him I just didn’t feel like hanging around his family, especially when there was a chance Jazz would be home. It was the holiday season after all.

So I am spending the morning in the same café as yesterday. Drinking copious amounts of tea, it’s a tea kind of day, researching new recipes to try.

I end up  settling on some version of a pumpkin pie, there was honestly not much special about it, but it reminded me of all the times I tried to teach my dad how to make it, he ended up screwing up in some way, every single time.

Plus I had all of the ingredients at home, which meant I wouldn’t have to take a trip to the market.

I was going to have dinner with some of my friends from class and promised to bring desert, which was the excuse I used to convince myself I could spend yet another day in the kitchen, baking. I did, after all, have to keep my promises.

 Three hours and a lot of  batter later I finally pulled the finished pie out of the oven. Proud of the result I decided to snap a pic to, well, every single one of my snapchat friends. I hadn’t baked a pie in a good 3 month so this felt like a necessary snap.

I kept refreshing as the copious compliments rolled in. Everyone was responding, yet one arrow continued to be a filled out red: Jazz <3. It shouldn’t surprise me, I didn’t even know if she was still using the account. It had been more than a year since I had last talked to her. The first  6  month after the break up we continued to stay in touch, but school just pilled up, for both of us and slowly the text and snaps became less and less. Eventually they became zero.

For a long time I was fine with that, but right now it felt like the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I mean it shouldn’t bother me this much, we hadn’t talked in so long. Yet right now my everything yearned for her.

I hadn’t told Tate and Alex about it. As if saying it out loud would make it real. I missed her.

 “Holy shit dude, I brought some fucking hamburgers, now you make me feel like crap.” Ingmar said, referring to the pie, I was holding in my hand. We were having the dinner at a downtown apartment we had rented for the night. That way none of us would have to worry about our room/ apartment getting ruined and we could have it at a ‘special’ place.

I just chuckle. “Well hamburgers are an amazing dinner food, Ing. Truly underrated if you ask me.” Ingmar and I had always had a very teasing relationship, ‘tearing each other down’ is our thing, so is being insanely positive in order to make the other feel kind of awkward.

He is very much the reason I didn’t quit the first six month.

“Well at least someone appreciates me!”

We both burst  out in laughter as we walk into the living room. “Is this Benji’s work?” I ask, referring to the crappy , pun intended, toilet paper decorations.  

Ingmar nods, confirming my suspicions.

Benji, Benjamin Karev, is one of the weirdest people you’ll ever meet. He is very much a ‘nerd’ and that is honestly one of my favorite things about him. He’s not like my friends back home.  I am 99% sure if I threw a ball at him he’d jus run away.

“You like it?” Benji asks, his head sticking around the corner.

“Yes I fucking love it.” I really did, it was so godawful, like everything inside me screams ‘Tate would hate it’, which is honestly exactly why I love it so much. Tate would hate it.

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Yeah great,” Ingmar added. He just couldn’t help himself, the complete imbecile.

 30 minutes later we are all sitting around a big wooden table. Caden and Maia had joined. Alcohol was going around in plenty.

Staying here was an amazing decision, I thought, cutting off a piece of my chicken. Benji had made it and just like any other person of color he enjoyed his food spicy. Thank god, because I can’t do unseasoned chicken. SALT ISN’T A SPICE PEOPLE!

“So Beck, Ingmar recently mentioned you had a pretty lady back home.” Caden says, his mouth so stuffed with food I barely make out what he is saying, barely.

I shoot a deadly look at Ingmar, I told him about her during our first month together, swore him to secrecy. I had been afraid any reminder of her would make me sad or bring back all the feelings. It did.

Ingmar mouths a ‘sorry’, which I ignore. This was a violation of my trust. I don’t give a fuck if he was drunk, or whatever other stupid excuse there is.

“Yes, I did.” I eventually answer. There is no reason to lie about it.

“She cute?” Benji asks, joining in on the conversation.

“She was adorable.”

“Pictures, pictures, pictures.” Caden, Benji and Maia cheer in sync.

I pull up one of her most recent Instagram pics.

“Okay she is hot as hell”

-

Benji (FC: Liam Samuels)

Ingmar (FC: Oliver Stummvoll)

Caden (FC: Gino Pasqualini) 

Maia (FC: Natalia Castellar Calvani)

[some-triangles]

WRESTLING OF 2018

It was perhaps the gayest year of wrestling there has ever been. 

The Golden Lovers brought an influx of new, excitingly-gendered fans, and set to work normalizing their couplehood by demonstrating that a gay champion can fit as neatly into New Japan’s ongoing story about evil foreigners and the soul of wrestling as a straight one can.   On a more radical front, Hiromu Takahashi made everyone he fought fall in love with him, spreading his ideology of wrestling-as-sex through sheer animal magnetism, in a way that only he could.   It is difficult to resist the urge to romanticize his injury, given the tropes that surround men like him.  I was in the room when it happened and when I watched the replay I felt something die: the possibility of a new vernacular of grappling, one which acknowledges the homoerotic tension that is always present in a wrestling ring and uses it for fuel.  More to the point, though, I saw a young man’s neck break.

We can console ourselves with the idea that even if Hiromu can’t come back to us he left a mark on some of his foes which will linger.  Witness Will Ospreay’s frankly carnal hunger for Kota Ibushi -  Ospreay was Hiromu’s most eager disciple and (should he avoid a similar fate) seems destined to become an avatar of wrestling, such is his big dumb talent.  Hiromu’s influence will spread, albeit gradually.  If you’ll let me rationalize this hurt by making it a story, his legacy is a slow smoldering touched off by a candle that burned too bright.

It was also a gay year in the west, for in WWE 2018 was the Year of Women (undeniably the gayest of the beginner genders.)   The ascendance of Becky, Charlotte, Ronda et al to the main event has been the success story of the year, because it feels organic, like something the crowd wanted, even though it was in part the hard work of the booking committee that brought them to that point.   If WWE had not failed at every turn to get a single male superstar over, the girls wouldn’t be headlining pay-per-views.  

I kid, of course.   Against the many, many reprehensible things WWE has done this year as a company, the rise of women’s wrestling stands as an uncomplicated positive step which they pursued and accomplished intentionally, clumsily at times but with obvious care.  When they’ve made mistakes in this journey they’ve gone out of their way to repair them, reacting quickly (by their standards) and decisively (by their standards) to the demands of the audience, and as a result they currently boast a women’s roster which is the best and most successful the world has seen since the heyday of Manami Toyota and Aja Kong.   It helps that they have their pick of the best talent in the world; there is no IWGP Women’s Championship, no real payday or celebrity outside of the E.  People will say this is because Japan is different, that segregation is natural there, to which I reply: the fuck it is.  The biggest wrestling promotions in Japan choose to be male-only, and as a result the best female wrestlers find work overseas. This is a weakness that WWE will exploit when they launch NXT Japan.

If all this queer yonic energy is upsetting, worry not - 2018 was also the year of the Elite, and they have so much penis for you.   The Being the Elite crew have proven that we now live in a world where a group of wrestlers, if they’re talented and hard-working enough, can get themselves over without the support of any company, particularly if they’re on TV a lot in multiple countries and can get the companies they do definitely work for to promote their web show.   Once that’s done, all you need is some dad jokes, some catchphrases, some sub-SNL sketch comedy, and a truckload of dicks, and you have arrived at Nerd Paradise, the magical zone where Kenny and Cody discuss their favorite Disney amusement park rides in front of thousands of men in black t-shirts.

Again: I kid.  I was there at All In, too, and I got worked just like everyone else, to the point where I’m still half-hoping that the boys are about to launch a wrestler’s union and not some half-baked new TV promotion to slot in between MLW and whatever that thing Austin Aries launched to feel better about himself was. And we do live in exciting times, vis-à-vis the internet: the Elite may have had help, but Pierre-Carl Ouillet proved that all you need to revitalize a long-dead career is a Youtube account, a willingness to endure insane amounts of physical punishment, and a dream.

What I genuinely took away from All In – and from the wrestling I’ve seen this year generally – is an appreciation for wrestling fans, who have demonstrated themselves to be increasingly diverse, enthusiastic, hungry for good content, and willing to support anyone who’s putting in the work, regardless of where they come from or who they are.   I mean, we’re still wrestling fans, i.e. perpetually loud, wrong and angry about it, but we’ve come a long way.   People like the Wrestlesplania team, Spectacle of Excess, TDE and the twitter wrestling GIF community, fanartists, cosplayers and so many others are modeling new and better ways to engage with the product, challenging ideas about who wrestling fans are and how they behave, and generally being great people.  I for my sins am an old-school spiteful nerd at heart (hence the tone of this post) but I believe the community has been immeasurably improved by the contributions of people who aren’t.  Even the newly ascendant vanguard of British wrestling geeks are skating around every opportunity to prove themselves horrible people, led by the beatific smile and cadaverous pallor of Botchamania Maffew, who tries his best.

There’s more to say about New Japan and its eternal return to xenophobia, about Daniel Bryan the sellout and how he reminds us that we’re always being worked, about Roman Reigns and the cloud of missed opportunity that hangs over him even in his absence, about Hiromu.   But the story’s not over yet – the story of wrestling’s never over.  In less than a month the landscape will have changed again and a new year of carny nonsense will stretch out before us, with new meaning to wring from it and new things to get inexplicably, apoplectically mad over. Kevin and Sami will be back.   Hiromu might be back, god willing, even if just to take his Shibata victory lap.  The Elite might change the world.  Someone else we’ve never heard of might do it first.  WWE might succeed in signing every hot new professional wrestler on the planet, and Zack Sabre and a tiny Spanish man will still find a way to have a five star match in an armory in Barcelona.  We might find out that Kim Jong Un has been paying Vince McMahon millions of dollars to suck at promoting and thereby sap American morale.  Wrestling will continue to rule, in spite of this.  Wrestling will continue to be for everyone.  

[a-gert-lush-holiday]

Day 1 continued, and Day 2

I eventually woke Lucy up at 7pm and advised her that we had two options. 1, she could go back to sleep, however we would be unable to pick up the tickets needed for the Final Fantasy Eorzea Cafe as they had to be collected today, and we would lose the reservation. Or option 2, which was go to Lawson, pick up the tickets and food, come back, eat and sleep.

Needless to say we went for option 2. I cannot tell you how much of a faff getting tickets to Eorzea Cafe has been. I tried to pre-book a few weeks ago, but for holding a reservation for more than 3 days, you need to pay upfront with a credit card. Let me tell you now, upon research online and trying it myself, it seems the only card that will work is AMEX as it can’t be linked to a foreign country. Therefore, I had to hope that 3 days before our trip there were spaces left, go through the booking site in Japanese, and then use the Loppi machine at Lawson also in Japanese. I lucked out on a space near the end of our trip, but trying to find out where to pay for the tickets was even more of a faff.

Sure, I know they’re collected at a Loppi machine in Lawsons, but did you know there are multiple types of Lawson combini in Japan? I was about to say 2, but having just googled it to find out why, apparently it’s 4. 4 shops, same name, different focuses and slightly different products. There’s a Lawson 100 (or as the clerk put it, Green Lawson), and then there’s normal Lawson (Pink and Blue Lawson). And no, Google will not tell you which is which (otherwise I really wouldn’t mind, as it didn’t for us) as it just calls all of the combini Lawson. We had so much trouble, that honestly I would check where the Lawsons are in relation to you, and then use street view to determine whether it had a pink and blue striped sign or not.

Once I had found the right type of Lawson, operating the Loppi machine was fairly straightforward as I had read a few walkthroughs beforehand, and seemed to remember most of the instructions.

Essentially, when you make a reservation you receive a QR code by email. On the machine, you want to hit the middle button with ‘Loppi QR’ on it, scan the QR code, and then it will ask you for the phone number used when making the booking.

What you need to remember then is to basically press the orange button (yes/continue), apart from on the screen where you’re asked about Ponta cards (hit the grey button). You then get to inputting your name, which looks confusing with all the buttons and no English language button, but you can input the name in the Roman alphabet by pressing the third button down in the list to the right of the characters. Input the first name, press the second button in the list for a space, enter last name, then hit orange ok buttons to confirm until the machine spits out a receipt at you.

I’d love to say that’s the whole process, but no. Almost there though. Take the receipt to the counter within 30 minutes (you can pay for shopping at the same time too), pay, sign the receipt as prompted, and the Pink and Blue clerk will kindly hand you the tickets.

Gotta love that bureaucracy! I’m sure there are things at home just as convoluted, but honestly if Lucy hadn’t been bugging me about this for weeks and I myself getting into the game in the past month or so, I probably would have stopped somewhere around my card not working online.

If you’d like to know how to make the reservation, my recommendation would be to follow this excellent guide: https://riikorinkoko.wordpress.com/2017/05/15/riikos-eorzea-cafe-reservation-guide-and-how-to-use-s-loppi-machines-at-lawson-ffxiv-final-fantasy-xiv/amp/

Only addition to this would be to open the page in Chrome if possible, so it can be automatically translated.

Back at the hotel, we ate the snacks we’d purchased, called home (or tried to, in any case), before finally heading off to bed.

I woke up again at 9am on our first full day, after setting my alarm. I spent an hour checking things like emails and trying to trace our bags, of which there was currently no news, before I woke Lucy up. Over the next hour or so we got ready as best we could with a mishmash of clothes, no makeup, and no deodorant (as that’s...kind of not a thing here due to Asian genetics?), before heading out the door around 11:15.

On our way along to Kaminarimon Gate and Asakusa shrine and temple we spotted a shop that essentially was a bit like a Superdrug back home, where Lucy managed to find some basic makeup.

I really enjoyed walking round the shrine and temple; despite the insane amount of people in places the atmosphere was very serene. We both pulled a fortune, and as per usual with me, I get bad luck xD As is traditional, I tied it on the special rack and hopefully that means our bags won’t get even more delayed >.<

We also both got these wooden sticks you write your name and date of birth on which have a wish, and somehow this is supposed to bring you closer to that wish? Nothing particularly special for this, get wooden stick, write on stick, hand back stick to guy you just brought from, done. I mean, when in Rome, but somehow I feel like I just got conned into paying 200 yen to scribble on a stick.

We both picked up a drink at this point from one of the vending machines as the weather had heated up considerably, and then headed to the incense counter where you can buy incense, light it, and then waft it on yourself before putting it in the big burner so that it can be shared with others wafting the incense onto themselves. Wafting incense is believed to cleanse you.

After this we wandered round the local shopping streets and found a nice cafe for lunch. Lucy went for a cola and sandwich toastie with pizza filling; I went for a melon soda float, and spaghetti neapolitan. Both of us enjoyed the food; the soda float was the perfect thing after being in the heat.

After lunch, we headed out to the Tokyo Skytree for our prebooked tickets. We were also fortunate that prebooking allowed us to jump the long queue for the elevator and zoom right to the 350m deck to enjoy the sights of Tokyo from above. However somewhere along our travels the weather turned overcast, and therefore whilst still a decent view of Tokyo, we were unable to see Fuji-san at this point. As we also had galleria tickets, we then went up again to 450m, which again was very impressive. They also had a a barbie exhibition for some reason up at this level and a little pop up barbie themed shop. A browse around later and we both ended up buying a compact mirror each with a pretty illustration on the front.

On the way back down, we went in the main Skytree gift shop where I got a fridge magnet with a stained glass effect for our fridge back home :) At this point, we felt kind of done with crowds and queues, so it was back on the subway to the hotel for us. Unfortunately, our luggage had still not arrived >.< I had received a message earlier in the day advising me that the bags had arrived at the airport, and that they would therefore be passed to the delivery company.

I had to take a break at this point as not long after we got back to the hotel I developed a thumping headache, for which I honestly have to praise past me, who usually forgets everything but her electronics, for packing paracetamol in the hand luggage. I took one of these and lay down for a bit, and by around 7pm this had died down considerably.

At this point I decided to get a drink, so I hit up the 12th floor as the details we were given stated there is a vending machine up there; there very well might be. However, the 12th floor turned out to be the roof, and as it was raining considerably we went down to the ground floor where another one was supposedly located. And there was, only it was outside the back of the hotel, in the street past the parking lot, after going down a flight of stairs 😣 The only upside of this is that I ended up teaching the front desk clerk who helped us the words ‘vending machine’ as he did not know the phrase in English.

At this point we also needed food, so we went back upstairs to grab our coats before making a mad dash across the road to Family Mart. I have to say, combini food in Japan is honestly as amazing as everyone makes out.

In England you go to the ‘to go’ section of ASDA and maybe get a mayonnaise sandwich with a small bit of ham on soggy bread if you’re lucky. Here, you can go to the corner shop, get a meal made with fresh ingredients, have it heated up for you, and then if you really want you can eat it at the counter provided. Buy a pot noodle and want it now? Use the hot water machine to soak your noodles. Not about that life? Have freshly baked proper pastries, or warm chicken instead.

I would go on, but I’m too busy thinking about the hot royal milk tea I had out of a bottle, which was perfect in the drizzle this evening on the way home, the bacon wrapped onigiri, and caramel pudding parfait I had for dinner. And of course, I brought a few packets of kitkats to take home too whilst I was at it.

The rest of the evening was spent resting, as we needed to be up early the next day for our Mt. Fuji trip.

[assholemurphy]

so, i actually laid down for abt 3 hours instead of doing my itt final. oops. i didn’t even sleep, i just laid there. i mean, i tried, but i couldn’t. so, i’m gonna be out of adderall and my last pill will have worn off probs around the time i get home from shop, so, that’s gonna suck. writing two papers, a script, and reading a play with no adderall is gonna be a bitch. i’ve got my xr, maybe (still haven’t looked to see if i kept it or not, probs not), and that may help, but i’m p much fucking screwed on this one. what should take 4 hours (6 with breaks) is gonna end up taking like, 10, probably. unfortunate.

i’m gonna finish my trunk this afternoon and deal with that. it’ll take abt an hour or so. maybe one and a half. then i’ll be finished with it completely. i dunno if i’ll take it home on fri or wait til after break, it just depends. i wanna bring it home asap so i can use it when i organize my apartment, but it probs won’t be easy to carry bc while it has a handle, it’s significantly heavier than it was before, and i dunno if i’ll be able to find somebody who can help me transport it. but i can try.

one good piece of news from the shitfest that has been this past week: due to the loans i’m getting ($2k more this semester and $2k+ next semester) i’ll be able to cover the other half of the rent on my apartment (my mother will continue paying for half like she has been bc i’m jobless and don’t have the time to get one bc i get 15 hours of concentration per day and i’ve already got classes, rehearsal (if i get a part in the crucible next semester, but i will have to direct a play and design lights for a play later in the semester), shop hours (only 2 per week, but i try to stay the full afternoon, so 4 hours, unless we need a lot of help in the shop, then i’ll be there more, which will probs happen next semester), and a fuckton of homework (i’m currently enrolled in 5 classes for next semester, tho i may add a 6th if it’s offered, i need to check like, right now). i rly do not have time for a job and it’s rly hard to find one that would work with my schedule if i did bc my days are scheduled weirdly. i rly want a job, but like, finding one/actually being able to work is difficult) so i don’t actually need a roommate until fall (when my brother should be going to college) but even then, i could just keep paying it with more loans. not good in the long term, but i’ll deal with that when i graduate. so, i’m rly happy abt that. i’m gonna stick a futon in the extra room for friends, but it’ll mainly be used for art/crafting purposes. that’ll be nice. i’ll also get to decorate how i want and not in a way that ‘looks cute’ bc ewww. i just want punk shit all over the walls and an unholy amount of organizational items, is that so wrong? i also won’t have to worry about listening to the big bang theory theme play for 6 hours straight every night. and i can do hw whenever and not worry abt being interrupted. and i can cook my own meals and organize the kitchen properly (instead of the catastrophe my roommate has turned it into. tupperware in the pots cabinet!? baking pans in the pots cabinet!? things we use regularly on rly high shelves!? two fucking junk drawers!? and the dishes are never done, despite that being her chore (which i wouldn’t mind so much if she didn’t constantly nag me abt cleaning, ya know?)). it’ll be great. i’ll be able to do whatever the hell i want whenever the hell i want. i can watch whatever i want on tv. i can play video games for 6 hours straight (okay, no, i can’t, i don’t have time, but if i did). i’ll be able to have ppl over any time without worrying abt her freaking out. there’ll be space in the fridge and i can properly organize the pantry. god, i can’t wait. gonna be fucking awesome.

i do have to get ready for class now, tho, bc i’ve got to do my hair/makeup and make sure i look nice. then i’ve got to head to campus to print things and fill out forms. then my final. then the trunk. then i’m taking a goddamn nap. then i will worry abt my itt final project when i wake up. i should be up around 7p (bc i should be done in the shop by 2) so i can work on my final until 3-ish, so i should be finished by then, hopefully. i’ll sleep til 9:30a, get ready for my drs appt, turn in my final, see the dr (or see the dr then turn in the final, either way), and come home to pack for break. i would stay and organize things first, but i’m sick af and idk when i’ll be having surgery, so i’m not sure it’s a good idea to stay. i might still, tho, just until i’ve got everything organized (which might take abt 5 days). not too sure, yet. depends on when/if i can get my surgery scheduled. everything revolves around that rn. but i will have my apartment organized before next semester starts. i cannot live with my room this messy anymore, it’s driving me insane. i fucking hate disorganization and messes with a passion. like, i don’t mind clutter, rly, if it’s bc i’m working on something, but otherwise, it’s a big nope.

so, i’m off to get ready for class (after i check to see if the photography course is offered in the spring, might not be bc ik it’s offered in the fall) and take my final. i’m nervous af but i’m gonna do my best to kick ass.

[carygarman980]

Business in the Front, Party in the Back: Garage Edition.

I’ve owned my house for over five years now, and I have never—not once—parked a car in my garage. Honestly I often forget that it’s even a potential option, even though it’s right behind the house and I see it everyday. Both online and in real life, people persistently tend to refer to my garage as a “shed” or a “shack,” which for a while confused me. It has a garage door that faces the street and everything! But then I realized…that I use it as a shed-shack…and think of it as a shed-shack…and more than likely talk about it like a shed-shack while I continue to not utilize the ENTIRE SEPARATE BUILDING that I have ON MY VERY PROPERTY built SPECIFICALLY for the ultra-fancy purpose of sheltering THE THIRD MOST EXPENSIVE THING I OWN, behind my house and my debt, and MAYHAPS I should really start thinking of it as a garage?

Which really conflicts with my evident aspiration to also have a personal lumberyard, so it’s a tough call. I don’t know. We don’t need to dwell on it. We’re just talking about what the shed-shack is like right at this moment in time. To do that, let’s look at where we’ve been. Behold:

This is when I bought the house. The great thing about having such dire before photos is that I can never really feel that bad about how things stand today because, well…look! Evidently, there had been some kind of half-baked effort to extend the garage to accommodate a boat, which—speaking as a person who can barely maneuver my small utility trailer into my own driveway (or any kind of space, really)—sounds patently absurd. Clearly the project was abandoned before it had really gotten off the ground, though, leaving this…weed and trash pit?

Additionally, take note of the little door in that first image, because it becomes relevant shortly. OMG HANG ON, we’ll get there.

SO. When ALL THAT ASPHALT got removed from the backyard (prompting the insane summer of dirt-hauling and praying for the sweet relief of death), so did that cinderblock foundation, which left this charming view! There’s something about an old sloppy siding patch that I’m actually kind of fond of, even though I have NO patience for new sloppy patch jobs. I finally made the connection that the missing window on the back of the garage never actually left the premises, but rather got recycled as the old laundry room window! Which has now also been replaced, but anyway. What an odd choice.

Inside the garage, things had gotten a JUST A LITTLE crowded. Demo over at Bluestone Cottage had left me with piles and piles of wood trim to store until it gets cleaned up and re-installed. My first fencing project had left behind an extra panel. Upstairs kitchen demo supplied a kitchen’s worth of base cabinets and formica countertops, poor decisions granted me a bunch of falling-apart shutters that I intercepted at the dump, a twenty-dollar price tag on a cute art deco dresser had saddled me with…an extra dresser. And so on. You get the idea.

I’m not really sure when or exactly why somebody drywalled the whole interior of the garage, and in retrospect it might have been kind of nice…but it wasn’t in good condition, appeared moldy in some spots, and somewhat interfered with the plan to install new electric in here to run power tools, new exterior lighting, etc.

SO! I gutted all the drywall, exposing the unpainted backside of the shiplap siding and the studs. Rustic? Sure. Rustic.

A couple months before, my friends Kim and Scott over at Yellow Brick Home had put some super impressive work into their own detached garage, including adding these simple and strong wood brackets for storing excess lumber. Their garage is what garage dreams are made of. “Great!” I said. “I’ll do that, too!”

So I did that too.

Except I have a lot more wood than Kim and Scott do. And also a much smaller garage. These are two facts you might think I would have considered beforehand, but evidently I’m incapable of thinking this many steps ahead.

Simple brackets. I can build simple brackets. Here I am, building simple brackets as day turns to dusk. Brackets out of scrap wood to hold more scrap wood.

Turns out there is a real compatibility problem between me and these brackets. You also might think I would have foreseen this, but once again. Too many steps ahead. Lower those expectations PLEASE.

See, each one takes up a lot of space. The space that is a particular issue is that diagonal brace, because once your wood pile gets to the base of that diagonal brace, subsequent pieces of wood inch forward, causing your pile to be weird and uneven, and things to fall, and general mishap. The solution here is obviously to not have so much goddamned wood that the piles ever get higher than the bottom of the diagonal brace, but that’s obviously too much to ask of me at this moment in my life. Someday I will have used up a lot of this wood (I SWEAR I HAVE PLANS FOR ALMOST ALL OF IT PROBABLY I THINK) and this might not be an issue anymore. Even still, though, it’s not an especially space-efficient design.

What I SHOULD HAVE DONE (and later did do on one wall) was suck it up and buy these storage racks, because they’re a) made for this very purpose b) well-designed and very sturdy c) pretty macho. Unfortunately once I started building my simple brackets I couldn’t stop building my simple brackets.

Because I simply must tell you EVERYTHING, demo revealed another now-covered window on the other side of the garage, directly opposite the other window!

Siding is patched over on the exterior, and this window faces the fence that divides my property line from the neighbor’s. Maybe someday I’ll restore it but for now it’s kinda not hurting anybody.

SO. Back to the wall opposite the garage door. At this point there is lumber everywhere so I take a break to use a very small amount of it.

Remember when I said to take note of the skinny door on the side of the garage? It’s only 28″ wide—which is fine for just walking in and out, but try carrying a table saw through it. Or a long piece of wood. Or the lawnmower.

YES there’s a big garage door on the opposite end of the garage, but it’s outside of the fence, doesn’t have an electric opener, and stays locked for security…so using it means making sure the dog is in the house, opening the garage door from the inside, out onto the sidewalk with whatever the probably heavy thing is, back into the backyard through the gate, back into the garage to close it, back to the house to let the dog out who has now eaten something I forgot I left on the table…this was a pain.

Long ago I dazzled you with this beautiful SketchUp rendering of my backyard, which is mostly different than anything I’ve done or plan to do anymore, but adding doors to the back of the garage didn’t change! The idea is that it allows more light into the garage, and provides an easy, convenient, and LARGE access to bring big things in and out. In theory you could put a table saw or a planer in the middle of the garage, open up both sides, and feed a long board through. In practice, thusfar there has always been too much stuff for this concept to become a reality, but I HAVE DREAMS, OK?

So, I invited my friends over for a relaxing afternoon of light framing work and demolition. And by friends I mean Edwin and Edgar, the ride-or-die power duo I rope into pretty much everything I do. We built a header with hoarded lumber and supported it with hoarded jack and king studs. Evil plan in action!

Then we cut a big hole! Light streamed in! Angels sang!

Into the opening, we inserted this set of pre-hung french doors. Pre-hung doors are so simple! So drama-free! A few shims, a few screws, and viola! Doors!

Edgar, who is magic with a circular saw, ripped off the ends of the siding around the door to accommodate a new casing.

The hardest part of assembling the new cashing is, luckily, not very hard! A few passes on the table saw and I had a good replica of the drip cap that sits over the other doors and windows on the garage and parts of the house. Some lumber yards have this piece available, too.

Some more scrap wood and a hefty dose of Bondo later…looking pretty good, doors!

Speaking of Bondo: Bondo is a bit tricky and, I find, unreliable for exterior wood repairs, at least in this climate. Some people swear by it, some people won’t touch the stuff—I fall somewhere in the middle. I’ve had repairs fail after just one year on bare wood, although repairs where I’ve used at least 1-2 coats of primer on bare wood before applying Bondo have been fine—for now, at least. A much better product—although more expensive and time-consuming (it takes about a week to cure)— is Abatron WoodEpox. For what it’s worth, although not recommended, I’ve never seen a Bondo repair on interior painted woodwork fail—just outside. It can’t seem to take the expansion and contraction that occurs with exterior woodwork in the upstate NY climate.

SO. Way back when I said I was going to do this, and then a bit later did it, and then neglected to blog about it, there was comment drama about the doors. They are pine. They are made for interior, not exterior use. They are single pane and not particularly weatherproof. I chose them in large part because they were affordable at $377, and I figured worst case scenario, someday I’ll have to replace them into a now-existing standard-sized opening, which isn’t really such a big deal. I stand by it! They’ve been through 3 whole winters at this point and haven’t shifted or shown separation at joints, etc., and I think they should last many more years without issue.

SO. Current Status: TOO MUCH WOOD. In fairness there are many not-wood items like a few large tools, 2 spare cast iron sinks (as one does), various gardening and landscaping accoutrement, roofing shingles for a rainy day (get it?), window sash (pl.), extra corbels, uh…I don’t know, stuff. It’s an overcrowded disaster which I swear is not nearly as disorganized as it might appear. I have a LOT of interior finishing work coming up (THANK GOD. I AM SO TIRED OF FRAMING AND PLUMBING AND ELECTRIC AND INSULATION AND SIDING I COULD SCREAM. I AM SCREAMING.), so I’m kind of perversely excited to see how thinned out I can get this in the coming months. Also, intensely motivated to get this garage back under control because this is driving me nuts. At a certain point the strategy backfires because there’s too much to even see what you have, and fishing it out becomes a big hassle.

Additionally. You may note. That the last two are recent pictures. And I mentioned these doors were installed 3 years ago. There is a simple explanation for this. I never actually finished painting the doors. Because I just did not. The options were to finish painting the doors or do something other than finish painting the doors, and I have consistently chosen the latter option for multiple years now.

Also, they really need hardware. The lack of hardware is an issue.

TA-DA!!!