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insidemyrottenbrain · 4 months ago

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Henry gets jealous because you spend time with Richard

The risk of jealousy - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Dearest anonymous, I hope you can forgive him and his denial of jealousy.

The sharp claw of jealousy finally scratches the untouchable Henry.

I’ve always been incredibly particular about whom I associate with. The people around me need to be worthy. Now, I am well aware that my choice of words may make me sound arrogant, so allow me to explain: I want them to have shared interests, to be able to hold late-night debates on esoteric topics, while giving me a sense of belonging and consequently not tiring me out socially. I do not ask for much, really. Alas, one cannot always get what one desires.

The little group of which I’m currently a part of is… pleasant. The twins regularly host dinners which are, of course, the birthplace of many fights and arguments regarding the most trivial subjects that usually end up with Henry winning. Francis unhesitatingly puts his aunt’s house at our disposal whenever desiderium naturae strikes us and amusingly complains about some disease or other the whole way there. I even consider some of Bunny’s jokes witty on the rare occasions when he stops being insufferable. Unfortunately, they all give me a shallow sense of belonging that only manages to make itself felt in transit moments. However, Henry is different. With him, I feel content reading in silence after a long day, waking up in the same bed, legs intertwined under the soft cotton sheets he insists on buying with Apolon tugging at our lazy eyelids or simply challenging one another’s knowledge on whatever topic interests us at a given moment. A continuous childlike rendez-vous.

I do not know why I have been so platonically attracted to Richard of late. When he first joined our Greek class, he did not strike me as someone who would manage to integrate his lowly self into our complexly layered group, or even more, someone who would enjoy my presence. He was and still is flawed and ordinary. However, this normality flowing through every habit, every movement, or expression is a strange refresh in an intangible web of meticulously tangled appearances and facades. Richard is not some ancient scholar buried in paradoxical ideals, Gods-praising rituals, and glorious beliefs, but a modern human. He is aware of the current world, unisolated, present, an active participant. Not only does he attend parties but he also drinks, kisses, and loves strangers. Though an exaggeration to the unknowing eye, he seems to me quite the Epicurean in a cult of Stoics (excluding Bunny).

Despite my writings above which one might foolishly mistake as praise on my part, I must now dive into Richard’s own tendency to fictitiousness. He throws, here and there, long, lavish fabrications (with the aid of which he becomes unconsciously arrogant) and slight inexactitudes he considers too small to pass unnoticed by the attentive ear. And according to my fate and against my trusted intuition, I found myself unable to stop listening whenever he started talking about his (fake) childhood in California filled with swimming pools and orange groves and dissolute, charming show-biz parents, teenage years with a new girlfriend every night, the newest dramas (if they truly do exist and are not yet other fictions) circling Hampden.

There is a quirk. I notice it now, when we’re all standing in the day room of Francis’, or rather his aunt’s, manor. Charles is playing the piano filling the room with gifts for ears, showing off as he always does, while Bunny comments on one rhythm or another, challenging him, fueling him further. Everything is normal, except for one detail that does not escape me. Henry grows more agitated with every single one of Richard’s grant histoires. Albeit, the so-called agitations are rather minuscule, but I pride myself in being able to distinguish them. A small frown, creasing his pale forehead just the right amount for it to disappear just as quickly and nonchalantly as it came, a constant rub of his hand against his limped leg, and a novel proneness to small physical gestures: touching knees, pressing shoulders, his hand on the small of my back or idly playing with my fingers. I settle on questioning him later since I know he will not show any truths of his mind in such large company.

We share a room, since we stopped bothering to hide our relationship long ago from the others. Henry’s already in bed, his nose buried in a book, dressed in his pyjamas, his initials embroidered upon the left side of his chest; H.M.W. If I had been told years ago that I was to be sharing a bed or be in a relationship with the person I suffered the least, the one that I had to compete with in Julian’s classes, the one that knew how to push my buttons I would have died of agony. But now I’m content. I know of the infatuation rendering me blind. My life has become a continuous torture, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to live without him. Just like Zeus who vows to fulfil his promise with a single sacred nod of his head, so am I unable to change the basis of my passion. He is in all my plans. In all the joys the future holds. In the dead of night, in Julian’s lessons, in the summer by the lake, instead of my mind’s eye being fully focused on one specific task, it always switches without fail to him.

I lower myself onto the bed next to him. “You seemed troubled earlier, in the day room.” I ask casually an indirect question.

“You’ve been spending an awful time with Richard.” He responds swiftly, tonelessly, simply pointing out a fact.

I consider my answer for a moment. “I suppose so.” I hum, just as my head hits the pillow. “Don’t you find him intriguing? He watches the news on television.”

“Intriguing?” He blurts out, closing his book and putting it on the bedside table. Clearly, I have his attention. He turns on his side to fully face me, his hair falling over his forehead and slightly over his glasses. “His intriguing part eludes me. You are wasting your time with him, listening to his rambles.” He says clearly irritated, not bothering to keep up his stoic facade. “I assure you, you would be much better spending your time wisely.”

I frown. This is unusual of him. “He is in our class, is he not? I cannot avoid him.”

“Of course not, that’s not what I am suggesting.” His eyebrows remain furrowed. “What I do mean is that he does not bring you any benefit.” He continues in a monotone. “Why must you listen to him with the same attention and interest as you listen to me?”

Ah, I see. Henry is jealous.

“Is this jealousy?” I ask attempting desperately to restrain the slight smile forming on my face.

“You are mistaken.” He ‘corrects’ me sharply, raising his eyebrows. “I am merely stating that I see no point in your interactions with Richard when you could gain much more from being in my presence.”

I raise a sceptical eyebrow. He acts as if I wouldn’t mourn his death in the same way Achilles mourned Patroclus’, with rage and violence.

Words are imperfect communication devices, so I pull him down by the back of his neck and press my lips against his in a pleasant normality. I feel him slightly relax against me, his hand resting on my neck.

“Henry,” I mumble as we part, forcefully stretching our souls apart. I remove his glasses and place them down next to us and his forehead naturally falls against mine “you know better than to have such doubts.”

“I do.” He mumbles back, not bothering to deny his feelings anymore. “However, it proves to be quite difficult to not have them when-” He stops considering his words. “When you plague me so. There is no day or night in which your existence takes mercy on me and does not destroy the little rationality I have left.” He lowers himself down on the bed next to me. “You inexplicably and absurdly manage to be and eradicate my sanity.” He sighs. “And it certainly does not help when you look at Richard with the same eyes you look at me.” Henry mutters.

My hand finds his and I chuckle. “I’d argue I look at him with entirely different eyes.” At my comment, Henry raises an amused eyebrow. “Perhaps you’ll stop seeing shadows where there are none.”

That is all he needs to defeat his insomnia in my arms once again and to fall prey to sleep’s vicious grasp his body indistinguishable from mine under the sheets, sharing one breath.

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heartshapedbubble · 1 year ago

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omg i was answering this req and when i saved it to my drafts I COULDN'T EDIT IT??? so i deleted it in hopes to remake it BUT THE ASK WAS GONE fuck you tumblr :(( im so sorry anon you know who you are

aesop carl, qi shiyi and frederick kreiburg w/ a singer s/o hcs⚰️🪈🎼

aesop carl⚰️

...you'd have to do most of the initiation with him. aesop carl is not impolite, not at all, but the crippling anxiety overcoming him makes it hard to go beyond a "hello" or any other introduction. he has a lot of nice things to say to you, romantic even, but during the first couple of months you'll have to basically yank them out of him

aesop is horrible with words, and would rather just hide away and hope you notice how he feels about you. in his eyes, the simple things he does with you - small talk, exchanges of handkerchiefs and drinks by the table, midnight walks when everyone's asleep - are acts of confessing his love. to him, trust equals love, and love equals assistance and communication.

something that he's even more afraid, though, is singing. talking can be quiet, unnoticeable, blending in with everyday noises, but singing is always noticeable. the change of pitch can be caught even by an untrained ear, and the ensuing confrontation, to him, is terrifying.

you fascinate him, a lot. unlike him, you're not afraid to set your voice free, letting it echo through the room and spin around you like a ribbon. kind of like an aura, it attracts passerbys and always leaves them standing in awe, even if it's just for a minute. that kind of confidence is impressive, and he himself finds it rather enchanting.

as you train your voice on the podium, enjoying yourself and twirling around in your flowy robes as if there's nobody around, the last thing that's on your mind right now is a potential secret admirer somewhere nearby. the secret admirer being aesop, of course. he's crouching in one of the loges, partly sick to the stomach because someone might walk in on - or even worse, you may notice - him, partly enjoying your outstanding performance.

qi shiyi🪈

she thinks you two make for a pretty nice duet ;)

you two clash at moments, as she enjoys and is used to the more "formal" arts such as opera and your field of interest is musicals, but overall she's enarmored by your talent and your charisma. jazz, rock, ballad or aria, a strong voice does not go unnoticed.

once she softens up to you, you'll notice just how much she enjoys your voice. as you comb her hair, she asks you to sing something for her. when you two are fast asleep, her head is on your chest, listening to your soft hums as she's lulled to sleep. calls you her songbird as she wraps her arm around your waist and spins you around in your brand new costume.

here and there she'll dust off her old flute and play a nostalgic melody or two. it's even better when enrichened with your singing, and it motivates her to jump back on her feet and do a little three-step as she plays

frederick kreiburg🎼

he's not a wunderkind, but being surrounded by music from a young age he has quite the trained ear. he can quickly differentiate between a powerful mezzosoprano and a rich, dark alto. a lot of insinuations and jokes have been made behind your back about how you two are perfect for each other, but he just rolls his eyes, not bothering with empty gossip.

thanks to the unisolated manor walls, at one point he'll hear some vocal exercises coming from your room

am i losing my mind again? he thinks to himself, looking around in wonder. he stays in the hallway for a little longer, trying to find the source of this haunting voice - and it will take time, oh, indeed, but eventually he'll knock on your door and unintentionally kick off your relationship

as expected, he enjoys playing alongside you. motivating him to crack his knuckles and sit in front of the piano again is hard, but the both of you know your irresistible smile will not leave him any other choice....

mostly picks out german lieder from his collection of sheet music, but of course, adapts to your wishes - something more energetic works great as a warm up

he's the happiest when he performs alongside you on the podium. nothing makes his face light up like when he watches you sing from behind the piano, gesturing towards the audience and slowly dancing to the composition unraveled by his fingers, basking under the golden spotlight.

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dearladynightmare · 11 months ago

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18 for the Entrapdak ask meme please?

Your favourite Entrapdak CANON moment?

I think I have to go with the scene in Season 3 "Moment of truth" when Entrapta and Hordak talked about the portal and they just have to keep it open long enough to get a signal through to reach Prime.

Entrapta sadly: “And then you’ll have to go with them.”

Entrapta brightens up “But there’s still so much data we could collect. What’s the rush? We’ll just keep working on it until it’s perfect.”

This is definitely one of my favourite scenes since both of them choose each other over their normal convictions.

Entrapta who doesn't believe in perfection and rather run scientific experiments on trial and error ,even if everything keeps blowing up that way, suggests to work on the portal until it's "perfect"!

In other words she says "How about we set an unattainable scientific goal - the non existing and perfect theoretical way to make the portal work, but of course without focusing too much on achieving it practically while we just keep being together."

And let's talk about Hordak!!! He absolutely was aware of what she meant by using the phrase "until it's perfect" He started to genuinely smile at her because he agreed!! Over the last 30 years he only focused on returning to Prime but in this moment he realised that he doesn't want to return anymore and he was about to choose Entrapta over Prime. He was definitely about to say sth like: "How about we blow that thing up and rebuild it more considered (intends to use unisolated cables again)...

Ahh and then Catra rushed in! And a few minutes later Entrapta found herself unconsciously on the way to beast I island. I'll never get over this AHH

My second favourite scene is this one... I don't think I have to explain. This one just makes me scream!!!💜

Thank you so much for asking!!!!💜💜

#hordak #entrapta #spop #entrapdak #favourite scenes #epm ask game #entrapdakpositivitymonth

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 7 days ago

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Meeting and Dating Andrew Scott

(Not my gif)(Requested by @sweet-dorky-crazy )

- They say that death is like eternal sleep—that your body remains at the mercy of the living while your consciousness floats endlessly inside of your own head. When Andrew Scott is brought back to life, he finds that he is still asleep, hibernating inside of himself while his body is controlled by somebody else. The UniSol serum flows through his system and acts like anesthesia: it keeps him under, keeps him asleep, keeps him at peace. At peace until he begins to wake up....

- Andrews memories undulate in clarity. They spill out smoothly from the darkest corners of his brain, pulling back from his hands just before he can touch them. You live inside of them—crashing into his head like waves before slipping through his fingers like water. Your presence is fleeting, fading in and out of view like a ghost. You're like the view of the shoreline when his heads being pushed underwater. The short gasps of breath that he catches between mouthfuls of water. He works against the current to get to you and you keep him conscious enough not to drown.

- When his previous life begins to come back to him, it's the carnage that comes first. It cracks across his skull like gunfire: a sudden and violent reminder of the man he once was. He stands in a warzone, in the middle of a jungle surrounded by bodies and blood. He remembers it vividly—but he doesn't recognize where he is. He's lost and there's no way out. Not until he sees you....

- Recognizing you is like wading through molasses, like reaching out towards nothingness and trying to grasp onto something blindly. You appear to him in flashes. Flashes of your hands and your eyes and your face. Flashes of your touch: soft and gentle and caring. Flashes of your voice, the sound of comfort and the voice of reason in a room full of traitors conspiring against him.

- When he walks back into the command center after killing Colonel Perry, his eyes linger on you the longest. He pieces your features together one by one: makes one whole person from a patchwork of different snapshots pulled from his mind. He fits your eyes to your nose, to your lips, to your face—puts you together like a puzzle and lets everything snap into place. You come to focus like a camera, like the clearing of tv static: a crisp image made out of grainy pixels. His gaze doesn't leave you until it has to, until he's turning the corner to set down a pair of ears onto the operating table.

"I've relieved Colonel Perry of his command." He informs everyone inside of the vehicle, stopping to inspect the soldier that you and the rest of medics were attempting to resuscitate.

"G13. This mission has been cancelled. I order you back to the cooling chamber. Now!" An officer barks out at him.

"Orders? I'm giving the orders from now on. ...We have a mission to complete." The click of a gun rings out from behind him: a foolish attempt to subdue him while his back is turned. The outspoken officer from before reaches for his own weapon, moving in solidarity with the man who stands just at the corner of Andrews eye. He shoots the officer first, a perfect shot right between the eyes, then he turns on the medic who started it all, snapping his neck in one swift motion.

"Any questions?" He asks the other two medics, waiting for any sign of opposition. They remain silent and he turns away from them, traces his eyes over the area you'd once inhabited before he finds your figure yet again. In the absence of his attention, you've managed to plaster yourself against the far wall, making yourself as small as possible in an attempt to hide from view. You shake your head 'no' when his eyes lock onto yours, assuming that he's waiting for an answer. The barest hint of a grin pulls at his lips.

“Good.”

- The mobile command center has always been quiet but with Andrews sudden coup d'état, the remaining medics; including yourself, have taken to working in complete silence. The three of you communicate with your eyes, scared to even open your mouths when asking for a scalpel or other surgical device. You work far slower than usual, pausing when assistance is needed: hesitating when trying to decide how you'll voice what you need without actually speaking.

- A whistle breaks the silence, an incredibly successful attempt at gaining the entire rooms attention. Everyone's eyes jump to the man sitting at the vehicles control center. Your stomach drops when you find that his gaze is locked on you. He smiles when your eyes meet, pointing and curling a finger at you, an obvious sign for you to stop what you're doing and come closer. Your hands shake as they slowly set down the things in your grasp, hesitantly making your way over while you and the rest of your team anticipate the worst.

- You stop in the entrance of the operating room, waiting for him to tell you what he wants from you. Instead of speaking, he ushers you closer, curling his finger yet again, amusement crawling across his features. He doesn't let you stop until you're standing just a couple inches away from him. You worry for a moment that he'll reach out and touch you, but you're relieved to find that he doesn't. He asks for your name, asks how your work is going, asks when you think you'll be done.

"I'm making you my second in command, y/n. Make sure they stay on track." He informs you with a wink—you can't tell whether he's trying to intimidate or tease you. You simply nod your head, retreating back to your work as Garth and Woodward exchange worried glances with you. You wonder if it's Andrews comment that ultimately makes them go against your advice....

- When Woodward urges Andrew into the cooling chamber, you try to dissuade him from carrying out his plan. You whisper reason after reason as to why they shouldn't take action, yet none of them seem to get through to the men. You watch helplessly as Garth approaches the sleeping soldier, watch as Andrews hand springs up and latches onto his wrist, watch as he kills the man right in front of you. When he's finished, the soldier turns back to you and Woodward, locking eyes with you from behind the glass. He focuses on the man beside you, more than he does you, and you get the impression that he might have been listening in on your conversation the entire time.

"No more games." He tells the two of you with finality. Woodward, stammers, nervously trying to explain himself. You remain silent.

"Y/n, what did I just say," Andrew interrupts him, eyes still locked on the man beside you. It's obvious that he doesn't believe any of his excuses, or his obvious attempts to lie to him. You hesitantly repeat his words back to him and he smirks. "See. At least someone's listening...."

- After that, you're the only member of the team that Andrew seems to trust. Though that isn't saying much, not when there's only two of you left; besides the two bloodied soldiers that you're still attempting to stitch back together. When Andrew wants something done, he goes to you. When someone needs to get close to him, he makes sure it's you. When Woodward says anything, he looks to you for confirmation. You suppose that after your coworkers attempted betrayal, you've actually become his "second in command".

- He insists that you accompany him whenever he exits the command center, expects you to follow after him whenever he orders you to. It's why you're outside of the vehicle when Woodward manages to blow himself up, standing a few feet away from Andrew as the bar goers take turns taunting him. You keep your gaze on the ground, tensing and grimacing every time one of them makes a comment or a beer can goes flying towards your "superior". You know how this ends, they unfortunately do not.

- When the explosion goes off, you practically jump out of your skin. You're so taken aback that you actually move closer to Andrew, bumping into his solid body as he drops the man he's holding by the ankle. He storms away from you with a curse, storms into the still smoking truck and tosses Woodward's body out into the street. He lands at your feet, not entirely in one piece, and Andrew appears in the doorway soon after, ordering you to get inside.

- He rants to you as he drives to the nearest supermarket, yelling about traitors and killing and war. When he parks the truck, he barks at you to follow him, taking the two dead soldiers, each by one arm, and dragging them out of the vehicle. You follow behind him as he pulls them through different aisles, kicking things out of the way so that he can fit them inside of the freezer. He commands you to fix them and you explain that the cold will do it, if they'll even come back at all.

- One of them makes it, but the other doesn't. You flinch as Andrew kicks at his body, yelling at him to get up and stand at attention. You gently try to break it to him that he isn't gonna make it, tensing in anticipation when the man goes quiet, staring down at the body that lays lifeless on the freezing ground. When he gives up on the man, he grabs you by the wrist, pulling you out of the room as he yells about his platoon dropping like flies.

- He pinches his nose in frustration as the two of you exit the freezer, yelling out at the supermarket customers who have stopped to stare at the scene. He doesn't let go of you, and you're forced to stumble after him as he pulls you this way and that.

- He rants about the war he's fighting and the traitors who are trying to get him, and you realize in that moment that he's never left Vietnam. That he's still stuck in his final moments: fighting for his country and trying to keep himself alive.

- When you finally leave the supermarket, he drives you out to an empty motel, ordering you to stay behind while he finishes tracking and exterminating Deveraux. You wait there obediently, wondering whether or not you should flee.

- Ultimately, you decide to stay put, though you're not entirely sure as to why. You think that maybe it has something to do with you feeling responsible. Andrew is your Frankenstein's monster; a product of your own creation, and as the last of your team left alive, it's your responsibility to deal with him; regardless of what that may entail. A part of you wonders if the man will make it back, but you know better than to doubt him....

- He returns to you in two days time, knocking on your door with bloodied hands. You don't ask what happened, you don't even think you want to know, you simply usher him into the bathroom and gather as much ice as you can. He blinks at you lazily as you fuss over his injuries, covering him in bags of ice and monitoring his wounds as they slowly begin to heal. He calls you nurse, and you wonder if, when he looks at you, he sees you sitting there in an old red cross outfit, taking care of him in some hospital overseas. You tell him that the war is over and hope that the message sticks.

- In the morning, there's a suitcase sitting on the bed opposite your own, it belongs to neither of you and it's undoubtedly stolen from one of the rooms next door. Andrew is already dressed in a t-shirt, one that doesn't quite fit him, and a pair of old jeans. He tosses a dress at you and you go to take a shower, ignoring the stray ice cubes melting at your feet.

- He smiles at you when you exit the bathroom, telling you that you clean up nice. He takes you to a diner down the road and you sit in a booth silently, waiting for the waitress to come and take your order. He orders for himself and then for you, unbothered by your awkward demeanor and the fact that you're struggling to act like everything is normal.

"Not hungry," He asks almost teasingly. On the contrary, you're starving, but your more so worried about what's going to happen when the waitress comes back with the check. Andrew doesn't seem worried though, especially not when he lets out a playful: "I’m buying."

- Andrew makes a habit of talking at you, pretending he doesn't notice your discomfort as he makes one-sided banter and tells you stories from his past. He seems to have a very 'fake it till you make it' mentality, speaking to you like you're both good friends, grinning and winking at you from across the table while stealing fries off of your half eaten plate.

- You're surprised to see him pull out a wallet once you've both finished eating, though you suppose you shouldn't be: not when he's wearing another mans clothes. He pulls out some of the stolen bills and sets them down onto the table, sending you a knowing smirk when you look at them in surprise. He asks if you're ready to go and when you nod, he rises from his seat and wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the diner and back to your stolen vehicle.

- The two of you drive for the better part of a day, only stopping for gas and the occasional bathroom break. You're not sure where you're going, and you're not sure that Andrew does either, but he still continues to drive, making conversation the entire time.

- At the end of the day, you wind up in a seedy country bar. Andrew leads you to a table at the back of the room, patting the seat next to him when you move to sit across from him. You hesitantly sit by his side, smiling back at him awkwardly when he shoots you a grin. He pats your knee when he jokes with the waitress, like a calling card for when he wants you to smile or laugh. His arm winds up wrapped around your shoulders halfway through dinner, his one hand toying with your hair while he uses the other to talk. You don't want to admit that having his hands on you has begun to elicit feelings other than fear....

- His flirtation starts slow, a stray comment here and there, usually a compliment or something of the sort. You wonder if it has anything to do with him running out of things to say, or if its an attempt to get you to open up. He tells you that you look nice in your dress, better than the scrubs he's used to seeing you in. He asks if you've always had "that scar/beauty mark", gently brushing a finger against the blemish as though he expects it to come off, or maybe just to emphasize what he's talking about. When the sun goes down, he asks if you're cold, tugging the bottom of your dress just that half an inch lower, his hand coming to rest of your knee and not leaving your skin until you're both exiting the car.

- One week on the road turns into two, two turns into three. Andrew starts to get better, starts to claw his way out of the past. The progress is slow but it's there, and you find yourself wanting to be there with him.

- You try to suppress your feelings, try to ignore the guilt that comes with liking a person as rotten as him, but it's really no use. You don't know the exact moment you fall in love with him, you just sort of realize that you have. You see him get hurt and your chest tightens—an undeniable physical reaction, one that proves the very thing that you dread.

- You take him back to the motel room you're staying at, bearing the brunt of his bodyweight as he stumbles through the door. He steadies himself on different walls and furniture, trying not to crush as you help him through the room. His hands leave bloodied fingerprints and his boots leave tracks of mud, though neither of you care very much about either. He mutters out comments about the fight he got into, jokes about his blood "leaving a mark" and how you're stronger than you look.

- He watches you lazily as you gather up ice, clutches onto you like a lifeline as you help him into the tub. You stay silent, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to worry about making conversation. You're sure he can tell that there's something wrong with you, sure that your emotions are written all over your face. You doubt that you're hiding them very well, but at that point you simply don't care.

"I remember this one song you used to play when you worked on me," He interrupts the silence. He imitates the song, snapping his fingers and halfheartedly dancing in an attempt to get you to smile. "That one. ...You used to talk to me sometimes. You knew I could hear, but you didn't think I'd remember. You told me about the people you worked with, things wrong with your apartment, traffic...."

- When his body was still being controlled by UniSol, you'd sometimes find yourself alone in a room with him. Oftentimes, you were tasked with cleaning his injuries or injecting him with one of the many serums that the program administered to their augmented soldiers. You'd make one-sided small talk: used to working on normal patients who appreciated a distraction from what you were doing to them. He'd glance at you sometimes and you'd feel a bit like a veterinarian: like you were speaking to an animal who could recognize that you were addressing it, but couldn't understand a word you were saying. Your coworkers used to tease you for it, but you never really managed to stop.

"Did you do that with everyone or just me?" He asks.

"Just you." You say quietly, just a hair above a whisper, and after he takes a long look at your face, he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. You kiss him back before you manage to remember that he's still healing. You pull away from him, holding him at arms length when he makes a move to follow your lips.

"C'mon, don't say you didn't like it." He says, and you know that you won't: because you know that you did.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." You tell him and he raises a brow at you, an amused smirk pulling at his lips.

"Oh, you're that good, huh?" He teases, playfully twisting your words. You shake your head at him, hiding your smile as he settles back down onto the ice....

- Andrew is naturally affectionate but it reaches whole nother level when you're out in public together. There's rarely a moment where he doesn't have his hands on you; when he isn't holding onto you like a prized possession and flaunting your relationship to everyone in sight. A part of him does it because he's scared that you'll get away from him, either run away or just plain disappear— like your life together was nothing but a dream, and that he'll wake up back in the UniSol program or the jungle that he died in. Having his hands on you keeps him grounded, reminds him that he's out of that terrible place and living a; relatively, normal life.

- Another part of him just likes touching you; especially if you're shy and have a tendency to get embarrassed. He likes seeing other peoples reactions to his loving behavior as well. He thinks it's fun to make bystanders; especially his enemies, feel like they're witnessing a hostage situation. He hangs all over you: kissing your skin and pulling you close, keeping an arm wrapped around your shoulders, and pressing you up against his side. Sometimes he'll hug you from behind and press your faces together like you're taking a picture. "Aren't we a perfect pair?" He'll ask whoever's there with a smirk, loving the awkward/concerned way that they react.

- When he's in a less playful mood, he'll make it obvious that he wants the two of you to be left alone, sending glares to whoever's unfortunate enough to make eye contact with him and/or interrupt the two of you while you talk. It's in these moments that he prefers to hold onto your clothes instead of your body: gripping onto your sleeves or the collar of your jacket, worried that he'll hurt you on accident if his mind starts to wander. Most of the time, he'll just stay glued to your side, leaned in close so that the two of you can whisper to each other and keep your conversations private. Sometimes he'll play with your hair or your clothes, wanting something to do with his hands while the two of you go over your plans.

- He has a slightly concerning habit of playing with your ears: tugging on the lobes, toying with your earrings, twirling the hair around them, etc. He does it absentmindedly but it always makes you a little nervous....

- Forehead and Temple kisses. He'll shamelessly pucker his lips whenever he wants a kiss from you; regardless of wherever the two of you are and whoever may be watching.

- Andrew is ravenous when he kisses you: he pulls you in by the back of your neck and doesn't stop until your body goes weak against his own. He's passionate, rough, and sometimes a little dirty—definitely not the type of person you want to be kissing in public.

- Cuddling with Andrew can get a little complicated. If you're just sitting together randomly during the day, then he'll happily wrap himself around you and cradle you in his arms; usually while you lay in his lap. But if you're expecting to cuddle every night then prepare to be disappointed. Some nights he's forced to cool down instead of relax in bed beside you, spending hours in the bathtub surrounded by ice or outside in the cold where the natural chill of the air can fix his issues. Other nights, he's plagued with nightmares and isn't able to sleep, usually opting to keep his distance from you while trying his best to clear his head.

- On good nights, however, he'll keep an arm wrapped loosely around you, nudging you whenever he asks a question/makes a joke—keeping you from falling asleep until he's ready to—or waking up every time you shift in the slightest. You usually rest your head on his chest, shoulder, or in the crook of his neck, nestled close to his side while his space heater of a body keeps you warm and toasty.

- In his more vulnerable moments, he'll lay with his head on your stomach/chest, making comments about how you're "a proper pillow" and that you "can't get this in 'nam". He went down a bit reluctantly the first time the two of you laid like that, so much so that you had to pull him onto you, but once he mumbled out a "this is nice", you knew he was down for the count.

- He's very big on you showing him affection. Choosing to sit on his lap, giving him a kiss with little to no prompting, hugging him, snuggling into his side, wiping dirt or blood or what have you off of his skin for him, etc. It reassures him that he isn't actually holding you hostage; even if he likes to pretend.

- He uses a lot of pet names when addressing you; some more teasing than others. When he's being sweet, he'll call you things like honey, pumpkin, sweetpea, little lady, my girl, etc. Sometimes he'll coo out a "baby", but that's usually when he's in one mood or another. When you fix him up, he calls you "doc" or "nurse". When you cook, he calls you "chef". When he's teaching you something or being bossy, he calls you "soldier". Like I said: he uses a lot of pet names.

- He thinks it's fun to dominate you domestically: trapping you against him, throwing you over his shoulder, picking you up when you're being feisty and playfully reminding you of who you're talking to. It doesn't matter how much you weigh, he picks you up like it's nothing; because to him it truly isn't.

- Andrews compliments aren't the smoothest or the most romantic, but they're always authentic, and they get his point across all the same. He'll call you "the prettiest damn woman [he's] ever seen" and other; oftentimes vulgar, things of the like. And though he might resemble a catcaller more than a loving boyfriend, he somehow manages to make it endearing: whistling and grinning and getting all handsy with you, even when you're looking and feeling your ugliest.

- There's nothing better to him than waking up in the morning and watching you get dressed, smiling at you lazily as you walk around in your undergarments or one of his shirts. A close second is the mini fashion shows you put on whenever you get new clothes and/or want his help in deciding what to wear.

- It's best not to question it whenever he comes home with anything: whether it's food, weapons, different cars, or different clothes.

- Occasionally, he'll come home with jewelry and hold it out to you like a proud cat with it's newest hunt. Sometimes he'll slip it onto you wordlessly or talk about irrelevant things, wait for you to say something about it yourself and/or give him a kiss as a thank you. Other times he'll play with it lazily, twirling it on the table or winding it around his fingers, waiting for you to sit next to him and look curiously at his hands. He'll stop toying with it, hold it out for you to get a good look and ask if you like it.

- On occasion, he'll simply tell you to "c'mere", grab you and tug you closer, or lean in close to you himself, gently securing it around your skin or pulling it over your head. Once he's done, he'll hold you in place and look at it sitting against your skin, admiring the sight; and usually acting a little more subdued and in love.

- Whenever you're around to see him acquire his aforementioned goods, he's even more of a little shit than usual. He goes window shopping on passerby's, asking what you think about strangers necklaces and coats and things of the like. If you compliment anything, he'll ask if you want it: like it's perfectly normal to mug someone on the street just because you can. Even when you insist you don't want something, he'll sometimes say "yeah you do" and just take it anyway; though thankfully it's usually when he's robbing a store instead of a person.

- One day, before the two of you actually started dating/before you considered yourself his girlfriend, he'd somewhat intimidatingly mentioned that " [he] gives you all this stuff" yet never gets anything in return. You'd frozen in response, brain scrambling for something you could give to him before nervously deciding to offer up a bracelet of yours, fully expecting him to scoff at it. Instead of doing so, he'd grinned at you instead, slipping it onto his own wrist or tucking it into his pocket, patting the fabric happily. He gives you stolen gifts nearly every week, yet he's still all smiles and surprise whenever you give him anything of yours. "Must really love me" he'll tease you, claiming that the item will be his good luck charm whenever he's apart from you.

- Andrews a menace who likes to prompt you into action then tease you for doing what he'd essentially forced you to do in the first place: things like cuddling close to him when it's cold or squeezing past him when he's blocking the way. He also loves to joke about you "just wanting to put your hands on [him]" whenever you touch him in any way, smirking at you while you roll your eyes and/or tease him back. Don't be surprised if he makes cheeky comments towards you/about you in front of other people just to see them get all uncomfortable/awkward.

- The two of you have a lot of back and forth in your relationship. He likes banter; likes being kept on his toes, so he likes having a girl who can keep up with him and keep him in check. He also likes seeing you be all quick-witted with people outside of your relationship, it makes him proud to call you his girlfriend.

- He talks at you a lot, yammering on and on about nothing in particular, saying "you know?" after nearly every sentence even though he never waits for an answer. He's like a professor giving a lecture on respect and war and things of the like. Like an old man ranting about things that have changed since he was a kid. Sometimes you think he just likes hearing himself talk, other times, you think that talking to himself out loud; with you as an audience, helps him work through things in his head.

- It's not being on the run if you call it a road trip!

- Visiting nearby lakes whenever the two of you need to cool off; or potentially living near one if you decide to settle down someplace warm. Sometimes, after he's done exerting himself, he'll hose himself off or dump buckets of ice cold water over his head. You'll come over with a towel to dry his hair off for him; since every other part of him is hot enough to boil the water off itself, and when you ask if he's feeling better, he'll smile down at you and claim that he always feels better when you have your hands on him.

- Impromptu picnics. The two of you have all the time in the world; particularly when you're driving cross country, so you pull over whenever and wherever you want, eating and doing as you please.

- He likes stealing cars and speeding around in empty areas, doing donuts and going as fast as possible down long stretches of road.

"Let's see how fast this baby goes, eh?" He'll turn to you with a smile, and you'll just have to prepare yourself for a adrenaline filled, heart racing experience.

- Dates in the middle of nowhere. Gas stations, diners, random areas where you just camp out: they might not be places that normal people would consider proper dating spots, but neither of you have ever claimed to be normal; at least not since getting together.

- When the two of you want to have "normal" dates—bowling, mini golf, things of the like—he either breaks into the places you want to go, or scares everyone off so that the two of you can be alone. Once there's no one in sight, he acts all jovial and cheery, like he didn't just threaten to kill a room full of people just so that the two of you didn't have to be in a crowd/wait in line.

- Most of the time, you try to dissuade Andrew from leaving the house/car with you whenever you need to go anywhere; preferring to keep your deadly super soldier with a lust for violence safely away from the general public. But, sometimes he gives you no choice: wanting to be around you to keep an eye on you, or to take you someplace normal for a date, or even just to run errands with you because he's bored at home. Whenever you do take him out in public with you, he has a tendency to act concerningly extroverted, and while it might make you slightly nervous whenever he jovially interacts with random strangers, it's always a relief whenever things don't go south.

- That being said, there might be some slip ups every now and again: days where he attempts to intimidate people, acts loud and obnoxious/causes a scene, makes threats, or wordlessly "deals" with whoever's managed to get on his nerves; particularly whenever your back is turned. Thankfully, however, he usually listens to you whenever you tell him to stop, reluctantly releasing the persons shirt collar as you reprimand him and pull at his arm. He'll give them a devilish grin before he lets go, calling them lucky before turning to you with a casual "sorry baby" like he's committed some minor infraction. When it comes to him, you suppose that it counts as one; at least no one died....

- Though he'll refuse to admit it, rest assured that your boyfriend has attachment issues. He always needs to know where you're going and how long you'll be, and he hates having you out of his sight for longer than a few minutes. His behavior can seem somewhat controlling, but it's more about his fear of losing you than it is an urge to control you. It's hard for him to admit weakness so his nervousness can, occasionally, come off as aggression. He'll catch your arm as you go to leave and demand to know where you're going, telling you to be quick when what he really wants to say is "be careful".

- You had to temporarily cut contact with a lot of your friends and family while out on the run with Andrew, but you're able to reconnect with them once the two of you settle down. One of your friends doesn't like Andrew at all, and while you try to keep their disapproval of him a secret, your boyfriend finds out about it anyway.

- When they come to visit you for the first time, he manages to get them alone, and while he never directly accuses them of anything; never outwardly says that he knows that they've been trying to break the two of you up, he certainly alludes to it. He sits there like a cat ready to pounce and makes vague; oftentimes intimidating, comments about your relationship—about how much he loves you and how he doesn't know what he'd do if somebody tried to get between the two of you—and "jokes" about how he doesn't think that they like him very much.

- He'll act like nothings wrong when you finally come looking for them, cheerfully claiming that he was just showing your friend something outside, giving them a somewhat goading smile as he pulls you into his side. Your friend will remain silent, too scared to speak to the contrary, and they'll stay like that for the rest of the night. Though it'll be obvious that something happened between the two of them, you'll never find out exactly what that something was, and your friend will never bring Andrew up to you again....

- Though you'd likely move in together someplace else, if he ever had the chance to spend time in your personal place of residence, he'd make himself right at home, acting like he owns the place and everything in it. He lays in your bed, eats your food, uses your expensive shampoo, etc. He's a bastard, but at least he has the decency to clean himself up before he ruins all of your pretty belongings: chucking his boots off at the door, hosing himself off outside/showering right when he comes "home", etc. He likes to jokingly tell people that you would kill him if he tracked mud through the house.

- You liken loving Andrew to loving a reformed fighting dog. Time has turned him sweet, turned his claws dull and taught him to kiss instead of bite. He's gentle with you, gentle with his person, but there's always a violence that lingers beneath the surface, hungry and waiting. There's skills that he's never forgotten, there's triggers that've never gone away. He may never use his teeth on you, but he'll easily tear into somebody else and instantly remind you of what he once was and what he still is.

- It's in those moments that you're reminded of how comfortable you've grown in his love for you. You act like you're in charge, you yell at and give him hell, you order him around and expect him to obey. And for the most part he does. He listens because he cares and he takes your disrespect with a smile on his face, allowing you to act out and scold him without repercussion. Instead of calling you his person, he calls you his "old lady", and as Andrew would playfully put it: you "have [him] by the balls".

- Having a super soldier that needs the cold to survive, you'd likely choose to live somewhere with frosty weather. Because of this, you'll occasionally see him laying out in the snow with hardly any clothes on, looking like he's tanning on the beach instead of turning himself into a human popsicle. You'll bundle yourself up and join him outside, expecting him to say something sweet from the way that he's looking at you as you approach him, only for him to tell you that you look like the Michelin man.

"Too cold for you to be out here." He tells you halfheartedly as you settle down next to him.

"I think I'll be fine for a little while." You insist, enjoying his quiet company for the next few minutes.

"Your nose is all red." He interrupts the silence, trailing a finger down the feature. You grab his hand and pull it away, holding it in yours and resting them both in the space between you.

- Sitting out on your porch and watching the sunrise/sunset.

- Lounging on the couch together, watching VHS movies and television shows. That being said, he is the type of guy to have his own personal armchair.

- If you have cold hands, he'll develop a habit of grabbing them and putting them against his skin whenever he gets a little too warm: resting them against his heart, his neck, or his face. The chill doesn't last very long, since he's practically a heating pad, but it still soothes him and benefits you in the process.

- Sharing cold beers. Sometimes, when he goes to grab them from the fridge, he'll chuck a couple ice cubes into his mouth and crunch on them like they're a normal snack. You'll have to remind him to not do it around you if the sound of it drives you nuts; though he might occasionally do it anyway just to annoy you.

- This man can eat you out of house and home so keep that in mind whenever you go food shopping. Catch him guzzling a literal gallon of milk in the middle of the night, like damn man can you at least leave some for my morning coffee??

- He doesn't see a problem with using your toothbrush and/or drinking straight from the carton. Living through war ensured that very little is sacred to him: he's used to rations being scarce and having to do some arguably gross shit because of it. After practically swapping spit with several men in his platoon, doing the same with the woman he's been giving and getting head from is child's play.

- If you insist on learning to defend yourself, he'll put you through a makeshift bootcamp, making the experience as difficult as possible because he thinks it's kind of pointless. He's resolute in the fact that he'll always be there to protect you; and that you have no chance against any of his enemies anyway, so he'll put you through hell in an attempt to dissuade you from wanting to learn. If you think that seducing him will make him go easier on you, you're sorely mistaken: he'll play along before sweeping the rug out from under your feet, telling you to drop and give him twenty just as you think he's falling for it. "Had enough?" He'll question when you finally give up, kneeling in front of you as you lay in a heap on the ground. You'll nod your head tiredly and he'll demand that you give him a kiss before picking you up and carrying you inside.

- Asking him to teach you how to use a gun will earn you a suspicious once-over, but he'll ultimately agree: not like you can do much damage to him with one anyway. He'll set up some targets and come up behind you, wrapping himself around you as he teaches you what parts to move and how to aim and so on and so forth. Once you've got the gist, he'll stand back and watch you give it a go, hooting, hollering, and letting out proud "that's my girl"'s anytime you manage to actually hit whatever you're shooting at.

- Andrew keeps his old stuff in a lockbox. Where he keeps that box depends on how healed he is: the farther away it is, the more willing he is to let go of the past and begin to move on. If you ever got pregnant, you'd hear him digging in your yard late in the night; probably the same day that you told him. You'd discover the box gone soon after, buried deep in the Earth and away from prying eyes and curious little hands. He isn't ashamed of his old life, but it's certainly no place for a baby.

- Helping him through his PTSD. Even when he starts to get better, he'll still occasionally have flashbacks—only you'll be there too. Sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, he'll grab you and force you down low to the ground, barking at you to "keep your fucking head down before someone sees you". You'll have to recognize when there's an actual threat vs when he's reverting back to his old memories: have to recognize when it's best to listen to what he's telling you, or try to assure him that everything is alright.

- At one point or another, in one way or another, he's gonna make sure that you're bound in blood. Your blood, his blood, someone else's: it really doesn't matter whose it is, it just matters that it gets spilt. It's proof to him that you're serious, that you're not gonna leave and that you're not going to betray him. Although, even if you did betray him, he'd likely forgive you—as long as you could prove that it was an accident, or as long as you'd be willing to feel the same pain....

"Should have known you couldn't leave. We got too much history, you and me."

- Your aforementioned betrayal could come in many forms, but a physical betrayal is the one he'd respect the most. Stabbing him to get away from him or to buy somebody else some time to escape would be the most likely scenario; and the easiest for him to understand since he likely left you with very little choice. When you'd finally go back to him, claiming that you were sorry, he'd make you prove it to him by letting him stab you. So you'd stand there completely still, letting him press a knife against your torso, locking gazes with him until your eyes instinctively squeeze shut at the contact. You'd brace yourself for the pain but the pain would never come, and soon enough, the sharp tip of the blade would leave your skin completely.

"Welcome back, honey," He'd murmur as you slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, watching him put the weapon away before pressing a long kiss to your lips. "Next time I won't be so nice...."

- Andrew likes to show you off so he's not an inherently jealous person. He's fine with people finding you attractive, fine with you wearing whatever you want, and even with you jokingly flirting with people from time to time. But the moment people show too much interest in you, his amusement turns sour. He sobers up, straightens in his seat and turns accusatory. He verbally backs people into corners, confuses them into admitting things they don't even necessarily believe, and then uses their words as an excuse to threaten or attack them. If they're lucky, they escape with only a baffling and slightly frightening interaction weighing heavily on their minds. If they're not, they might not escape at all.

- People having the audacity to try and disrespect him has always amused him, but he never finds it funny whenever they try it with you. Sometimes he'll warn people to "try that one again" whenever they address you rudely; occasionally with a weapon pointed at them in a concerningly casual manner. Other times, he'll wordlessly beat them, prepared to kill them in an attempt to protect your honor. Unfortunately for everyone else in the world, he's always been more of an actions first, words later type of guy.

- The two of you have game plans for every situation you could possibly be in: where to meet if you get separated, what to do if you meet a certain person, etc. You're his everything so he wants to ensure that you're safe, and that he can always find you if something goes wrong.

- Andrews always been an "end of discussion" kind of guy. He leaves no room for argument whenever he's serious about something, and since he's the expert on survivalism and being a fugitive, you usually let him call the shots. When he isn't passionate abut something or convinced that he knows what's best for the two of you, he usually lets you win whatever argument you're having, wanting to stay in your good graces whenever he can.

- The first time you got mad at him, Andrew was amazed by how much you resembled an angry kitten. It made taking you seriously kind of difficult. But, even if he brushes off your attempts to act tough and start a fight, he'll still usually listen to you and correct himself in whatever way you'd wanted him to. The two of you don't fight very often but you do occasionally bicker, usually about silly things that neither of you care very much about.

- After an argument, he usually tries to kiss up to you. He'll sweet talk you, giving you teasing puppy dog faces as he wraps himself around you and/or caresses your skin. He'll tell you jokes, trying to get you to smile or make you laugh, make you loosen up and stop giving him the cold shoulder. He might not apologize, especially if he thinks he did the right thing, but he'll coo at you and tell you he loves you, claiming that whatever he did, he did it "for you". But, if you'd rather an insincere apology, he can give you one of those too.

- He says he loves you pretty often. Maybe not every day, but certainly enough; and usually with a peck on the lips.

- He likes to joke about making babies, but he's never fully joking....

- At the end of the day, Andrew wants a quiet little house away from all the noise. He wants the home, he wants the wife: he wants the domestic little slice of life that everyone promised him he'd have once his tour was up. If the war is really over like everyone says that it is, then he wants what's rightfully his: what was owed to him after years of combat, what he was fighting to come back to after all that time. Once he's sure that it's safe, he wants it all.

#90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon #90s movie imagines #universal soldier imagine #universal soldier imagines #universal soldier headcanons #universal soldier headcanon #andrew scott imagine #andrew scott imagines #andrew scott headcanons #andrew scott headcanon #universal soldier andrew scott imagine #sgt andrew scott imagine #sgt andrew scott imagines #sgt andrew scott headcanons #sgt andrew scott headcanon

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ancientevangelions · 11 months ago

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I hope I’m not too late to the ask game: did you like how they changed the elevator scene in the rebuilds?

My biggest problem with the Rebuilds is that the changes never paid off. Asuka being revealed as a clone in the last movie left me going, "So what"? The purpose of the elevator scene in the original series is to contrast Asuka and Rei, showing us the apparent tension between the two, the lack of understanding, and the fragility of Asuka's mental state. In the Rebuilds, it's more like "How dare you get close to the boy I like," and then Asuka sees the bandages from learning to cook on Rei's hands that she also has for the same reasons. "Oh, we're not so different after all," BUT WAIT, Asuka knows she's a Shikinami series clone, and Rei is an Ayanami series clone. This implies all the girls are clones with their “ami” last names, including Mari Makinami (why, though?).

It has no payoff anywhere or anytime; Unisolated in 2.0 is a good scene, but it only accomplishes something when taken as a whole with the knowledge of the series. The Rebuilds were marketed as stand-alone films to retell Neon Genesis Evangelion to new fans. But to get the whole idea of what's happening, you must watch NGE first. I can't imagine only watching the Rebuild series and never touching NGE; it seems like it would be confusing why the elevator scene and other instances are in the Rebuild movies without context to NGE.

Anyway, I think if the rest of the series had explored more of Asuka's and Rei's interactions, it could have been a good scene, but instead, they got turned into Betty and Veronica…

#rei ayanami #asuka langley #asuka langley soryu #asuka langley shikinami #rebuild of evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #asks

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22degreehalo · 8 months ago

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It's just. a weird feeling when for seemingly every other queer person, stories are about seeing yourself, and imagining things for yourself, and putting your own life on the screen, and all of that.

Because like. as an aro/ace. stories have always been, at least in part, about getting to experience things that I can't IRL. That's my personal relationship to stories: it's specifically about people who aren't me. And I can read stories about people like me! And there's a lot of value in that! But there's a real, tangible value in the opposite, too.

It's like... reading stories about other people in love is an expression of my aromanticism. It's inextricable from it. It's not 'representation' in the way we usually think about it, but finding stories that hit in the right kind of way - that express that love in the way I can feel it myself, viscerally - is an act of my aromanticism. I wouldn't be doing it otherwise. And I'd be a less happy person if I couldn't do it.

And it's. Kind of unintentionally isolating and lonely in queer art spaces sometimes because of that. When everyone is creating things based on their own experiences, or what they want to do, and talking about that reality/art blur like it's a universal experience... When for me, blurring the line between art and reality too much actually... makes it less accessible. Because it hits too close and triggers my lack of attraction to make itself known.

And that's something I really like about... more metaphorical or abstract queer themes, I guess? People get down on that sort of thing for 'not being explicit' or whatever, but paradoxically, it's exactly that lack of direct relatability that makes me actually able to vibe with it. (Not to mention that anything intended to be directly relatable is... almost always not, which is a not very unisolating thing to experience and be aware of.)

I guess I'm just. Trying to think through my own experiences and see them as something of value, and not just me Doing Queerness Wrong, which is always my first (and usually my last) thought on the matter. It feels stupid and weird to claim that romance stories are a part of the nature of aromanticism, and even more so to claim that there can be something especially aromantically relevant about them. But when a story can capture some of that feel of being aro/ace - that isolation and loneliness, the self-consciousness, the discomfort that never quite goes away, the thinking this is something you'll never get to have, the catharsis of finding a way to love and be happy that works even if it doesn't look like how you always imagined...

I don't know. Maybe I'm kidding myself to think that 'stories about people who think they'll never get to be in love, realising that they are in love and it's beautiful' could ever be a healthy thing for a self-hating aspec to consume. But I also know that reading those kinds of things is sometimes the closest I come to feeling like an actual person who belongs in this world. And there's... something to that, either way. Even if it's an unhealthy something.

I don't mind it being unhealthy so long as it actually means something. Something that matters.

#aspec #my thoughts #aroace

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unisol-communications123 · 1 year ago

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a-fistful-of-birds · 19 days ago

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Cowboy Times

Word count: 1,749

Originally written in August, 2023

The sharp crack of a whip sounded in the air, encouraging the sturdy equine to keep trudging forward. The demon-horse duo had been slowly traversing the desert for a few weeks now, moving supplies westwards in search of a job in the cattle industry. Our lovely cowboy for this story, Urogi, had no actual interest in such a job.

The rest of the Hantengu grouping had scattered across the United States, Urogi finding himself deep in Nevada territory. Demons had still yet to defeat the sun, Muzan wanted to remain in central Japan to continue his research and searching for the infamous blue spider lily. Consequently, demons filling human roles were at risk for death, though Urogi being in cattle working territory had the believable excuse of shielding himself from the sun with thick clothes and a wide-brimmed hat, his wings seemingly tucked away under those leather layers and leaving no visible trace.

While he was more than capable of moving continuously throughout the night, his horse was not. This led to many nights spent camped out under the clear Nevandian skies, Urogi checking over his plans and maps to make sure they were still heading in the right direction. Most foodstuffs packed for this trip aimed to feed the working animal, little was kept aside for Urogi in the form of “beef” jerky in an unmarked bag.

While traveling horseback was agonizingly slow for the demon at times, he learned to appreciate the starry night that was robbed from his youth in the greatly populated Japan.

The sun had set hours ago, the pair falling into a pattern of continuing a bit further into the night before setting up camp. Evening travel was easier on Urogi as he could remove the thickly damp clothing from his body under the safety of nightfall. The pair moved forward, crossing several small hills and valleys and it was over one of these hills that Urogi noticed a small structure in the distance.

‘That’s odd,�� he thought, ‘there shouldn’t be any structures this far out.’

Their destination was not scheduled to be reached for another week at best, what was another night spent in the apparently unisolated night? Urogi switched the reins to one hand and directed the horse towards the small building, no lights were on and it appeared to be completely abandoned. There was little chance anything inside would be of use to Urogi other than potential water for his horse.

As the building came into view, Urogi could make out that this had used to be an old saloon. While money and booze were no direct benefit to the demon, it could prove to be useful with coercing humans into doing what he needed if it came down to it. The duo reached the saloon and the sound of metal spurs rattled out as Urogi dismounted, landing harshly on the sandy ground.

Tying the horse’s reins to one of the posts, Urogi made his way towards the crooked doors, being careful to keep an ear out for any unlikely motion. Hearing nothing startle, Urogi entered the saloon, the doors clicking as they swung shut behind him.

The interior of the building was shrouded in dust. Moonlight seeped in through the windows, lighting up the saloon and exposing the many half filled glasses of liquor, drinking glasses, loose coins, and the mirror which hung behind the bar. The interior consisted of a long bar filled with stools, which ran alone the right of the building nearest the numerous bottles.

Urogi neared the counter, hoping to see any box or bag indicating money was still kept there. If this place was truly left untouched, then whatever had caused such abandonment would scatter humans before they could think about the business funding.

Bending down, Urogi began opening several of the cabinet drawers on the backside of the counter, finding primarily more napkins and other items meant for bussing the tables. One of the drawers had seemingly been stuck shut with a thick coat of paint, garnering his full attention. Urogi shuffled, searching through his pockets in his pants and pulled out an old lighter he picked off a fellow trail goer.

Urogi understood these lighters were where man made fire was stored, yet he had not witnessed or recognized how to release such a flame. The demon only knew he could gently melt the paint layer away if he could successfully coax out the red heat from the metal box.

Turning the item over in his hand, the spark wheel glinted in the moonlight, catching the demon’s eye.

“This some kinda on and off switch?”

He flicked the wheel and was met with a bright spark accompanied with a screeching flash of sound ringing through the demon’s delicate ears. Urogi stilled, entranced by what lay in his hand. The light delicate flame before him danced in the cool air, licking at the demon’s face and gently reflecting off the metal fuel box. Minuscule reflections of light moved around the saloon, the fire light glinting off the old mirror and drinking glasses.

Urogi could not help the small smile which adorned his face while staring into the small flame. He truly was enraptured with its beauty.

The sound of a glass shattering against the floor rang out across the saloon.

Before Urogi could fully process what had happened, his survival instincts kicked in and mixed with his sudden state of panic, led to the demon throwing the lighter a good distance away. His wings fluffing up with ease due to the lack of clothing on his upper body, lifting himself off the floor and across the counter before he had time to consider finding the source of the noise.

“Shit!”

Urogi panicked, knowing if he was caught in such a vulnerable condition, he would be reduced to murder and have to come up with an excuse for his bloody clothes once reaching the western cattle ranch he intended to work at, posing as a cattleman. He needed to get out of the saloon and fast.

The flame of the lighter went out as it smashed into the wall and fell into an old pile of dishes, startling both Urogi and whoever else had entered the saloon. Alarmed, the demon attempted to take flight and fly through the swing doors.

Jumping off the counter had caused Urogi’s back to crash into suspended drinking glasses sending shards in all directions, some slipping under Urogi’s feet, tripping the demon and sending him into a swan dive towards the cold floor.

The sudden burst of action had scared the other present living being and they charged to hide in the nearest shade, the rustling of motion alerting Urogi as he felt the other jump over him towards the front of the room.

Urogi could only see the last sliver of a shadow casted by the animal disappear around the corner.

The temporary silence interrupted by a thumping noise coming from around the same corner the shadow disappeared to.

‘Who the HELL is here and what allows them to be so fast that I can’t see them?!’ Urogi felt one upped in this situation, having hurt himself and slowing himself to be trapped with the other blocking the exit.

Urogi decided he needed to move now, spreading his wings and taking flight in the first open direction that he found.

Glasses continued to shatter and napkins, plates, utensils, as well as other items decorating the tops of the tables were sent flying as Urogi flew, desperately searching for an out while impeding the stranger’s view of his identity.

‘Is there only one exit?’ Urogi thought, ‘who builds a salon and only puts one exit?! I’m going to die here!’

What sounded like a visceral human scream sounded out from the entrance.

If a demon’s blood could run cold from fear, Urogi would have felt it now.

The sweeping of his wings kicked dust up and into his eyes, blinding the demon and sending him flying into a random direction. Urogi cleared his vision in time to see himself make contact with the wide mirror over the bar and he made his best attempt to bounce off its surface and fly backwards in the opposite direction.

Urogi sent himself backwards through one of the windows of the salon, landing with a harsh thud on the sandy earth.

Hearing the screeching sounds of whoever was inside accompanied with the sound of running sent Urogi into flight. The demon had abandoned cover and took off without his complete disguise, horse all but forgotten at the hitching post. The crisp night air whipped through his feathers as he quickly reached the highest speed he was capable of, the demon had decided right then that Nevada, no, all of North America, was not something he was suited for.

He flew as high as he could, aiming to reach Japan before dawn. His only option left being to fly west and follow the direction of the sun to avoid direct exposure.

‘I’m sorry guys,’ Urogi thought about the rest of his group, the remaining individuals which made up the Hantengu group, ‘I’m going back.’

…

What sounded like stressed laughter erupted in the form of chittering from the jackrabbit which had managed to find itself in the salon with Urogi when looking for shade.

Now safe from any wild bird men, it thumped off into the plains.

#hantengu #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #hantengu fanfic #one shot #kimetsu no yaiba #crack fic

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