#oh AND i think i now what a headache from it

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Complaints

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Getting drunk and having your girlfriend take you home.

Contains: Intoxication, ass tapping. (literally nothing too sexual). Reader wears revealing clothes. (idk if that’s like, an ick?

Proofread || Note: So… I broke my phone :) hahhaaaaaaaaaaa 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️ This is so rushed, im so sorry omg.

Fourth drink down and you were beginning to feel tipsy. The loud music and the bright lights weren’t helping, and don’t get yourself started on the nagging laughter coming from the men sat beside you on the stools.

With a grimace, you turn to face the crowd of people; who were dancing to the upbeat music. They looked like they were having fun, unlike you. It had been half an hour since you unattached yourself from your girlfriend, who was now playing poker with a bunch of men, and went to grab a drink. As a lightweight, it never took much effort to get yourself drunk, so with only a few shots of tequila you were just that.

With your uncomfortably tight clothes, you stepped off the stool and made your way back to your muscular girlfriend. Sevika, who saw you coming, wrapped her mech hand around your hips the second you sat down. “Finally came back?” She smirked out, pulling the cigarillo from inbetween her dark lips. “You’re acting like I was gone for an hour..” hands on the edge of the table, fingers playing with the roughened wood, you lean your heavy head against her shoulder.

“In thirty minutes y’managed to get yourself drunk. Funny.” The woman scoffed, though there was no hint of bitterness in her tone. Instead, her words were full of fondness. You guessed she could smell the alcohol from you, must’ve been strong.

See, the main reason you’d stepped away from her was because she was being completely unreasonable— as you called it— your girlfriend had been complaining about your revealing outfit the second the two of you had entered The Last Drop. She’d even offered to lend you her, most prized, cape. Don’t get her wrong, she let you wear what you wanted, just not when you were trembling in the cold.

“Not funny.” With a roll of your eyes, you shift onto your girlfriend’s lap. It was definitely more comfortable, much more warmer too. Your mind was still trying to process a lot of things, so all you needed was a good place to relax. “In the middle of a game, love.” Sevika’s cool, metallic finger ran up and down your back, soothing your heated, tingling skin. “So?”— “So, you’re movin’ too much.” The woman gave your waist a squeeze and held you in place. “How much longer? I’ve been watching you play for like.. uhm, a good while now?” Your words slurred as you managed to speak. Your girlfriend took the hint and shook her head in slight disapproval. “Maybe y’shouldn’t of drank so much?” You, having a huge headache and clearly not in the mood, gave her a squeeze on her cheek. “Oh, yeah, poke your girlfriend’s cheek until she’s givin’ in.” This tactic had worked before, and you were confident in your attempt.

And, of course, you succeeded. Turns out, nagging in your girlfriend’s ear about the randomness things all the while squeezing her cheeks was the only way to pull her out of a game.

Sevika was forced to give up with a deep sigh before throwing her cards onto the table and walking you to your shared apartment; which wasn’t far. Arriving and locking the door behind the her, Sevika let out an exaggerated sigh. “Y’happy now?” Yeah, you were. “My head was hurting, not my fault.” Your migraine had lessened in time, thanks to the fresh air you’d gotten and the warmth from your girlfriend. “Hope you’re ready to be hung-over, baby.” “Yeah, I am. I’ll be fine with some medicine.” You follow Sevika into the bedroom before collapsing onto the bed, she followed suit and pulled you into her arms.

“Y’expect me to help your stubborn ass?” She gruffed in half-seriousness as she nuzzled into your neck. “Think we need to change you, I don’t understand why you didn’t wear something more.. functional..” of course Sevika disapproved of your outfit, she was the only one allowed to enjoy them; so to wear them outside the house would only rile her up. “This is functional, it’s pretty too!” A miniskirt with a laced top sure would get you a “lot of attention”, which you, sometimes, didn’t mind. “Pretty, sure. But, functional? Don’t think so, sweet thing.” Although it was hard to make quick movements in the fear of flashing someone, the outfit you wore was one of Sevika’s favourites, so you didn’t understand why she was complaining so much. “Will you just change me?”

It took Sevika a good while to figure out how to take off your complicated skirt. When she did, she gave your ass a pat before slipping you into some cozy pajamas. “Will you quit doin’ that?” You let your girlfriend carry you back into bed and she pulled you tightly against her muscular chest. “Y’like it, don’t lie.” The warmth of her breath mixed in with her sweet and metallic scent had you more relaxed than ever. Your mind had stopped spinning, your body just melted into her, and her touch had you more than content. You couldn’t feign the annoyance anymore.

“Maybe I do..”

[reidology13]

we don't talk about it

Spencer Reid x fem victim!reader

cw: fluff, angst, attempted murder, drug use, drug addiction, hospitals, badly written withdrawal, bad parenting mention, gambling mention, set around season 4, that's it I think wc: 2.6k a/n: this is the first part of a fairly short series I have planned for the next while, hope you enjoy!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You registered the blood before you felt the pain. The beat of the music pumped the blood through your veins, sweat hanging in the air alongside the cloying scent of perfume.

You popped a pill into your mouth, unsure what it was or where it had come from, stumbling over to the bar for a shot of vodka to wash it down. You’d just made it to the bar when a man shoved past you, hitting you roughly in the torso. You could tell something was off by the way that the pressure lingered after he had walked away. Your hand reached for the feeling, trying to figure out what was causing it, and found an odd, slightly sticky liquid soaking your dress.

You cringed, pulling your hand back to look at it, expecting to see nothing, the clear remnants of a sugary cocktail spilt on your dress. Instead, you were faced with a darkness painting your palms, and even then it took you a moment to realise what it was, the coloured lights altering its appearance. When you did recognise it, the pain still lagged, and you wondered if the plethora of drugs in your system were acting as an anaesthetic. 

You stumbled outside, growing lightheaded from the blood loss, holding your hand over the wound to stifle the seemingly endless stream of blood that flowed between your fingers. You flipped open your phone, about to call 911, when, finally, the pain hit. Something between the blood loss, the drugs, and the excruciating pain you were in sent your head spinning towards the ground, and the last thing you remembered before you passed out was the thought that you were never going to wake up.

.*☆¸•

You did, however, and when you regained consciousness, you were lying down in a hospital bed, the sharp, sanitised smell instantly recognisable. You had spent enough early mornings recovering from exceptionally dangerous highs to know your way around most of the hospitals in the Upper East Side with your eyes closed. Which, at the time, they were. When you did open them, you regretted it immediately, squinting against the blinding whiteness of the room in an attempt to see your surroundings. There was someone sitting next to your bed, a blurry figure that you were sure you had never seen before. You blinked repeatedly until your vision cleared slightly, and you were faced with a greasy mop of hair, underneath which might have been a man.

“You’re awake.” He sounded too relieved to be a stranger, and you momentarily questioned if you were suffering from amnesia. Then you saw the badge attached to his belt, which made a lot more sense as a reason to be invested in your wellbeing.

“What happened?” You rubbed at your eyes with a shaking hand, trying to ward off the headache that was already forming in the harsh light. You were surprised by how fine you felt, given the fact that your most recent memory was of being covered in blood. 

“Well, you were stabbed two days ago by a serial killer. You’re lucky, he’d been shooting his victims until now. He needed to be closer to his victims, and he made a mistake.” The man leaned towards you, his features growing clearer with proximity.

“Oh. Who are you?” You weren't quite prepared to process just how close to death you had really been just yet. Changing the topic seemed to be the only way to postpone the impending interview that would force you to face it.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.” The way his voice went up as he spoke was a little bit annoying, and wasn’t doing anything to help the steady throbbing in your skull. Scratch your original plan of postponing the serious talk, you wanted to get everything over and done with as fast as possible so that you could get some rest.

“Well, I didn’t really notice at first, he knocked into me. I didn’t feel any pain ‘cause, fuck-” You groaned, a painful shiver running down your spine.

“Yes, they found GHB, cocaine, methamphetamines, and alcohol in your system. That pain you're feeling right now is withdrawal, something I’m guessing you haven’t felt before.” Despite his words, his voice carried none of the sympathy or disgust you would have suspected from someone like him. It didn’t feel like a judgement, but an acknowledgement of how hard it was: it was understanding.

“That… that makes sense.” Your thoughts were foggy, stopping just before they were fully formed, leaving incomplete puzzles with a single piece missing, words without any vowels. Enough that everything you said or felt was left wanting.

“Since you’re the only person so far to survive him, you’re the best witness we have. You’re also the most at risk.” He paused, and you took the chance to butt in, asking the question that seemed the most pertinent before you could forget it.

“What do you mean, ‘at risk’?” You grumbled, the roughness of your voice doing its best to cover up the genuine curiosity in your tone. This was a negotiation, no matter what he said, and you knew negotiations. If your father had taught you one good thing, it was that you never showed anyone your hand. Technically, at the time that hadn’t been metaphorical, he had been teaching you how to play poker at the ripe age of six.

“There’s a fairly significant chance that he’ll come back, try and finish the job. If he finds out you’re still alive, that is.” He said it like it wasn’t anything at all, like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing you had ever been told, just common sense. To him, you supposed it was.

“He’s going to try and kill me again?” There went keeping your cards to your chest. Whose voice was going up now, huh? To be fair, he hadn’t just been told that he was the target of a serial killer who had just landed him in the hospital by stabbing him.

“If you’re willing to do exactly what I say, then no.” His tone had gained a seriousness that it had been lacking before, and maybe that was what had been annoying you, because it was suddenly mostly bearable.

“And so, your plan is for us to…” You trailed off, painfully aware of your loss of footing in the conversation. Again, only one of you was coming down from a high while also healing from a stab wound, and you felt that it was deeply unfair of him to use your circumstances to his advantage.

“You and I would stay in an FBI safe house, working on the case and reporting any breakthroughs back to my team until they find and arrest him.”

“Safe house?” You baulked, “Like, stuck inside with you all of the time, no going out, no fun? That kind of safe house?” The thought of it sent a shiver of anxiety and apprehension through you. For one, you didn’t know this man, and you would be locked in a small space with him for who knew how long, you could only imagine all of the gross habits he had. He probably didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet.

To be completely fair, you had snorted coke off of a public toilet roll holder before, so you couldn’t really judge him when it came to hygiene. That brought you to your second problem with the propositioned arrangement: any time spent in the safe house was time where you would be fully, stone-cold, sober. It wasn’t a feeling you were particularly accustomed with, nor was it one you wanted to be.

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean what I think you mean, then yes. Personally, I’m sure that we, if you agree to help, will have plenty of fun while we’re there. More importantly, I’m sure we will solve the case.” He spoke like he was trying to sell you something, like you really had a choice at all in the matter. Death or time in a house with some guy. The answer was pretty straight forward.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be your witness.” You conceded, hoping that your agreement would be enough to make him go away for a while. If you were going to spend the next however long with him, you would like to take the short span of time you had as a free woman and keep it to yourself.

He did, standing up and silently leaving the room, as well as you to your own thoughts. You hoped that they would report you as dead on the news, that they wouldn’t tell your parents what was going on. A little bit because you wanted to scare them, make them care about you for a moment. Mostly because it sounded fucking hilarious.

.*☆¸•

You didn’t have to wait long for your answer, depending on what we’re going to consider a long period of time. It was only a few days that you spent in the hospital, but they were painful, and to be completely honest, fucking terrifying. It was like a four day fever, but with added muscle spasms, constant paranoia, and anxiety unlike anything you’d ever felt before. No matter how stretched out those days felt, the moment the time came to leave, it felt as though you’d only been given a few minutes to prepare yourself mentally. Spencer walked into your room on the third day, bringing with him two other people, one was a man you had never seen before, while the other was a woman you’d seen outside your room on your first day at the hospital. Well, technically, your third. Spencer introduced you, although you were sure they both already knew your name, and probably all of your darkest secrets. Then he turned back to you, gesturing to the duo as he introduced them.

“This is Aaron Hotchner and Jennifer Jareau. They’ll be our point of contact while we work on your case.” Aaron nodded simply, and Jennifer offered a wave alongside a short greeting.

“Hi.” You waved back weakly, your arm aching with the movement. Jennifer gave you a kind, if not slightly pitying, smile as you dropped your arm with a wince. She seemed nice, but you were glad that it wasn’t her you were sharing the safe house with.

“Call me JJ, I’m the media liaison with the BAU, so I’ll be in charge of keeping the media from endangering you by reporting your survival.” She took a few steps forward, standing directly in front of you, and you could tell she was expecting you to ask questions. Luckily for her, you actually had one.

“What will my parents get told?” You tried not to sound too anxious for an answer, knowing that she would assume you wanted them told the truth of your circumstances.

“Due to the fact that you're not a minor, we have no legal reason to tell them. So unless there are any extenuating circumstances we’re unaware of, they will be told that you are dead. I know that might be hard for-” You cut her off before she could continue to believe that either party cared about the situation.

“Good, I don’t want them to know.” You spoke bluntly, a clear statement, leaving no room for questions or misunderstandings. JJ stepped back, taking your words as her sign to leave.

The man didn’t speak, simply standing beside Spencer as the number of people in the room dropped from four to three. There was silence for a while, none of you willing to speak and break it. Eventually, Spencer must have decided it had been long enough, clearing his throat in that pointed way people think is subtle, and glanced over at the man – Agent Hotchner, you reminded yourself. 

“We’ll check in on you via phone calls regularly, so that you can update us on the case and tell us what you need delivered to the safe house.” Spencer had already told you that, but you didn’t say anything, just nodding and thanking him, “Please write down a list of things you want to be moved to the safe house from your apartment.” He handed you a notepad, along with a pencil, and you wrote down all of the basics you could think of, as well as a few less necessary items—well, that depends on the definition of ‘necessary’ we’re using, you value your sanity—including makeup, your violin, books, and a few other hobbies. You gave him the notepad back, before grabbing it again, scribbling down to include your iPod and your headphones. He looked over it, nodded, and walked out of the room without another word. You liked him.

When it was just Spencer and you left in the room, he came and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at you softly.

“How are you? You look a bit better than you have for the past few days.” He was being ridiculously nice and understanding, just like he had been since you’d woken up in the hospital. It made you feel even more guilty for yelling at him the day before when he had come into your room and asked how you were doing. You’d thought it was pretty obvious that the answer was ‘not good’ and made sure to tell him just that, in probably the meanest way possible.

“Yeah, I feel better.” You gave him your weak attempt at a grin, accompanied by a small wince because your whole body ached, that muscle deep ache that sinks its claws into your soul just to ruin your day.

“Good.” He smiled, tight-lipped and stilted, the kind that never appeared on a red carpet or magazine cover, but now that you’d seen it, you decided it definitely needed to.

“When are we going to the safe house?” You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer as you pushed yourself up in the bed, sitting with a soft grunt. 

“It should be fully set up by now.” He tapped his fingers against the paper thin sheets as he spoke, the constant movement slightly distracting. “Hopefully we’ll be able to go tomorrow after your personal items are moved in.”

“Perfect, this hospital is so not hot.”

“They do have a very good air conditioning system.” You tried—and miserably failed—to hold back a very ungraceful laugh at his words, deciding quite quickly that this was going to be an entertaining few weeks, if nothing else.

“That’s not what I meant.” You winced at the soft pain that reverberated through you alongside your laughter.

“Oh, um, what did you mean?” He was completely oblivious, and seemed rather embarrassed about the fact, you couldn’t help but attempt to comfort him.

“It means, like, something is bad. ‘Hot’ means it’s cool.” You figured any mentions of Paris Hilton would only further confuse him, given how pop culture blind he clearly was.

“Um, okay.” He gave you that awkward smile, waving as he stumbled towards the exit of the room. He looked like he was fairly used to not being in the know, and like that was something he was judged for fairly frequently. You felt a little bad, but more than anything you wanted to be alone, the headache from the previous days creeping back in. So you settled for just being as nice to him as you could, and letting him leave.

“See you tomorrow?” You smiled softly at the sweet face he made, halting on his way out the door to speak again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“See you.”

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tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[tiyawnyana]

So this is a special request sent in by @reader210 , thank you for the request! I loved your idea and want to turn it into a multi-chapter story so this is chapter one!

A/N: I actually had so much fun creating this story because the characterization was a blast

Characters: Mel Medarda x Fem!Doctor!Reader

Warnings: nothing explicit, brief swearing, general confusion

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An Apple a Day

Chapter 1

Synopsis:

Everything was normal- everything was starting to become better, pieces falling into place. You got your new position within the hospital secured, you were thinking about getting a dog, maybe even a cat. Life was beginning to make sense.

Until you end up in an entirely new world, apparently.

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Footsteps echo through the halls, a soft sound in these vacant cells as you munch on the fruit given to you a Iittle while ago.

You huff, annoyed and tired with this insane situation.

You didn't expect this- to be somehow spawned into another world. One minute, you're in your office finishing some paperwork for a patient, the next, you're collapsing in the middle of a huge room, seemingly a meeting of elites to some sort.

You remember the shrieks of surprise, the throbbing in your skull as you weakly pushed yourself up with your palms. Your glasses had flung off in the events, nowhere to be found so now you're stuck with fuzzy vision and locked away while whoever figures out who and what you were.

You lean against the cold wall, huffing softly as you rub your fingers into your temple, feeling another headache brewing.

Footsteps get closer, entering the cell hallway and you sigh, rolling your eyes as they get nearer.

You see the fuzzy outline of someone, squinting to try and make them out but no such luck.

You groan as they stop at your cell and you decide to get up, pacing closer to the bars.

“Well? Figure me out yet?” You sass sarcastically.

“I don't think you're in a position to be sarcastic,” the woman murmurs, and you're almost convinced you hear a smirk in her tone.

“I don't think I'm in a position to do anything, I'm afraid, but here we are,” you smirk, leaning against the bars.

She's silent for a moment, gaze seemingly boring into you and you feel heat creeping up your neck in embarrassment. You avert your gaze, huffing softly.

“The Counsel hasn't figured out the cause of your appearance.. Where are you from? Noxus?”

You raise a brow in confusion and question, turning your gaze back to her,”Where the hell is Noxus? I'm from Chicago-”

“Chicago?” She echoes, bewildered,”I don't recognize your accent-”

“Typical brit, huh?” You try to joke but it falls flat. You swallow, looking away again.

“What is your position? Status?”

“Uh- what?”

“Your title,” she speaks firmly.

You look back at her despite her still blurry form,”Uh.. Doctor?”

“You're a Doctor?” She echoes, seemingly surprised,”In that uniform?”

“What's wrong with my uniform?” You look down at the white doctors coat with your soft navy cardigan underneath.

“I've never seen that kind of uniform on a doctor- seems unfitting-”

“Okay-”

“That- is not the main focus of my visit,” she sighs, before lifting her hand and handing you something.

“What's that-”

“Your glasses.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you grab them from her hand and quickly put them on, wincing at the slight blur before your vision comes back into focus and redirecting your gaze back to the woman before you.

Jesus- this woman is gorgeous. Unlike anyone you've ever seen- what?

“Uh- wow,” you murmur, eyes wide as you take her in.

“What?” She tilts her head in confusion.

You figure you must be dreaming. Some drug induced coma, for sure.

“You're stunning,” you say smoothly, uncaring for any embarrassment you'd surely feel if this was real life.

Her gaze widens in surprise, before she quickly masks over it.

“The counsel wishes to conduct an interview, an investigation of sorts to understand your appearance,” she speaks smoothly, bringing keys forward before hesitating,”I trust you'll behave?”

You snort, giving her a nod,”Yes, I'll behave. I'm just as curious as you all are.”

She eyes you for a moment before unlocking the cell, sliding the bars open and beckoning you forward.

You step out, stretching your arms above your head before inhaling sharply in surprise when a guard approaches quickly, cuffs on display.

“Those won't be necessary,” the woman speaks firmly, brushing her hand to signal the guard.

You eye her carefully,”Thank you.”

She nods in silence.

“What's your name?”

She rolls her eyes, ushering you to walk out and you huff a soft laugh.

She walks beside you, leading you through halls with the guard following behind. You can't take your eyes off of your surroundings, enthralled with the architecture and some paintings on the walls.

“This is one insane dream,” you murmur to yourself.

“A dream?” The woman echoes, shaking her head,”How interesting.”

You remember these doors, suddenly nervous at the sight of the giant, overly designed wood as you recall being dragged out of the room behind them.

They open, revealing that those same people from before are seated in their same chairs.

You're pushed forward by the guard and you out of reflex turn to smack at his hand but the woman waves the guard off as she beckons you to follow.

“In the center, if you will,” she murmurs, walking away for circle the table back to her own seat.

You listen as requested, hands clasped together at your front as you stand in the center, feeling as if you were under a microscope.

“Uh.. hi,” you wave awkwardly with a sheepish smile.

The doors open again, a higher pitched voice gaining everyone's attention and you turn to look, only for you to find nothing. They're still talking, though, and you follow the sound to the head of the table when a small person? Seats themselves down.

“It's about time we figured out this anomaly!” He grins through quirked ears and a bushy mustache.

Your head tilts, confusion etched into your face.

“Counselor Medarda, have you found out any new information about our guest?”

The woman, you learn now is something Medarda, turns to nod in his direction.

“Our guest is from what you called Chicago? I am unfamiliar with it-” she turns to look at you.

“Yes- Uh, Chicago, Illinois, to be exact.”

“Illinois-?” A man echoes, and you turn before stifling a smirk.

The blonde man was the definition of a twink back home.

You shake your head, refocusing as you face the head counselor,”Yes, in America?”

His ears perk, eyes narrowed as he peers back at you,”We don't know what you're talking about, this America- there's no lands here by that name.”

“What now?”

Counselor Medarda sighs in defeat,”I truly don't believe we'll find anything of ill intent here,” she speaks smoothly,”Counselor Heimerdinger?”

Your head turns to the head counselor- Heimerdinger, as he furrows his thick brows.

“You don't look of Noxus style,” he huffs,”Nor any other land I've ventured through. I'm curious, what was your occupation?”

“Oh- I'm a Doctor, sir,” you respond sheepishly.

“A Doctor! Impressive,” he smiles genuinely and you're surprised to find delight in that,”I think we could find use of you while keeping an eye on your movements.”

“Use of me-?” You echo in confusion.

“Oh, yes! I believe we could very well use your talents,” he looks to the other counselors.

Some honestly look as if they care less, that one twink in particular, but as your gaze flicks back toward him, you catch onto Ms. Medarda.

She's looking at you with a certain look, a glint to her eye, like she found something worth investing in.

Heat creeps up your cheeks and you don't hear anything else, too occupied with the golden freckles dusting her cheeks and her near hypnotizing eyes.

“Then it's settled!”

You whip your head back to Heimerdinger, expecting the worst but he's got a genuine, friendly smile on his face.

“You'll be under surveillance, of course, but we want to understand your form of healing- perhaps it is different in this.. Chicago?”

You nod in understanding, smiling shakily,”Of- of course, uh-”

“Counselor Medarda and Shoola will lead you around, you will have a stationed enforcer keeping an eye on you until we can determine that you are not a threat.”

You nod again, hands tightening at your front out of nerves.

“I expect weekly reports, have them set up the east wing for board and the first floor for an office for her,” he grins back at you,”I do hope to see good things from you.”

He calls the meeting to an end, hopping down from his chair and exiting the room with a few of the counselors following behind you.

Counselor Medardo waves off Shoola, approaching you from behind before stopping.

“Doctor?”

You snap back into focus, turning to look at her.

“Ready to go?” She beckons toward the door.

You take a moment to reply, nodding in confusion.

“What the hell was that?” You manage to say, following her out of the room.

“That was your interview, investigation, call it what you wish,” she waves it off.

You look at her in bewilderment,”Was that counselor made of metal?”

“Counselor Bolbok?” She side eyes you in confusion.

“Sure, whatever-”

“Hold on.. you've been looking confused,” she turns to you, stopping in the hallway.

“No shit, Sherlock, I’m confused-”

“Sherlock?” She questions, face scrunched in confusion.

Your eyes go wide, hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, stressed,“Ok- what is happening.”

She just raises a brow, that confused look still on her face.

“What was that!” You huff,”Counselor Heim..”

“Counselor Heimerdinger,” she finishes.

“Yes- what?” You laugh in surprise,”What.. is he? In the least disrespectful way possible.”

She's quiet for a moment before sighing in defeat,”You really aren't from here.. are you?”

“That's what I've been telling you-” a headache begins to form,”Did I somehow end up in an entirely new universe? Huh?”

She covers her mouth, hiding the small laugh at your expense.

“Heimerdinger is a Yordle,” she murmurs with a grin,”Bolbok is a gaseous being- he controls his metal exterior.”

You look at her as if she'd grown a second head,“What the hell is a yordle?”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

A/N: I just needed an excuse to describe Salo as a twink sorry not sorry

[xitsensunmoon]

Hiii it's me again!

I was wandering... Has the donor ever snapped and told the vampires to leave? I'm picturing their reactions as different depending on what time in their relationship it happens but...y/n yelling at them to just LEAVE (after an argument or just when they are fed up and miserable bc of their presence alone) and never come back and one or both of them (physically or with words?) threatening them with "do you think you are the one in control? Or that you have a choice and can order us around?". And the donor is just "do it. I don't care anymore" leaning to their claws??? This is my brairot talking btw so bare with me if it doesn't make sense, but would something like that happen? What would S&M reactions be? I'm very much curious 👁️👄👁️

When tugged at both sides, anyone would snap. You can't exactly afford them to leave, as much as you want them to, your headache would only get bigger. So the furthest you'll go is to order them to leave you alone or leave the house.

When you finally do, the first thing you see on their faces is mostly surprise, somehow neither of them expected your patience to thin this fast. And to your own surprise, they'd concede, maybe with some reluctance, but it would be awfully quiet in the house for the next week or so, to a point of being unnerving.

That's when you realise that maybe, just maybe, you should try to be bolder. To take your own space back, as much as you can.

You'd feel around, walking on eggshells, just to find out that in a lot of things your now housemates don't even mind you to take the lead. If anything, your newly gained liveliness and confidence almost made them seem less intimidating. The knife-like sharpness of their eyes and grins didn't change, but now you somewhat knew how to handle it.

But then you make the same mistake Sun and Moon did with you - push on the wrong button. And even with both vampires towering over you, throwing threats, something clicks.

Have they ever followed through with any of their implied threats? And more importantly -

Would you want to find out if they do?

OK lmao that did not answer your question in any way BUT to be fair it's very difficult to answer djjajd

At the very start you wouldn't be brave enough to, and your attempt to regain control by trying to demand they do as you say would be laughed at, oh what a silly little thing.

When you have known each other for a little while, they'd become just a teeny tiny bit more mindful of how they go about interacting with you, the stakes getting higher the closer you three get.

They are all bark no bite type of guys, despite having done plenty of demonstrating of what they're capable of, never directly hurting you. It does take a while for you to realise that.

But yeah if reader does end up calling them out on said fact as in your example, putting yourself in danger willingly, that's a clear case of you actually finally winning. Both Sun and Moon would be quite distressed by your actions, silently yanking their hand away from you. Moon would angrily grumble something, hurrying to leave the room, while Sun would stand there for a moment with a blank face, before firmly stating "I count on you never doing anything this stupid ever again, yes?" and hesitantly leaving as well.

I doubt they would ever snap back at you when you're distressed, unless they are too.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Riddle Rosehearts - Nightmare Suit Vignette

"Absolutely against the rules!"

[Halloween Town – Alleyway]

Riddle: We lost so much time because of that unexpected mishap. We should finish up the Halloween preparations as quickly as possible.

Jamil: Right. We should begin by checking out how the rest of the town is doing.

Riddle: I agree. While Halloween Town was mired in all that confusion, some other issues may have cropped up.

[Halloween Town – Town Hall]

Riddle: Jamil, take a look at that. The candy that we prepared ahead of time seems to have decreased in number since we last looked…

Jamil: You're right. There should have been overflowing mounds of candy in three baskets. But now, I only see one.

Riddle: Someone may have unintentionally moved it, or some ill-advised malcontent may have stolen it…

Jamil: ――Hm? I feel like I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye…

Riddle: THERE! YOU WON'T ESCAPE ME!!

[chair slams against door]

???: Waah! What's with this chair!?

???: Why'd it just appear in front of us out of nowhere?

Jamil: I see, you used your magic to move the chair to block the exit. Good thinking.

Shock: We can't leave 'cause this chair's in the way!

Shock: It's all 'cause you two were so slow in carrying the candy. You blockheads!

Barrel: I'm not the blockhead, he is.

Lock: She's talking about you!

Riddle: Oh, it's you guys… The troublemaker trio.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: URK!!!

Jamil: There's candy spilling out from the bag they're dragging. They're for sure our culprits.

Riddle: Good thing we captured them before they made off with the candy. There's no place for you three to run now.

Shock: You're so mean, cutting us off from the exit when we're trying to leave!

Riddle: Mean? You seem to be mistaking me for yourselves.

Riddle: No single person can claim all the candy for themselves. It is an unforgivable act to steal it.

Riddle: And just after causing all that chaos in town… Have the three of you not reflected on your actions at all?

Lock: C'mon, we ran around so much earlier that we're so hungry, though.

Shock: Plus, this is the first time we've seen candy like the ones you guys made, and it look suuuper yummy.

Barrel: There's no way we can wait until Halloween to eat 'em.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: [chomp, chomp] … See, it's sooo good.

Riddle: Wha… How dare you add to your crimes by eating the candy mid-testimony! Absolutely barbaric!

Jamil: They keep doing whatever they want, as if they're not to blame for any of the problems we faced in town earlier… Honestly, I can't help but be a little impressed.

Riddle: If we just leave them be, they may cause another problem sooner or later, so if I'd rather it be off with their heads…

Lock: Huh? Off with whose head?

Barrel: Probably Jack's. 'Cause he can take off his head, can't he?

Shock: Sounds awesome! I thought this guy was just a nagging bore, but he can say some fun stuff, too!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Let's go! Let's go right now! Let's go take off Jack's head!

Riddle: Silence!! You three misunderstand me. When I say "off with their head," I am not speaking literally.

Lock: Eh, really?

Shock: Boooring, I thought it was gonna be something fun.

Riddle: Sigh… I feel a headache coming along just being around you three.

Jamil: Not only do they not show any signs of remorse, they immediately leap at the chance to start something new… They are completely out of our control.

Riddle: However, if we were to leave these children to their own devices, they may interfere with the Halloween preparations again.

Riddle: If that's the case… Jamil, the two of us should keep an eye on these three.

Riddle: And as the Housewarden of Heartslabyul, I shall ingrain into the children proper discipline!

Jamil: It's fine and dandy that you're raring to go, but you didn't need to drag me into this without asking…

Riddle: Did you say something just now, Jamil?

Jamil: …No, nothing at all.

Riddle: Well, then… Ahem! See here, you three. Listen to me well.

Riddle: From here on out, you will not run around as you please, but will accompany us. Understand?

Lock: Ehhhh! Why'd we have to be with you guys?

Riddle: That is because you all keep breaking the rules.

Riddle: In essence, this is the result of all your mischief. …Now, how do you respond?

Shock: I don't really get it, but whatever! We were bored, anyway, so we can stick with you for a tiiiny bit.

Riddle: Good! Then first, return all the candy you stole back onto the table. As soon as that's done, we'll go survey how the rest of the town is doing.

[Halloween Town – Gate]

Riddle: The first stop is the gate to confirm the state of their decorations… And already it seems that we've found the bats they have decorating it with are crooked.

Riddle: As of this moment, they are at about 160° from the ground. However, they should be kept at 180° parallel to the ground.

Jamil: You really have an eye for the smallest detail. I don't know if I should say it's too much, or what…

Riddle: I will not permit any carelessness that could ruin the perfect Halloween. Besides, adjusting the angle is easily fixed with a quick spell…

Lock: Huh? You want to fix the crooked decorations on the gate?

Shock: Then we can fix it for you… With this ball!

Shock: Hyah!

[throws ball]

Riddle: Ack!? That almost hit me! Why would you ever think to fix something like that by hitting it with a ball!?

Barrel: 'Cause we can't reach the decorations ourselves.

Jamil: Then, you should use a stool or a ladder…

Lock: We thought it'd be faster if we used a ball.

Riddle: Hmm… It seems it will be more difficult than I thought to teach these kids proper discipline.

Riddle: Listen up, you three. You shouldn't throw a ball towards where other people are.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: WHY???

Riddle: Because if it hits someone, it could injure them. It's dangerous.

Shock: But balls are for throwing, though?

Riddle: ...I see, so that's the hang up. If that's the case, we may need to begin with re-learning the definition of a ball.

Riddle: I shall start your lesson with what a ball is, and it's origins. There are many theories as to where it was originated, but at first…

Jamil: YOU'RE STARTING THE LESSON FROM THERE!?

Riddle: …And that is why you should not throw balls. Did you understand all that?

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Yup, totally!

Jamil: Liars, none of you were listening at all!

Riddle: Whether they understood the lesson or not will be apparent with how they conduct themselves from now on.

Riddle: We've finished with confirming the decoration progress. Next, we'll look in on the music…

[scamper, scamper]

Jamil: Big problem, Riddle! Those three are already gone!

Riddle: What!? We only took our eyes off of them for a second… We need to hurry and find them!

Shock: MOVE OUTTA THE WAY! YOU'RE STANDIN' IN THE WAY!!

Jamil: Hm? I hear their voices from behind… WAAH!!

[thud]

Riddle: A bathtub with legs just crashed into Jamil!? Are you alright, Jamil? Any injuries?

Jamil: …I'm fine, it's nothing.

Lock: Seeee, this all happened 'cause you're just standing there all spaced out.

Barrel: Lame-o～

Jamil: Krgh! It's obviously their fault, but they have the nerve to speak like that.

Riddle: What do you three think you're doing, now!?

Shock: What do you mean, what we're thinkin'? We were tired of walking, so we brought something to make it easier to move around.

Lock/Barrel: Yeah, it's our favorite ride!

Riddle: That may be so, but you should take care not to bump into anyone.

Shock: That's why we shouted to move out the way.

Lock: Or are you sayin' Jamil owns this road?

Barrel: You sayin' we're not allowed to use this road or somethin'?

Riddle: Well, no…

Lock/Shock/Barrel: THEN EVERYTHING'S FINE!!

Riddle: EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE!!!

Jamil: Those three don't feel any remorse at all, huh… They're so blatant that it's actually refreshing to deal with.

Riddle: Similar to the ball incident earlier, any actions that may bring harm to anyone else is absolutely against the rules!

Riddle: Furthermore, a bathtub is not something to ride in and use as a mode of transportation.

Shock: Eh, but a bathtub is totally something to ride in.

Lock/Barrel: Yeah, it's our ride!

Riddle: …What? How exactly are bathtubs utilized in this town?

Shock: So, you see, basically…

Riddle: Mhm… Mhm… I see.

Riddle: Which all goes to say that this town approves of bathtubs as transportation?

Shock: Right-o, Riddle. If it wasn't, we totally wouldn't ride in it.

Riddle: I see… My apologies, I was in the wrong on my understanding of bathtubs here. I take it back, you may ride it!!

Jamil: THEY CAN!?!?

Lock/Shock/Barrel: YAY!!!

Lock: Seee, you totally get it.

Riddle: However, you are to ride it with care so as to not injure others. And you are to apologize to Jamil.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: 'Kaaaay. Soooorry, Jamil.

Riddle: Good apology, you three.

Lock: Right, right? We did good!

Jamil: He's just letting them off with that half-done apology…? They don't look like they're sorry at all!!

Shock: Riddle! I totally thought you were just gonna yap at us non-stop, but you're actually a good guy who totally gets us.

Shock: We like you! Join our crew and play with us!

Barrel: Here, we'll even let you in our bathtub, our treat.

Riddle: Eh? No, I'll pass on―

Shock: Let's go, you two! Push Riddle into the bathtub!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: HEAAAAAVE… HO!!!

Riddle: Waaah!!!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Nyahahahehehe! He's in, he's in! Riddle's riding in the bathtub!

Jamil: Hey, Riddle! You alright!?

Riddle: …Yes, although that shocked me slightly, I am fine.

Riddle: Actually, this bathtub isn't that uncomfortable, either.

Shock: Well, yeah, this bathtub's our pride and joy!

Riddle: I see… From my brief time with you three, I see that you have your own rules you abide by.

Riddle: I suppose I was a little too strict on you. For me to teach you all discipline, I would first need to know more about this town.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

A fan little add on to this blurb. Not proofread.

—

“I’m Spider-Man.”

“…ha…ah ha…” Miguel couldn't help but let out a huff at your delirious sounding laugh. “Miguel this isn’t the time for silly-haha-jokes, our daughter is on the ceiling! Oh my god, I’m so glad my parents aren’t home…”

“Babe-babe calm down, you're rambling.”

“Don’t babe me, we’re not dating anymore!”

“Our baby is on the ceiling, me calling you babe shouldn’t be your biggest concern right now.”

“It’s the principle of it! Look, can you just hurry up and get here, so I can figure out what to do with…gabi…” Your words died as you glanced over to your window, eyes wide as the moon as your phone slipped out of your hand, landing on your bedroom carpet.

You felt like you were dreaming. The same blue and red suit that was always plastered on the living room tv, was now crawling in through your window. A surprised gasp left your lips as you watched the masked man shoot a few neon red webs in order to make a makeshift safety net underneath your upside down daughter. Let out a yelp as she grabbed onto the net and began to make her way down. Her little giggled filled the room as she ascended down the webbing like, well, a spider.

“Look at that, she's a natural.” Miguel mumbled, pulling his mask off from his head “Just like her dad…” If you didn’t believe Miguel’s claims before, you certainly did now.

“I need to sit down…” You stumbled backwards till your knees hit the back of your bed, one hand flying to your chest in an attempt to help calm the rapid pounding against your ribcage while the other grips your comforter to help stabilize yourself.

“Oh god, don’t go into shock….” Miguel mumbled jokingly, though the genuine undertone of concern was still prevalent. He grabs Gabriella as soon as she was in arms reach, before moving to kneel in front of where you were sitting. His free hand carefully comes down to rest of your knee, as if attempting to reassure you that he was real. Almost flinching it away when you let out a small squeal. “Babe?”

“This is real?” You asked, being met with a hum and a nod. “You’re…you’re Spider-Man. My ex is Spider-Man.” Another nod, “And my baby-who I had with Spider-Man-has powers?”

There was a pause, Miguel watching as you began to slowly process the life altering information you had just discovered within the hour. Before you turned towards your ex-boyfriend, with a new look in your eye.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before you got me pregnant!?”

“Well-in my defense-I didn’t think our baby would come out with powers-“ Miguel put the hand that wasn’t holding your toddler up in defense. Going to stand up as you go off the bed, your glare intensifying.

“You study genetics!”

“Well-“ You let out a huff as he trailed off, knowing he didn’t have a way to justify his lack of communication about the subject. Slightly shaky hands going to rub your temples to help with the oncoming headache.

“…How long?” You asked after a beat, voice softer as you finally composed yourself. Hands tucking into your arms as you crossed them. Migue let out a heavy sigh as Gabriella decided she no longer wanted to be held, wiggling around under he put her down.

“Not too long…” He muttered, trying to beat around the brush. You knew he was bluffing too, he’s been Spider-Man for at least a few months before Gabriella was born, since you two had split up when she was around six months. She was a year now.

“Miguel.”

“Fine! A year and 7 months!” He confessed, making you scoff in disbelief. Eyes widening even more than you thought they could.

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t want you to see me as some freak!” His declaration makes your scolding words die in your throat. Anger dimensioning as soon as those words left his lips.

Some freak? Did he really think you’d ever think of him like that? Your hand falls over your face as you let out a heavy sigh.

“Miguel, I saw you finish your double bacon cheeseburger on our first date in two bites… if I can look past that I can be a bit understanding of this whole…situationship.” You motioned to the web filled room. “I just wished you told me before you got me pregnant.”

“Fair…” He mumbled

“Because now I’ll have to figure out how to keep Gabriella off the walls, I just finished baby proofing the house too.” Miguel couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle, despite this word altering news, you still found a way to put your daughter first.

“I mean… you could move back in… wall crawling adult to grab the wall crawling baby.” He might as well give it a shot while he’s at it right?

“No, Miguel.” You laughed, picking up Gabriella as she crawled towards you, fixing the little tufts of hair on her head “Good try through.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying…” He muttered as he began to clean up his webs.

—

Writing skills are rusty lol hopefully this is okay :3

Taglist: @ladysimp @juneonhoth @Tatatida @auro-a (join taglist)

[themayorautumn]

i have never written fanfiction in my entire life.

"work is the one redeeming thing that gives them purpose."

fuck me. here's something. i had to get it out of my system. i think about them. a lot.

“He was wearing a green coat, not blue.”

A dark haired man sits in a worn out office chair, face illuminated by a flickering desk lamp. His shirt is half unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely on his neck, begging to be taken off. He fidgets with the knot absent mindedly, as if it brings him some sort of comfort. Maybe he can't bear the thought of it being taken off, the last facade of performative professionalism.

His partner is pacing around the desk he’s sitting in front of, slicking his hair back constantly. It’s obvious that it’s a habit that has stuck around with him from his youth, back when his hair was fuller and eyes were brighter, and a small wink paired with a slight smile would be enough to end his night with a pretty chick in his bed. Tonight, there is no chick, and there is no bed. There is the sound of pen on paper as the man sitting by the desk crosses something off a list. Every single word on it is utterly illegible.

“Blue or green,” the man walking takes a break to light a cigarette. “It was a winter coat, puffy, expensive, you don't see that shit often around these parts. The color is a distraction, Vicquemare.”

“Yet she insisted it was sage green, didn't she? Who the fuck says that? She wouldn't have been so insistent if the color didn't matter, somehow.”

“She’s a wolf, that’s why. It’s a con. She knew what she was doing.”

“Alright,” the dark haired man, Vicquemare, gets up lazily and holds his hand out for the pack of cigarettes. His partner hands it to him. “You’re really speaking out of your ass now, Harry. What the fuck does that mean, ‘she’s a wolf’?”

“Extravagant eye makeup. Crimson red. You been to that bar called ‘Plume du Phénix’? I went there last month with that journalist guy, what's his name-”

“Pierre.”

“Right. Him, he told me it was the perfect place to get some connections. Meet people from the inside, if you catch my drift.”

“Fucking hell. You blew off work to go to a fucking strip club, did you?”

“Didn't blow off work. We went to that stakeout after, don't you remember Vic?”

“Oh yeah. You were complaining about your fucking headache the whole time.”

“Crimson makeup. They wear it there, it’s like their signature look. Blood of their former selves or whatever. Some new age bullshit. They’re dead fucking serious about it though. They don't let you in without it.”

“You wore makeup?”

“Easy now. Don't get too excited.”

Harry walks over to the desk to ash his cigarette, but doesn't get back to his pacing. He stands next to Vicquemare, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

“I did. Pierre made me wear it. They’re fucking wild in there, man. You wouldn't believe it.”

“Why didn't you invite me?”

“Are you jealous?”

“We’re partners. If you’re going somewhere to ‘get connections’, feel like I should be involved.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time. It really is a shame. You would look good in crimson.”

Vicquemare looks away from him for just a second, not enough to mean anything tangible, but enough for Harry to crack a slight smile. He puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps it there as he continues.

“They have this thing against authority of any kind. They preach ‘anarchy’ or their performative version of it, which is where they get together in back alley bars and drink until they don't remember what they're there for. Then they wake up and do it all over again. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.”

“And this is good for connections, how?”

“They're stupid but they're bonded together like a pack of wild wolves. They know everyone in the pack and protect each other like they're blood bound. Probably are too, the freaks.”

“So she was protecting the guy? Cause she knew the coat was actually blue, but saying sage green specifically would make it seem like it would be impossible for it to be any other color?”

“Look at my boy, learning so fast under my coaching. Exactly, Vic. She’s misleading us.”

Vicquemare tugs on the knot of his tie even more insistently, as if an internal fight is going on in his head about whether or not keeping that piece of cloth there is as important as he seems to think it is. Instead of coming to a conclusion, he lights another cigarette and looks back over to the list.

“Wish we talked with her sooner, then. This fucks over our entire theory now, doesn't it? We gotta start from fucking stratch. Find that blue-sage green coat guy. Whatever his name was.”

“We can find him. We can find him, tomorrow.”

Harry reaches for a drawer in the desk and takes out a dark red bottle. He grins and holds it out for Vicquemare to read the label.

“Aged merlot. Been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the occasion tonight?”

“You do not give me enough credit, Jean-y boy. You do not think I am a man of class, a superior officer who cares for his lieutenant.”

He takes out two glasses from the same drawer and pours two very generous servings.

“Happy birthday, Vicquemare. Here’s to us surviving another year in this fucking shithole.”

Jean looks at his glass wordlessly, his hand still on his tie. He’s stopped fidgeting with it now, as if he’s reached a conclusion but is too afraid, or too cautious to act on it. He smiles. It looks strange on his face, laborious, but genuine. It reaches his eyes and accentuates the wrinkles around them, too many for a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday.

“Thank you, shitkid.”

And it’s clear he means it.

They drink one glass, then one more, then Harry procures another bottle of whiskey this time, which they also finish, and as Vicquemare digs in his jacket pocket for that pack of Astra Reds he’s sure he bought earlier that day, Harry bursts out laughing.

“To think it would ever come to this, huh, Jean? Is this how you imagined entering your thirties?”

Jean finally finds the treasure he’s been looking for and takes a long drag of the cigarette. The ashtray is overflowing, which seems to bother neither of them as cigarette butts litter the desk and the floor. He stumbles over to Harry and smiles, a larger grin than the one before, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They look sad, desperate, and appropriately gray, as if any semblance of color on them would be a disservice to the way they look at the world. Harry sees himself in them, not sure if he’s imagining it or not, and not caring. It’s hard to care, when it’s the only time his reflection doesn't terrify him to death.

Jean takes Harry’s hand and puts it on his tie, curling his fingers around it and tugging on it gently. Harry knows what it means. He’s seen him do it time and time again, always in a different context, but always with the same intention. ‘You take the first step, Harry. You make me believe that you want me, you allow me to pretend.’. It’s his role, he knows it, and he unties the tie.

“I didn't imagine anything. I couldn't imagine anything. What is there to imagine? What is there to fucking want?”

It’s a question that doesn't have an answer. It doesn't have an answer that can be spoken out loud. It doesn't have an answer that can be given without empty bottles clanging around on the desk, without the assurance of their blurred memories, without their hands trembling as they reach for each other, something to hold onto as if nothing else in the world matters. They have to keep moving, they have to keep reassuring each other that they still have this one thing. That the taste of smoke on each other's lips, the crumpled case files surrounding them, and Harry’s rough fingers on Jean’s disheveled hair are enough to make them forget the emptiness that they both feel.

At the end of the day, they don't have anything else.

[gosecretscribbles]

Stanuary 2025 Week 2: Wanted

Ford tries to get juice for Stanley, who is still recovering from heatstroke. He's got no money and no way to get it, though, so he resorts to stealing.

Slight trigger warning for nongraphic attacks on Ford for his six fingers. In one scene, someone throws things at him and he gets hit in the head. Injuries are minor and nongraphic, generally on par with canon violence.

AO3 link

Stan had a massive headache the rest of the day and into the next. And he kept shivering. That made Ford nervous. Shouldn’t he have stopped by now?"

“’M not sh-shivering,” Stan grumbled into his pillow. “G’roff.”

“You’re all gross,” Ford said, hand pressed against his twin’s forehead. “And you’re sweating again.”

Stan turned enough to open one eye. “Juice?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course! Hydration! Be right back!”

He ran downstairs. He’d given Stan the rest of the rather questionable orange juice last night. But maybe he’d missed something? He combed through the refrigerator. There was a head of lettuce slowly turning to soup at the back, but that was it.

Wait – vegetables! That was basically the same as fruit, right? So if he got some canned vegetable broth that was practically the same thing! Ford went to the pantry, grabbed a can, and cracked it open. He poured it into a cup and sniffed it.

“Hmm…it’s still missing something. Oh, I got it! Juice is sweet!”

He had to climb up on the counter to reach it, but he got into the baking cupboard. He wasn’t sure how much sugar would dissolve in a cup of broth, but Stan had a pretty big sweet tooth. So maybe two or three tablespoons? Heating the broth would increase solubility, but hot juice sounded gross and that’s what he was trying to make. So he added the sugar cold. He stirred it a lot to help dissolve it and then hurried back to their room. He poked the back of Stan’s head a few times.

“Ow – cut it – out!”

“Juice!” Ford said proudly, holding out the cup.

Stan felt for it with his eyes closed and Ford put it in his hand. Stan gulped down at least half of it before he spat it out, coughing. He dropped the cup and leaped back to avoid the splatter on the floor.

“Hey!” he yelped.

“Guh! Ugh, what is that?! Are you actually trying to kill me?”

“It’s just vegetable juice! I added sugar and everything!”

Stan groaned and flopped back onto his pillow. “Zombie juice. You made zombie juice. I’m a zombie now.”

“Quit being dramatic,” Sixer said, halfway between upset and annoyed. Fruits and veggies were in the same food group! So vegetable juice was the same thing! Except it had smelled weird. And Stan really was sweating a lot. “Can’t you just drink water?”

Stan mumbled into his pillow.

“Okay, okay! I’ll – I’ll go get juice, okay? Don’t die or I’m stealing all your toffee peanuts.”

Stan didn’t even move. Which was fine! He was asleep and definitely not dead or a zombie. Ford pushed at the pillow to check, and when he wasn’t sure, he held his glasses in front of Stan’s face. They fogged up. So there! Alive! Sort of! Did zombies breathe? They had to exhale to make noises, so they had to breathe, which meant Stan could maybe technically be turning into a zombie.

Juice. He just needed some juice and they’d be fine!

Except that Ma was out on the boardwalk doing her fortune telling, and Pa was guarding the register. Ford checked all the usual spots for loose change – Ma’s makeup drawer, the couch cushions, the key dish. Three cents and a claw from Shanklin. (Was he fighting the trash mutant rats again?) School was over for the day, and anyway they only got juice on Fridays. He couldn’t run to school and beg for an extra carton.

Ford paced the kitchen, thinking hard. He couldn’t buy juice. He couldn’t beg for it. It wasn’t something he could borrow. All their neighbors hated them too much for him to ask.

Should he…steal it?

The thought was terrifying. Stan stole stuff all the time, but he was Stan. Ford was Ford. He was already a freak and that got him in trouble enough. That time with the pitchforks, or the astrologer, or the tourist… He didn’t do anything and people hated him. How much worse would it be if he really did do something wrong?

But Stan was practically dead on the beach yesterday! He could be turning into a zombie right now!

He took a shaky breath. Fine. One! He’d steal one bottle of juice. That was it. He’d wear his aviator jacket and hide it underneath. Stan stole all the time! How hard could it be?

Pretty hard, as it turned out. He tried the general store two blocks away, but he’d barely stepped inside before the cashier made him and chased him out with a broom. He thought maybe it was because he looked like Stanley. So the next store he tried, he gave the clerk a friendly wave with all six fingers.

That…hadn’t ended well.

He hid his hands at the next place. He was a good two miles from home, almost at the library, and the store he picked was pretty big. He wasn’t sure if he should just walk in or sneak over to the juices, but the cashier started following him, and the cashier was big.

Ford tried to steal anyway but his shaking hands dropped the bottle as soon as he’d picked it up. The cashier chased him out, this time shouting “YOU HIDING A THIRTEENTH FINGER, FREAK? YOU FREAK! JINX! WEIRDO!”

Ford stopped around the corner and dry-heaved into a dumpster. He’d been gone for at least an hour. His legs were shaking and his hands were clammy. His stomach hurt. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t steal and he couldn’t save Stan and his brother was going to turn into a zombie. Zombies were cool, but not if it was Stan.

He wiped at his nose and started dragging his feet back home. His jacket was so hot. Maybe he’d get heat stroke too, and he’d make more zombie juice. Then at least he and Stan could be zombies together.

He took a different street back, and this time he saw a small shop he’d missed before. Hardly a surprise. The building was practically a shack, and the bin of lemons out front was half-swarmed with flies. Ford almost kept going. Then, through the dirty window, he saw an icebox full of juice against one wall.

One more, he thought to himself. He squeezed both hands into fists and headed over. A broken bell made an abortive clink as he stepped inside.

“Back again?”

He looked up. A bored teenager leaned over the counter, chin in her hand, short hair curling around her ears. It looked like she’d been doodling on her arm in black pen. She looked kind of like a pirate queen that way. She just needed the hat and bandana.

But what did she mean, ‘back?’ It was his first time in here. “I didn’t –”

“Murphy put your picture on the wall.”

She pointed. To the left of the door was a board so covered in layers of flyers and notices, so thick that the stratification had to be decades old. Ford was pretty sure he saw a clipping in the corner about the election of Franklin D. Roosevelt. Featuring most prominently were several copies of hand-written wanted posters, his brother’s face drawn at the top.

“That’s not me,” Ford said, spreading his hands. “See?”

She glanced over and looked mildly interested. “Huh. You a thief, too?”

“Um – I’m not Stan.”

“Not what I asked.”

This conversation was not going as expected. Everyone else had looked at his hands and booted him, loot and all. He hadn’t thought of a back up lie. What had been his plan that morning, again? Stuff it in his jacket when the cashier wasn’t looking? But she was really looking at him now. He’d showed her his hands and everything.

What do I do? What would Stan do?!

She saw him panicking and smirked. “Jacket,” she said, pointing to it. “On a summer day? Might as well strap a billboard on your forehead, dweeb. Get lost.”

“I’m not…Stan’s the…”

“And you’re not?” she retorted. “A freak can still be a thief. You can be two things at once. In case certain people hadn’t noticed.” She shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder. There was a doorway with an ‘Employees Only’ sign next to it.

“Are you two things at once?” he asked, curious. His eyes lit up. “Oh, wait, are you a supernatural creature in human disguise? Are you a changeling? Are you a selkie?!”

“Weirdo.” The word didn’t hurt the way she said it. She almost sounded impressed. “You’re the knucklehead’s twin, yeah? Why’re you stealing stuff?”

“He got heatstroke. I wanted juice. And I’m not stealing!”

“Yet,” she said, just as flat as before. But this time her eyes looked like Ma’s when she was about to pull a fast one. “Just juice, huh?”

That sounded like an offer. “…Aspirin?” he tried.

“Over there. Be quick.”

He hurried. Acetylsalicylic acid was good. Or should he get acetaminophen? Both? Ibuprofen? That one needed food with it, though, and Stan hadn’t wanted anything to eat. Acetaminophen didn’t require any food. That one, then. He grabbed the smallest bottle, put the others back, and –

“What’s he doing here?”

A heavyset man stepped out of the back room. There was a scarred gash across his chin and his forearms bulged with corded muscle. Ford opened his mouth and almost said something until he caught the stone-cold look in the man’s eyes. He backed up so fast he tripped. The three medicines went flying from his hands. The man shifted, stepping around the counter, and Ford scrambled back. The man’s hands curled into fists. His eyes flashed just like Pa’s glasses.

“You squirming piece of vermin –”

“HEY!”

The girl jumped up like she’d just noticed what was happening. She pole-vaulted over the counter, skirt and all, and began pulling the nearest merchandise out of the icebox. “You – little – sneak!” she shrieked, hurling products at him. Some of it hit Ford’s face and he yelped. He tried to get up, run, and block his glasses all at the same time.

“That’s right!” she shouted. “Get out, Stan! GET! OUT!”

He got. And he was nearly at the door before he realized what she was throwing. He doubled back to scoop up two bottles of juice. Another one bounced hard off his forehead. He grabbed it on the rebound and shot for the door. The man sounded like he’d figured out something wasn’t right. He heard shouting, and there was a whooshing in Ford’s ears like the man had made a grab for him. But he was already out the door and down the street. His heart pounded in his ears and he didn’t dare look back.

He ran until he was a block from home. He walked the rest of the way. There was a nasty stitch in both lungs, but he didn’t care. He did it! He had juice!

When he got home, he let himself in and hurried up the stairs. “Stan! Stanley! I got it!”

Stan was in the exact same position Ford had left him in. Ford checked that he was breathing it his glasses. Foggy, good. “Hurry up, Stan! You gotta drink it so you won’t become a zombie!”

Stan blinked up at him. “…Huh?”

“Juice.” He smooshed the bottle against Stan’s mouth. Stan gave a weird grunt-shriek and shoved him. Ford batted him back with his other hand. “What are these, limp noodles? You’re zombifying already! Hurry!”

“Okay, geez.” Stan took the juice and squinted. Apple juice. Stan made a face and pulled the cap off. He drank. And kept drinking until he’d finished it. He exhaled sharply, looking more awake.

Ford cheered. “It worked! You’re not a zombie!”

Stan scoffed and flopped back down. “’Course I’m not. Did Crampy beat you up again or something? You got a big ol’ bruise.”

“Nope,” Ford said proudly. “I stole it.”

Stan’s eyes went wide. “No. No way! Really?!”

Ford grinned and wagged the bottle. “You may have ten sticky fingers, but I’ve got twelve! Also the cashier helped, a little. She knew I was stealing but left me alone until a guy came out the back. I hadn’t even grabbed the juice yet. I got some of what she threw. She had a wicked arm, Stan, you shoulda seen it!”

“Rusty’s Local?” Stan asked, and smirked when Ford nodded. “Yeah. She’s a weirdo. Gonna play sports.”

“She’d win. How much have you stolen there, exactly? You had a wanted poster!”

Stan gasped so hard he choked on the juice. “W-wanted? I gotta see it.”

He tried to get up, but his legs were as weak as his arms. Ford hauled him back to bed, lest he once again become a zombie. Stan resorted to begging Ford for a replica. “Please? Pretty please? C’moooon, I bet you can draw it waaaay better!”

“I could, actually,” Ford mused. “Okay, hold still. I’ll get some paper.”

It took about five minutes and another jar of juice. Stan finished it much more slowly this time, in between suggestions about embellishments. Ford ignored most of them, but agreed to adding a mustache and a pirate hat. He remembered everything under the picture, too. He completed the poster just as he was done with his juice.

“Tada!” he said, and turned it around.

Stan leaned forward slowly. Ford put out a hand in case Stan was actually falling over. Stan leaned against it a little too heavily, but there were almost literally stars in his eyes.

“I’m wanted,” Stan whispered. “Ford, look! I’m wanted! People would pay money for me and everything, look!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “I know, dumb-dumb, I drew it myself.”

“I’m putting it up on our wall!”

They put it up with a few bits of tape and a used wad of gum. Ford had to admit, it didn’t look half-bad next to his poster of The Lost World.

By now his forehead had gotten sore, and he was tired. It had been a really long day. They set the last bottle of juice on Stan’s nightstand. Then Ford crawled into bed. He wanted to stay awake, just in case Stan became a zombie after all. But he was tired from running and Stan wasn’t shivering anymore. He made a mental note to record Stan’s partial zombification, for science purposes. Then he closed his eyes and snuggled in for a nap.

week 1

[cappymightwrite]

My Maid of Stone – Ch. 3 Preview

She left the solar with a pounding head, unable to stop thinking of Jon Snow’s pale face, his low voice in the near dark of the godswood. The wrathful flashes that flickered through grey-green eyes. Do not look at me, she had wanted to scream, to shout. Do not see into me! I will not be yours! She fought the urge to halt herself then, to press her back against the cool stone walls of the corridor, without a care for the busy huddle of female servants lugging steaming pails and clasping fresh linens. But she was granted no clemency, no respite for her blood-beat to slow or the sickness in her stomach to pass, as an unseen hand curled round her elbow, drawing her close. “Hot water for the northern king and his party,” Myranda Royce murmured, close to her ear. “But they’re sure to spill half it by the time they reach him, clucking away as they do like a pack of hens.” Randa tutted lightly, though looked mirthful enough as she turned Alayne round to face her. “I missed you at the feast. Mya said you dashed off somewhere and never came back?” Alayne’s gaze flickered downwards, fixing upon the damp toe of one dull buckskin boot — where the covered walkway ended and the worn stone steps up to the West Tower began, rainwater had pooled overnight, splashing up against her ankles as she’d hurried to meet her lord father’s summons. “A headache.” The lie still felt heavy on her tongue, hard to swallow. “Forgive me.” Randa waved her hand, paying her no mind. With a familiar ease, she slipped her arm through Alayne’s, intent on drawing her into some new confidence or other, until her keen eye alighted on a passing maidservant. “Ah! Here,” she proclaimed merrily, abruptly grasping the folded linen from the startled girl and then shooing her away without a second thought. “Deliver this to his grace and then perhaps you might get a proper look at him for me, hmm?” Alayne’s pulse ticked in her throat, her wide-eyed gaze abruptly lifting to meet Myranda’s puckish smile. “What? Oh no, I couldn’t! Randa don’t jape with me.” “Come now,” the older girl tittered, “the weather has turned so poor, there is ice in the rain, and the wind is like a wolf nipping at our heels, forever reminding us that winter is here. I feel as low and cheerless as the dense snow clouds that are gathering.” She reached for Alayne’s chilled hands and pressed the linen bundle into them. “Won’t you indulge me just a little, my sweet one?” “I…” The gods only go with you if you put yourself in their path. “If you wish it so… very well.”

Song inspo – Invisible Forces, James Heather

Image Credit – St. Agnes Eve. Wood engraving by Dalziel after a design by John Everett Millais. 

[aettuddae]

high garden academy — chapter 58.

⟢ synopsis: a new school year begins at the high garden academy boarding school, bringing with it new students, and among them, the new center of attention for the drama-thirsty student body: the hong sisters. eunchae and her mysterious and unsympathetic older sister, daein, who oddly seem uninterested in the secrets, legends, and gossip of their new school. winter, the institution's top student, and karina, the popular girl and promising pianist, never imagined they would end up so closely involved with hong daein.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

[a/n: i haven't updated in ages so if from now on there are profile pictures/anything that changes in any way, it's because i couldn't find the previous ones]

the yu's house was gigantic, more rustic and traditional than what daein expected to find. nowadays all the houses of families with money looked like hospitals, white floors and walls, little decoration, no life. daein didn't like that kind of residences, sometimes she considered she had an old soul, and it was partly because she felt more comfortable in places like that. the high garden building seemed extremely nice and cozy, although she hated being in there, it was like a big museum where you could also live, practically a dream. the yu's house also gave her that feeling, it even reminded her a bit of her own house, although it seemed less like a medieval vampire castle.

unfortunately, daein could not inspect the home as she would like, spending time on the details and the probably expensive antique decorations, her brain was having great difficulty functioning properly, she could not concentrate either on the scenario she was in or on the numerous questions she was being asked by the couple who owned the house, stammering out answers that almost sounded coherent that she put together with the little willpower she had left based on the few words she retained. karina was doing god's work completing her sentences and making sense of them, justifying her attitude by saying she was shy or nervous. all her attention was on her own body, on the headache that seemed not to have stopped for days, the sweat that had no reason to appear as it wasn't hot enough, the nausea that hit her from time to time making her inspect the place to identify the quickest way to the bathroom in case she had to vomit. of course, some of that could be caused by lack of sleep since she hadn't rested well in the past three days, and she didn't even feel like thinking about the heat that invaded her chest every time she had to suppress the urge to yell at karina to shut up since lately she couldn't stand anyone, least of all her, or having to avoid rushing the girl's father who spoke extremely slowly.

daein was a complicated person, bitter to say the least, but this was already getting out of hand. she was never someone who lost her patience so quickly, although it could be because of her physical discomfort which was also a particularity of this stage of her addiction.

but she didn't use strong substances, did it make sense for her to feel this way? maybe she was just sick.

of course it didn't matter because she had to stay sober for...

for some reason she couldn't remember.

jennie? this dinner? sehun? oh, eunchae. she had to do it for eunchae. was it for eunchae at all? why was she putting her body through this? nevermind, there had to be some good reason, it was probably for eunchae, wasn't it?

still, she did know why she couldn't think straight, one thing being karina's hand resting on her lower back as they both sat on an elegant sofa in a corner of a room specifically dedicated to tea. her other hand rested on her leg, while with the one her parents couldn't see the girl pinched daein's skin as if trying to wake her up or nag her for her erratic behavior. the younger one disguised her correctives with displays of love and hong was not fascinated by either.

"aeinie." she hated that nickname with all her might, but she still turned to look at her. "do you want to see the piano?" the girl's expression at the suggestion of that was somewhat frightening, like when as a child you got reprimanded by your teacher and she had to disguise the anger so as not to lose her friendly image, but only achieved a hybrid that scared you more.

"will you play for me?" she asked expressionlessly, she didn't know what the fuck was happening to her body, but that karina played the piano she did remember, idiot.

the blackhaired faked a tender expression, dropping her shoulders and her eyebrows, she moved closer, and gave a kiss on her cheek. "sure, i'll play something for you." she agreed, standing up and extending her hand to her.

"food will be ready soon, go and we'll let you know." announced the girl's father as daein grabbed onto her to get up, they both nodded slightly.

"what did you consume?" sentenced with a forceful tone the youngest whispering when they were already a little bit away from her family.

"nothing." she was at a loss, the words seemed to come out of her mouth at random.

"daein." she shot her an accusatory look.

"i didn't use anything." she reiterated. "that's why i'm like this." she explained after letting out a drawn-out sigh. "but it will pass." rather than trying to calm karina down, she seemed to be trying to convince herself.

she looked her up and down, finding the sweat on her neck and recalling having seen somewhere that this must be a symptom of abstinence, although she wasn't sure. because of the state she was in, she had no choice but to believe her. daein was usually lost and didn't make much sense, but at this moment she was worse, even anguished, anxious, which was rare to see in her. she hoped her parents hadn't noticed from across the coffee table.

without saying more, she walked over, leading her with her clasped hands, approaching the long, elegant brown grand piano with lines effect, there being some darker ones, indicating it was macassar ebony wood. karina took a seat first on the stool that was wide enough for daein to enter as well, so this one followed the younger girl's steps and sat with her.

"do you know anything about piano?" the expert inquired putting her hands on the keys and stroking some of them creating a vague ephemeral sound.

"my mom plays the piano." she commented, her eyes inspecting the instrument. "she's not professional or anything, but she plays sometimes."

"you appreciate your mom a lot." she observed.

"isn't that what all children do?" she said with obviousness.

"i guess." she cocked her head to the side as if that would help her think her words better. "my mom tends to get overshadowed by my dad's presence." she mumbled in fear of being overheard.

"i understand." agreed the older one. "mine too."

"i see we have something in common." she smiled sideways, victorious.

"unfortunately." she grumbled, grimacing in disappointment. "but she's still my mother, you know." she continued.

"no, of course, i know what you're talking about." she sat up in the seat. "if mom wasn't around i think i'd go crazy." she laughed softly.

"bonding with parents must be more complicated when you hardly see them during the year." daein assumed, turning her head to give her a look.

"yes." she shook her head accompanying the statement. "since i've been attending high garden since i was little, there are teachers i've seen more these past few years than my father." she admitted with a downcast attitude. "i'm sure most of my baby teeth are in some jar in teacher jeon's office." they both laughed at the image. "hey! i made you laugh!" celebrated the younger exalted girl.

"it doesn't count, i'm dying." she stopped her, causing her to pout.

silence fell over the place and before allowing it to become uncomfortable, jimin began to play a piece on the piano, her fingers strolling comfortably across the keys as if she had no bones to constrain her. it was a rather slow melody, but still complicated, daein watched her hands without understanding how someone so young could have such ease in playing such a complex instrument. it wasn't melancholic, it sounded like a summer ballad, positive, hong had no idea what song it was, but she was mesmerized, it was the first time all day she could pay attention to anything.

slowly karina's fingers paused as she played the last few notes until the lack of sound returned to the room, but far from discomforting, it represented a missing of words. daein hated wanting to compliment her on her talent, but she had to admit she had loved it.

"you're good." she criticized. "very good."

"it's one of the works i'm supposed to play at the korean music contest." she reported casually. "i should do well." she sounded a little pressured and it made sense, not just anyone was representing one of the most prestigious schools in the country in the most important national music contest among students. "did you learn anything from your mother?" she removed her hands giving daein room to play.

"little, actually." she directed her hands to the piano and hesitantly pressed several keys without much sense, according to the blackhaired she was trying to play a rather messy version of ode to joy.

realizing that she didn't remember what the song was like at all and noticing the horrified look on the pianist's face next to her, daein preferred to stop trying, generating some sympathy in the girl next to her, who with a confident smile stood up and walked to stand behind her, leaning a little until she could reach her hands, her chest resting against daein's back and their cheeks just a few inches away from brushing against each other. she positioned daein again on the keys and began to guide her so that at a leisurely pace, but not as awkward as before, she could play the song she had attempted.

what irony hong daein playing the ode to joy.

daein was using all her energies to focus, if there was something that moved her it was the need to complete things and do them well, and maybe that was one of the causes of her deep sorrow, not being able to do anything right in this last time of her life. she couldn't even stand the discomfort she felt at the lack of doping. she followed karina's indications as well as her condition allowed, failing in some notes, skipping others, but in general sounding as she should, which must have been all the responsibility of her puppeteer.

with some difficulty the song ended, a small smile on both faces, one out of pride at having completed the piece no matter how easy it was or how many mistakes she had made, and the other because she was distractedly enjoying the closeness with the older one. neither having noticed that they came even closer than before, completely entangled with each other, their cheeks pressed against the opposite, jimin's arms almost embracing daein from behind. the blackhaired moved her head slightly so that her nose could rub hong's cheek, closing her eyes to enjoy the fact that she wasn't moving away, nodding her head slightly up and down. she lifted her hands from the piano and used them to hold onto her neck completely, wrapping her in her grip.

daein let herself be carried away by the tender gestures, and leaned her head more and more towards her own shoulder, following karina's touch, her eyelids drooping and preventing her from seeing that this was the same girl who used to drive her crazy all the time. her face was predisposed to the younger girl, who now that they were facing each other was caressing her nose with her own.

after all daein was not in her five senses and was someone who would do anything for a simple token of affection,

so she didn't stop jimin when this one captured her lips between hers, slowly, delicately, more than a kiss it was caresses between their mouths, with trouble to detach, to cut the touch. karina always wanted more of daein, once she kissed her, she couldn't stop thinking about doing it again, so being like this with her felt fulfilling, and more exciting than kissing anyone else she'd ever done it with before.

she didn't understand why, but no one seemed to have such soft lips as daein, and no scent was as satisfying to be smothered by as daein's was. she was such a cruel person, she rarely showed any pity for her, but when she kissed her no one was as tender as daein.

needless to say, she was exaggerated and restlessly obsessed with hong daein.

their mouths were entwined, daein's hands had risen to hold and attend to jimin's resting on her collarbone, their tongues were just now wanting to meet, but they never got to. "jiminie, the food-" the housemaid suddenly came in interrupting them. "oh, sorry." she covered her cheeks in embarrassment with amusement on her face, the two younger girls looked at her uncomfortably, separating immediately. "the food is ready."

(!)

— taglist [open] : @yoontoonwhs @gayforalll @hwm1hyun @jisooftme @gornoi @eunhhh @petruchiosstuff @linnnsworld @xen248 @trueblumarinegf @rinapomu @imahallucination11 @thefckghost @myouiiiiiiii @blaymine @chaewoni3 @aliceiwk @gfriendsapple @sewiouslyz @multiliker @cwpiqwon @pandafuriosa60

[your-pal-dei]

they need to bring dc mains power back now

[nyxypoo]

someone took my night owlness from me

[zoekrystall]

Zero idea if it'll help or fade into the background but I downloaded stuff to track things and smacked widgets onto my homescreen to not forget. Initially searched for pain ones (where I downloaded two just for good measure ig) but saw that one is customizable for like anything you want and no purchase stuff for me bc included in that one pass and said sure fuck it. I think at the min I need to track pain bc by my memory do I go mental thinking if it just feels frequent n all or if it actually is and mind goes blank when at the doc (will just be fun translating to ger OTL I learn sm to describe stuff in eng but then it lacks in first language). Alas for whatever reason lil me never thought abt actually writing these things down (prob bc every adult anyways dismissed them to the point of not being sure if the pain was actually there so what was the point. but now. now I'm the adult in my life who calls the shots for their own life even if anxiety makes it hard).

[rustinsscohles]

and with that i do believe that my run with interstellar in imax has come to an end.

[scarlettcryptid]

hardcore projecting my avoidancy onto dabi in this soulmate au thing i started in november

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

@teapunks did your mum ever threaten to put mustard on your fingernails to stop you biting them? because by my count 6 different adults directly threatened me with that or mentioned it in a "in my day, they would do this so youre lucky i havent done that to you".

the direct threats came from my dad, my paternal nan and my maternal great aunt while the guilt-trip-that-always-felt-like-a-threat-to-me came from my paternal aunt, the other classes' year 4 teacher and an english teacher who wasnt even my english teacher, for anyone curious.

you could reblog for a bigger sample size or not who do i look like the freakin queen of england