#which is most often a very small box for short thin thin people that dress in a certain acceptable mixture of masculine and feminine

[droodlebug]

always, unendingly frustrated how often people will see me irl and assume im nonbinary and like. not believe me when i say i am a man. i am a trans man. +and only gets worse if someone happens to know i use it/its and he/him pronouns. stop calling me they after ive told you what you can use !! i am a man regardless of what you think one should be.

and its Always other queer people doing it. every time. stop trying to fit me into your box when ive told you who i am

[heavenfordoms]

”Innocent“ Hug (Deku x fem! Reader):

Pairing(s): Deku x reader

Warning(s): 18+ minors DNI, cussing, manga spoilers, riding, death, semi-public sex, eating out

Genera: angst to fluff to smut

A/N: wait this was actually fun and easy to write for me wtf

Fandom: My hero academia (boku no hero academia)

Glossary:

Y/n = your name

Summery: Bakugou looses his life in battle and y/n goes to comfort Deku, soon Deku ends up forgetting about Bakugou as y/n rides him

You sucked in a breath, holding it for a while as you stared at the villain in front of you. You where crouched down low so you knew that he couldn’t see you. But you sure saw him. Your quirk was called memory, you could memorize anything that you wanted. The downside to this quirk is that while your mind was full of knowledge your body was weak so it was no good for battle-training, another bad thing (or more annoying then anything) is that we can’t forget it, ever, even if you wanted to. You remember every single detail of your life and every single thing that has happened to this point in grave detail. Not like you wanted to remember it, but you felt so worthless that it was almost blood to memorize everything. Like how there where five street lamps outside the bar. They where dimly lit and flickered every five second, each one after the other. The one on the very right was the first to flicker then it would go all the way to the left. Sometimes the one in the very middle would shut off at random times as the other lamps brightly shone in the night-sky.

“Could you stop mumbling?!” Katsuki whisper-yelled at you. You slightly cringed at the blonde male’s words before nodding your head in a form of acceptance (for some reason people saw that as acceptance so you did as well).

Katsuki is a young man of average height for somebody his age, with a slim, muscular build, and a fair skin tone. He has short, spiky, ash-blond hair with choppy bangs that hang over his eyebrows. His eyes are sharp and bright red in color. His hero costume is composed of a tight, black, sleeveless tank top, with an orange "X" across the middle, forming a v-neck. There are two dots along the left line of his collar, indicating the support company that designed his costume. His costume also has a metallic neck brace worn with rectangular ends that have three holes on each side. His sleeves reach from within his large grenade-like gauntlets to his biceps. His belt, which also carries grenades, holds up his baggy pants with knee guards, below which he sports black, knee-high combat boots with orange soles and eyelets. His mask is jagged and black, and as it goes around his eyes, a large, orange-rimmed flare shape protrudes from each side.

You focused your eyes off of Kastsuki and onto Dabi, the villain who was standing guard outside the bar. Dabi is a fairly tall, pale young man of a slim, somewhat-lanky build, described to be in his early twenties. He has white hair with a few red streaks at the crown that spikes upward around his head, hanging low over his eyes, which are thin, turquoise in color, and heavily lidded. Before the reveal of his true identity, his hair was dyed black. His most striking features are undoubtedly the patches of gnarled, wrinkled, purple skin that cover much of his lower face and neck, all the way down past his collarbone, below his eyes and on his arms and legs due to him having a quirk at a early age and not knowing how to control it. These appear to be attached to the rest of his skin by multiple, crude surgical staples or hoop piercings. He has several silver cartilage piercings in both ears, and a triple nostril piercing on the right side of his nose. He also seems to be lacking earlobes on both sides of his ears upon close inspection, he wears a dark blue jacket with a high, ripped collar, and matching pants, cut off above his ankles, a pair of dark dress shoes on his feet. He also has a plain pale gray, scoop-neck shirt, below which a gray belt with a circular pattern wraps around his waist, a leather satchel attached at the back.

Nobody knew his real name, until now, Dabi had revealed himself as Touya Todoroki. Everyone now calls him Touya but it never settled right in your gut to call him that. His name was Dabi to you and it will always be Dabi. It didn’t matter if he did a big entry and say that he is part of the Todoroki’s Dabi didn’t seem like them. The Todoroki’s where a strict family with ruled set in place. Endeavor, now the number one hero, had tried to welcome his family with more open arms. You could tell that Dabi’s opening was not out of grief for his family but instead out of spite. Like saying to Endeavor that he needs to take a chill pill with this whole anime redemption arc thing that he has going on for himself (and you didn’t quiet disagree with the oriole scarred man either).

You often thought of life like a anime, it was easier to explain. If somebodies life was broken they just ended up in the wrong anime. It also helped reminded you that every villain has a backstory. You never got to see their perspective in things. You never got to see what happened to the villains after they got defeated. Nope. You never got to see that, maybe if people saw the villain’s side. Everyone would hate the hero‘s and build their own path just as villains do. They make a path that no one has ever gone on, slowly making it a dirt road and them turning it again into an actual road that everyone can go on. Villains never got the roadwork. Hero’s probably always destroy it.

“So what’s the plan?” You leaned in close to Katsuki and whispered in his ear, Kastuki tensed up next to you and sucked in a breath before looking at you through pointy eyes.

”I will distract scar-man while you go and get Deku from the bar.” Kastuki explained, you nodded your head ‘yes’ before you pointing in the direction you where going to go. Kastuki grunted to himself as he crawled slowly in the opposite direction. Sending explosion at Dabi’s face before ducking behind a large wooden tool-box that had the words ”Back Bend Inc” on it in Ariel black font. Although it had been there for so long that the black ink looked to be a dark smoky gray. You quietly padded off into the opposite direction, your head ducked and eyes darting every five seconds to catch every detail around you.

Silently, you slipped into the bar. There was a wooden plank that held up the first stand, it looked to be pretty normal from here. There was dark wine stands that had a light brown color to them. The walls where colored with a sand tan. Over by the bar there was stacks and stacks of different liquor that people could have. Above was the general black chalkboard menu, there was smeared blue chalk that said “SPECIAL: Burbon” the strong smell of liquor and whisky hung in the air. There was a cigarette hanging off the ledge, still lit and everything. It looked pretty normal, but there was a slight piece of the cigarette where it was unwrapped and that told you enough to not say ’fuck it’ and have a smoke break. Turning your head slowly you walked up to Kurogiri. Information began flooding in your head about the villains and the bar. Unluckily for you everyone noticed the smartness you had and quickly found out your quirk. They began to flood your Brian with information. Information that a kid didn’t want to hear. You heard everything when you where just in High School. Now, everyone hated your quirk, everyone fucking hated it. The people who raised you said that you where a monster and that they didn’t know you anymore. But the sad part was you didnt do anything wrong. After hours of racking through your mind you couldn’t find a single moment where you did something bad. “I need to see Tomura.” You stared blankly at the mist villain. Kurogiri's entire body is made out of a dark purple mist, save for his eyes, which are glowing yellow. He normally wears a very elegant suit with a tie and has a metal brace that goes from around his collarbone to just below his eyes. It was pretty simple description of the villain, but there wasn’t much to him.

“Now?“ The male inquired, a hint of annoyance traced his smooth and calming voice. His voice sounded a lot like a gently sea softly rippling in the waves. But in actuality he was more like a thundering storm as the large ocean waves crashed harshly against large dark-gray-almost-black rocks.

“Yes, it is important.” You answered, putting a fake smile across your face. You still heard the faint sound of explosions from Katsuki and knew that you didn’t have a lot of time. Katsuki only could hold off for fifteen minutes before he went full on battle mood. And the villains would definitely think at something is up. Kurogiri hummed thoughtfully before nodding his head in agreement and holding out his purple misted hand.

”Come on dear…” The man whispered soothingly and smiling up and down at you.

“Thanks!” You chirped getting up and going behind the bar, following the villain down the stairs that creaked underneath your feet.

“BOSS!! Somebody wanted you!!” Kurogiri called, you took a deep breath before flinching as you looked into the villains base.

It was the same red bricks that seemed to be different colors every brick that was placed down to make the wall of the bar. There was smooth fake wood counter with clean royal red plush bar stools with the smallest backs on them. There was a few hero posters scattered around the base, one medium sized All Might poster hung to the right of a small screen TV. The dull gray light picketed on and off as the headlights didn’t provide much protection against the dark loom of everything. Different types of bottles hung on narrowed shelves behind the bar. Right next to the bar was a metal door, the window had cages around it and a long shiny knob that went down the left side. To the right of the door was a old faction radio station with LED lights surrounding it. It was currently playing Take Me to Church, apparently just starting to play it seeing how the introduction was still on. You narrowed your eyes before leaning against the red brick wall and giving everyone a swept gaze. All of the villains names that where forced to memorize came to your head all of a sudden.

Himiko Toga was standing in the farthest left, spinning in the red barstools.

Himiko is a relatively petite, fair-skinned girl who is very prone to blushing and is frequently described as to having a rather pretty face. She has slightly inward-tilting bright yellow eyes with thin slits, making them somewhat resemble those of a cat, and her wide mouth is also rather feline, as both her upper and lower canines are more pointed and longer than the rest of her teeth, giving her a vampire-like appearance. Her hair is a pale, dirty ash-blonde and is styled into two messy buns, with numerous wild strands sticking out at all angles from their centers and where they’re fastened, a straight fringe and two chin-length side bangs to frame her face. Himiko’s outfit consist of a plain seifuku with a Kansai collar, both the skirt and the shirt dark blue with a double white trim, which is paired with a red scarf that she ties loosely below. Over this, she wears an oversized beige cardigan with a rather long hem and cuffs, and pockets on either side, the right one shown to hold a number of trinkets on either a keychain or a cellphone strap. She sports knee-length black socks and dark brown dress shoes with thick heels, the same as the outdoor uniform shoes students traditionally wear in Japanese schools.

Tomura was standing next to Himiko, a bored expression clouding his features.

Tomura is a slim man with deathly pale skin, tinged yellow, and wrinkled a great deal around his eyes. His lips are chapped and uneven, a small mole on the right underneath, with visible scars on his right eye and under his lip. He has messy grayish-blue hair of varying lengths, the longest clumps reaching to about his shoulders, left hanging over his face in uneven waves. His eyes are normally obscured, but when visible, they are usually stretched wide in a rather maniacal manner, their bright red irises are very small.

Interestingly, when Tenko was at the age of five, he bore a striking resemblance to Izuku Midoriya, with his blue hair originally being dark black in color, while also having dried patches of skin around his eyes, though his lips were shown to be healthy in appearance. After his Quirk manifested, his appearance changed giving him a wrinkled face and changing his hair color.

Nobody else was in the base, the rest of the villains where busy surviving customers or dealing with Bakugou.

Then you saw him

Deku…

Deku has been a classmate of yours for a while, although you guy’s rarely talked to each other you always admired his strength and wisdom. Soon he became the number one hero and you became the second, Bakugou and Todoroki following closely behind. The only real reason you where able to make it to number two was due to the popularity votes for citizens. Everyone liked you, they loo up to you. So rationally you often teamed up with Deku. He was not good with the citizens since he never got a chance to talk to them due to the fact that he broke his bones in battle often but his quirk was amazing. And you didn’t have a lot of strength so that gave you time to connect with the citizens. The two of you working together helped everyone live a better place. Now seeing him tied up and helpless, it made you pretty angry.

“I would love to sit here and chat, but I got a hero to save!” You smirked as you raced on ahead and grabbed Deku, pulling him out of the chains before the villains had any time to react. Standing next to the hero you where slightly taller (mind you he hasn’t grown since high school so that wasn’t really anything to brag about being taller then him).

”HELLPPP!!!” A scream shouted from Kastuki, your eyes widened as you sprinted off to get the number three hero. Deku closely followed you as he got his quirk ready. But by the time that you rushed out you knew it was too late. Katsuki had been crushed by the blue flames that wrapped around his body.

“KACCHAN!!!” Deku screamed, DabI whipped his head around and started at the number one hero.

”You idiot!“ You hissed as you grabbed Deku’s arm and made a run for it. Dragging him out into the open where a bunch of other hero’s where’s standing just in case something happened. You noticed that they where busy on their phones and probably didn’t even hear Katsuki screaming for help. You rushed Deku to the side of the red brick building and waited for a ambulance to come pick Deku up. Once they carried him away you narrowed your eyes at the pro-hero’s.

”I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY IF YOU ACT LIKE THAT AGAUN!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH STRESS YOU PUT US THROUGH??? DYNAMIGHT COULD HAVE STILL BEEN ALIVE IF YOU HAVEN’T SAT ON YOUR ASS ALL DAY AND ACT LIKE A BUNCH OF FUCKING SLUTS!! I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO RIP ALL OF YOUR HEADS OFF, FEED THEM TO MY DOG, MAKE MY DOG SHIT OFF A BRIDGE AND SEE THE SHIT SMEERED ON THE TIRE, GET A LIGHTER AND BURN THE CAR DOWN, TAKE THE ASHES AND PUT THEM IN A GROUND, I WILL TAKE THE GROUND WHERE THE ASH IS AND MAKE IT A STRIPER CLUB, AND THEN GET A EXORCIST TO PUT YOU TO HELL!!!” You started cussing them off, the pro-hero’s shuffled uncomfortably and looked at each other with weird stares. They knew that they where in shit when they pissed you off. You weren’t very easy to piss off so when somebody pissed you off they knew they were in deep horse shit.

*** You rushed into the hospital bed where Deku was at. Your breath coming out in short puffs as you stood on the edge of the male’s bed and watched as thick tears streamed down his face. You grew soft and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down baby…I am here…” You reassured, slowly climbing on the bed and getting on him. Deku gulped thickly at the closed distance between the two of you and began sweating nervously.

“Y/n!“ You yelped, trying to scoot back. You looked up at him and gave the male a cocky smile.

“What? Are you suggesting something?” You leaned in and whispered in Deku‘s ears. Deku whined before nodding his head ‘yes‘ you rolled your eyes and began to unbutton your shirt. Popping out a few buttons in the process. Gently, you pulled down your panties and threw them to the side, lifting up your skirt and showing your ass to Deku. Deku trembled slightly and started licking at the entrance, slowly, he began eating you out. You moaned quietly before bucking Your hips backwards. Deku gasped before moaning also and continuing to do his work. Once Deku are you out for a few minutes you pulled away and Deku looked at you with large puppy dogs eyes. His Greek emerald eyes blown wide in lust.

You leaned down and took off his pants with your teeth, dragging your nails up his clothed hero uniform shirt. Deku bucked his hips up and whimpered. You smirked into the material. Once you actually got the pants down you slipped off his boxers and starting to get settled on Deku.

You and Deku had this off and on thing. You guy’s weren’t dating each other and fucked other people but it was always a delight when you got to fuck him. A smile always formed on his lips when you topped him. He always thought that everyone was going to leave him to be the top, so it was reassuring when he saw that somebody cared about him enough to dom him and show him who is in control.

You where snapped back into reality when Deku gasped in shock as you took him all in, groaning slightly at the fact that you took him with such ease because he has been in you so much. Slowly you waited for yourself to adjust (which didn’t take that long) before you started bouncing up and down. Deku threw his head back and moaned loudly as felt your walls clench around him. You kept bouncing on him up and down in a rhyme pattern.

“Come on baby, thought you liked it…” You pouted, looking down on the green haired hero and smiling cockily.

[stylesluxx]

unashamed – e.call

[warnings: alienation]

summary: in which embry isn’t ashamed of y/n | tradgoth!reader | requested!

word count: 1,685

masterlist

By now, you were used to all the stares. Well, actually, no one stared anymore, just stayed away from you.

You don't know what turned people off; was it the jet black hair or the black lipstick? Maybe it was the eyeliner and the big black combat boots? But did you care? No.

Your mom thought it was a phase, but you never felt more confident in the way you looked.

When you first were getting into your look, your classmates stared, and you heard all the whispers. It was discouraging at first, but your mom always told you to hold your head high no matter what.

At first, it was the big black boots. Your eyes almost turned into hearts at first sight of them. But then you wanted to push it even further, the novelty of the boots wore off. You went for all black clothes now, ditching the floral skirts and donating whatever else wasn't you anymore. You wore your favorite black boots with black dresses, black shirts, black mini skirts, black jeans, as long as it was black, you would wear it.

Once you had the perfect wardrobe, you started doing your makeup. Black eyeliner, thick or thin, long or short, depended on the day.

But soon, that wasn't enough, and to complete your full evolution, you went and got box dye and dyed your hair jet black.

The whole style change garnered you the eyes of the entire school, but once they got used to the look, the stares subdued.

You were happy people no longer stared, but now you felt alienated. You were always shy, never had any real friends, just people you'd talk to in class. But no one would speak to you now.

You thought that maybe you should go back to your old look, but that wouldn't change anything. People would think you were confused, and they already made up their minds about you.

So, you held your head high, confident in yourself. Sure, you wished people would talk to you and give you a chance, but it wasn't worth trading your confidence and happiness for it.

But one day, you were in the library, not looking for any book, in particular, just thumbing along the spines. You finished reading the summary on the back of a book, and as you were looking for the spot you took it from, your eyes met another. The staring brown eyes were on the other side of the bookshelf, unwavering from yours.

You blinked and felt your cheeks heat up, not used to the looks anymore (but it was also just weird that someone was looking right into your eyes). You coughed gently, hoping to distract the boy across from you, but his soft amber eyes were unwavering.

"Um, are you alright?" You finally spoke up, keeping your voice low since you were in the library.

He seemed to have snapped out of his gaze. His face that displayed shock, was now covered with joy.

"You're Y/N, right?" He asked, an aloof smile on his face as he reached down to grab his backpack.

"Uh... yeah, Y/N," You nodded and walked as he quickly walked around the shelf.

He was now standing in front of you, tall and slender, warm russet skin, and the brown eyes that were just about ingrained into your brain.

"I'm Embry!"

He stuck his hand out, waiting for you to shake it. You hesitantly met your hand with his and shook it.

"Yeah, I know. We've gone to school since freshman year," You chuckled awkwardly.

You tried pulling your hand away, but it was practically glued, the way Embry was gripping it. You tugged it back, giving him a tight smile, and turned to walk away. It wasn't a lot, but you weren't used to the chitchatting, so you were growing uncomfortable. You were used to being isolated, forced to be alone.

"Wait, do you think... you could... help me find a good book?" He asked as if trying to make something up.

You raised an eyebrow but still nodded, walking a little further down the aisle.

"This is my favorite book, like, ever. You might like it, I don't know, don't really know what you like," You shrugged and grabbed the book of the shelf, handing it to the boy.

"Thank you. I'll make sure to give it a read. And I'll let you know what I think," He nodded and looked down at the book in his hands. "Do we have any classes together?"

"I don't really know; I just focus on the lesson if I'm honest," You shrugged. "But yeah, definitely let me know if you like it."

"Okay, I will. I better get going, they're waiting for me," He sighed and looked back at the table at the end of the aisle.

At the small circular table was Jacob Black and Quil Ateara. You didn't realize the two of them were there, their eyes locked on you and Embry. But now that you noticed them, they looked very on guard, ready to jump into action. But nothing crazy ever happened at your school, so you don't know why they were so tense.

"Yeah, you do that. They look like they're about to combust," You joked and turned away. "Talk to you later, Embry."

From then, you two grew to be practically inseparable.

He read the book fairly quickly and found you during lunch, going on and on about it. All you could do was smile; it was rare that someone liked something just as much as you did. And to hear him go on about it made you happy because he was happy, and you could see his eyes twinkle as he talked.

It became something like a book club, but you were always talking about things other than the books you'd recommend to each other. You were hanging out after school, getting pizza, watching the movie versions of the books you read. It was a great time. You finally had a friend.

Of course, you had to overcome the disbelief that he wanted to hang out with you, and it took even longer for you to believe he didn't care what other people thought.

He would wrap an arm around your shoulder, and even though you'd get flushed with embarrassment, he wouldn't think anything of it. You weren't embarrassed by him, of course, but now all eyes were back on you. You heard the whispers (you always did). The boy that went off the rails and joined a "gang" with the goth girl. It was all the school could talk about for weeks.

But the pack didn't think anything about your new relationship with their pack brother. They were happy, which you thought was weird; you thought they would judge you and maybe try to talk him out of it.

You found out about the pack and the imprinting after Embry invited you to Emily's for dinner one weekend.

He was asking you about how often you had to dye your hair, honestly intrigued. This made Paul laugh and say, "imprinting makes you interested in the most random things."

This comment caught your attention but what made you even more suspicious was Seth nudging him and saying, "bro, he didn't tell her yet! Idiot."

You had looked over at Embry, an eyebrow raised, but he just gave you a sheepish smile. You let it go for the time being, but the next movie night you had, you pressed him.

He spilled though you found it weird, you weren't going to push away the only person you had.

"So, Jake and Quil heard when I said they were going to combust? Like, because of the good hearing thing?" You asked, hand over your open mouth.

"That's your only question?" He chuckled and pulled you into his chest, kissing the top of your head.

You didn't know when you two had crossed the line from best friends to boyfriend and girlfriend, but you theorized it was that night.

He gripped your hand as you walked into the cafeteria. Instead of sitting alone at lunch, you sat with the pack and Kim. It made you happy to feel like you were a part of something. Something that accepted you for who you are.

"Maybe you can do that thing you do with your eyes on my eyes," Embry said, his head supported but by his hand as he looked at you lovingly.

"You mean eyeliner? You'll really let me?" You asked, your eyes lighting up with joy.

"Yeah, sure, seems fun," Your boyfriend shrugged nonchalantly, but you knew he was bubbling with happiness just at the sight of how happy you were.

"Y/N, please send me a picture of that," Quil chuckled, making Embry roll his eyes.

It was tv night at your house, very different from movie night. Leave it to your boyfriend to make a big deal about the difference. ("It's the principle!")

Tonight you were starting Golden Girls (Embry's choice. You wanted to start Community but Embry won rock, paper, scissors fair and square).

"Who even introduced you to Golden Girls?" You asked, holding the black eyeliner pen in your hand as you started your project.

"My mom, of course... duh Y/N," He mumbled the last part, making you giggle.

You finished one eye and went to move to the other, but you paused. At first, you were looking at your work, but then you started thinking about how perfect he was and how grateful you were to have him in your life.

You hadn't realized you were smiling like a goofy idiot until Embry spoke up.

"What? Did you mess up?" He asked and reached for the hand mirror on the coffee table.

"No, I just realized how much I love you, that's all," You shrugged and went back to doing his eyeliner.

Once you finished, you pulled back and kissed his cheek before looking at your masterpiece.

"You look great!" You smiled.

"Do I look like you?" He asked, smiling back at you

"Even better, baby."

[AN: heyyy, it’s me back from the dead. sorry I’ve been gone for like a month but I had the worst writer’s block omg. hopefully you all like this and I hope this somehow pushes me to keep writing but we’ll see lol]

[lovemesomesurveys]

What time are you starting this? It’s 3:49AM. Name? Stephanie. Nicknames? Steph or Sis. Date of birth? July 28th. Sex? Female.

Height? About 5′4.  Eye color? Brown. Where were you born? Somewhere in California. Number of candles on your last birthday cake? 32. D; Pets? I have a 4 year old doggo named Princess Leia. Hair color? Dark Brown. Piercings? Just my earlobes. Town you live in? I’m not sharing that. Favorite foods? Eggs, ramen, chicken tenders, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, pastas, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, and pizza. Ever been to Africa? No. Been toilet papering? No, and I’d never participate in something like that. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes. Been in a car accident? No, fortunately. Croutons or bacon bits? Croutons. Favorite day of the week? I don’t have one really since my days seem to just blend together. Favorite resturant? I don’t have one. Favorite flower? I don’t have one. Favorite sport to watch? None. Favorite drink? Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi... lol clearly I like the cherry flavored sodas. And *gasp* I like Coke and Pepsi, highly controversial I know. Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Warner Bros. or Disney? Disney. Favorite fast food restuarant? I guess Jack in the Box because I really like their chicken strips. Carpet color in your bedroom? Tan. Whom did you get your last email from? From one of the stores I’m subscribed to. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don’t wanna max out any credit cards. What do you do most often when you are bored? I do the same things regardless: scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, check social medias, watch TV, read, color, play The Sims... Most annoying thing to say to me? I hate being told to “calm down.” Bedtime? I fall asleep in the early morning hours. Favorite TV show? I have several. Last person you went out to dinner with?: I haven’t gone out to dinner in quite awhile. Been out of country? Once when I went to Mexico. Believe in magick? No. Ford or Chevy? Ford. What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video. Have you ever failed a grade? No. If you have, what grade did you fail? -- Do you have a crush on someone? No. Do you have a bf/gf? No. If so, what is their name? -- How long have you been together? -- What are you wearing right now? A t-shirt dress. Would you have sex before marriage? I don’t plan on getting married, I just want to be in a long-term committed relationship with someone I’m in love and feel comfortable with before engaging in that. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? Nope. Are you a virgin? I am. Do you smoke? No. Do you drink? No. Are you a player? Np. What are your favorite colors? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow. What is your favorite animal? Dogs and giraffes. Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, one on my right elbow. Who do you talk to most on the phone? My mom. I don’t talk on the phone except for quick calls from my mom or sometimes from my brother who call to ask/tell me something real quick or my mom might call on her lunch at work to talk for a bit. They’re just brief calls. Have you ever been slapped? No. Do you get online a lot? Yeah, I spend a lot of time online. Are you shy or outgoing? I’m very shy. Do you shower? Yes. Do you hate school? I’m not in school anymore, but no I wouldn’t say I hated it. Well, not overall anyway. I definitely felt that way at times, but there were parts I liked.  Do you have a social life? Nope. How easily do you trust people? I don’t really have a trust issue, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to others. That even includes people I’m close to. Would you ever sky dive? Nooo. Do you like to dance? I don’t dance except for like nodding my head to the beat or moving my arms or hands a little.  Have you ever been out of state? Yes, a few times. Do you like to travel? I do. Have you ever been expelled from school? Nope. Have you ever been suspended from school? Nope. Do you want to get out of your hometown? Yes. Are you a brat? I feel like I’ve been acting like one nowadays. I’m just so irritable and moody and snippy all the time. :/ Have you ever been dumped? Yes. Do you like snapple? Sure. It’s bee awhile since I’ve had it, though. Do you drink a lot of water? Not nearly enough. What toothpaste do you use? Sensodyne. Do you have a cell phone? I do. Do you have a curfew? No, I’m 32 years old. I actually never had a curfew, though. There was no need to set one because I didn’t go anywhere.  Who do you look up to? My mom. Are you a role model? I wouldn’t say so. Have you ever been to Six Flags or Cedar Point? I’ve been to Six Flags several times. What name brand do you wear the most? I have a lot of Adidas clothes, shoes, and accessories. What kind of jewelry do you wear? I hardly ever wear jewelry, but if I do it’ll likely be bracelets. What do you want pierced? Nothing. Do you like takin pictures? Not of myself. Do you like gettin your picture taken? No. Do you have a tan? I have a slight tan from my beach trip earlier this month. Do you get annoyed easily? Yes. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you have your own phone or phone line? I have a cell phone. Do you have your own pool? No. Do you have any siblings? I have two brothers. Have you ever been played? Yes. Have you ever played anyone? No. Do you get along with your parents? I do. How do you vent your anger? By crying. Have you ever ran away? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Do you even have a job? Nope. Do you daydream a lot? I suppose so. Do you run your mouth? No. What do you want a tattoo of? I highly doubt I’ll ever get one. What do you have a tattoo of? I don’t have any. Are you rude? I truly don’t mean or intend to be, but like I said I’m so moody, irritable, and snippy nowadays that I feel like I probably am kind of rude at times. :/ What was the last compliment you recieved? On my hair, I think. What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8. What does your hair look like right now? It’s really short. Could you ever be a vegetarian? No. Describe your looks? Really short dark brown hair, brown eyes, some freckles, thin, about 5′4... quite average, nothing special. Would you ever date someone younger than you? I’d much prefer someone older but in my range. I wouldn’t date anyone younger than 30. Would you ever date someone older than you? Yes. When was the last time you were drunk? Almost 10 years ago on my birthday. How many rings until you answer the phone? I don’t answer after a certain amount of rings. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, and I have no desire to ever do so. If yes, when was the last time? -- When was the last time you went on a date? It’s been a few years. Do you look more like your mother or father? My mom. Do you cry a lot? I feel like such a crybaby nowadays.  What phrase do you use most when on the phone? I don’tave a certain phrase I always use when on the phone. Have you ever been chased by cops? No. What do you like most about your body? Nothing.

What do you like least about your body? Everything. When did you have your first crush? When I was in 3rd grade. When was the last time you threw up? It’s been a few years. In the opposite sex, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I don’t care. Do you ever wear shirts do show your belly? No. What about cleavage? No. Is your best friend a virgin? No. What theme does your room have? It doesn’t really have one. What size show do you wear? I wear a size 6 in women’s US. What is your screen name on AIM? Aw, rip AIM. How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry. When was the last time you were at a party? Back in June for my bro’s grad party. Has there ever been a rumor spread about you? No. What is one of your bad qualilties? One of many is that I’m very stubborn. What is one of your good qualilties? I’m understanding. Would you marry for money? No. What do you drive? I don’t.  What kind of music do you like? I like variety. Would you ever bungee jump? Nooo. What is your worst fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life. Would you ever join the army? No. Do you like cows? Sure. If you were to die today, what would you do? Uhhh. If you had one last word to say to someone before you die, what would it b? I would tell them I love them and thank them for everything. Do you like to party? I like small, chill get togethers.  Hearts or broken hearts? Uh, hearts. Moons or stars? Stars. Coke or pepsi? Both. Favorite scent? I have a lot. Favorite band? One will always be Linkin Park. Would you ever dye your hair red? I was dyeing my hair red for the past 5 years and plan on doing so again when my hair grows out more. How many languages can you speak? I’m only fluent in English. What time are you finishing this? 10:47AM. I fell asleep at some point so I finished this later.

[sanshineaus]

it was acceptable in the 80s

MARK LEE 80s AU

warnings: none

type: bulletpoint au, fluff

word count: 2383

a/n: first post! i just hope you enjoy :D

mark is just a regular coffee shop worker by day; a polite boy who serves clumsy smiles and a small cookie with each black coffee.

and he’s not remarkable in the slightest, really.

he’s lost to his sea of coworkers, all equally polite and eager.

mark’s fresh out of college, really. he majored in music, much to his parents’ chagrin, and to his own dismay could only land a job in said coffee shop.

but by night, mark spends hours practicing bass in a shed he rented with his ‘bandmates’, yuta and johnny. 

they’re not so much a band because of how rare it is they’re together to practice a song, even if they write separately often and manage to harmonise their thoughts well.

sometimes, he feels as if it’s not worth it; yuta is constantly busy trying to finish his master’s, and johnny makes mark laugh way too much when he’s not practicing solo because his long limbs just seem to always be in the way.

but mark’s persistent. his bass playing is amazing (despite his insecurity in it, the practice is most definitely not for nothing) and his vocals are getting better too.

however, those pesky vocals just don’t make for a very compelling rock band, which is undoubtedly their sound.

they did book a bunch of gigs last summer, ‘83. it was pleasant environments, bars that needed a performer and a niche for a night. none of them minded, but not because they needed gigs. it was simply nice to play, and have people come up on stage to try their best at aiding them in singing when they figured out that johnny wasn’t quite exactly too good a vocalist either.

mark even had a great companionship going with a bar owner, taeil.

either way, mark still lives with his parents- his gigs only paid so much, and he instead helped around the house and worked his quaint little coffee shop job to aid as much as he could.

his parents absolutely nag his ear off lmAOO

mark’s fine with living like this. he doesn’t really brood often unless it’s when he’s sitting in the rented shed.

enough about his musically inclined nature though.

you’re absolutely not a regular in the coffee shop. matter of fact, you have no clue where it is.

or that it even exists, really.

you’re just a chill person, absolutely vibing! and you’ve pierced your ear three times, your sister almost fainted when she saw you.

you ride a motorbike, too. 

and you honestly might look a bit intimidating with your permed hair and black collared jacket with red stripes running down your left sleeve.

and suuure, a grandmother on the street has told you that you might end up in hell, and you said ‘alright’ and just left.

but you’re a very sweet person.

and you know what? it’s summer ‘84! and it feels as if there’s a change in the air and you get to live in a new way.

but a new way isn’t what you’re used to, and so your first late june visit is a bar with a couple of your other buddies. 

you all park your motorbikes outside, and one of your friends points out that the bar seems unusually full.

and sure, it’s a pretty famous bar in your town, but? not to the degree it’s currently packing.

there’s permed, layered hair everywhere, colourful two pieces, matching and annoyingly vibrant tracksuits.

you’d run your hand through your hair had it not been meticulously hairsprayed twenty minutes prior.

the first unusual thing as you approach the counter is that there’s a stage set up to the left of you.

so you order a drink and crane your body towards it.

idly sipping, you’re met with two guys setting something up on it.

an amplifier and a mic stand, and someone’s impossibly tall back in attire suspiciously similar to yours.

the dude facing you is also dressed in mostly blacks and leathers, but with an obnoxious neon green shirt. he’s handsome, too! 

his cheekbones are so very high, and his eyes seem so innocent.

he’s really cute!

it takes them about ten minutes to set everything up, and by the time you and your friends are all done with your drinks, the cute guy’s mic tapping catches the attention of the buzzing bar.

“good evening, we’re nct. let’s have a fun time?” he says with an equally cute grin and he seems so proud of himself for simply introducing the band.

he looks back to the tall guy, and the new addition of a strawberry blond, before they begin playing a familiar song. 

the reflex by duran duran fills in for the chatter and people are overjoyed.

even the boys seem to be enjoying themselves immensely, they’re performing with a vigour you can’t quite explain. 

and damn do bassists hit different.

they play a couple more songs spanning from 78 to now, and even sprinkle in some original songs.

apart from one song, you felt yourself throughout all of the performance.

around what you think might’ve been 11:30, they decided to bring patrons of the bar onto the stage. 

it was then that you realised your town truly lacks the talent these three boys had.

and your friend nudges you.

“go on on for the next song.”

and you’ve had a couple drinks already. there is most definitely courage from everywhere, so when the strawberry blond asks if there’s any takers for crimson and clover, you stand up and make your way to the mic as swiftly as possible.

and holy hell do you belt your little heart out. 

crimson and clover might just stay an evergreen.

the band plays behind you naturally- and you feel very comfortable. but the song ends and you decide that maybe someone else should have the opportunity to get applauded like you just had.

the rest of your night is going great, even though your group of friends thins and you stay with a much closer circle until 3am, when they finally stop playing.

you know you just have to talk to the cute guy, or you’ll end up suffering long time bassist longing.

and so you stand up while the bar begins to empty out. 

it’s very unprofessional how the owner has the bartender be the one to hand the three boys cash.

but you mingle in between the parties easily, offering to help the guys carry their equipment. 

to which the strawberry blond one smirks and gives you a considerably heavy box, where they most likely stashed the amplifier. 

“i’m yuta. this is mark, and that’s john.”

“johnny’s fine.”

“just john.”

you giggle at this, but you help them to their car.

the breeze of the night air is very refreshing as you place the heavy box into the open trunk of a benz w210.

once johnny closes the trunk, he’s the first to pull yuta into the backseat and help himself to the driver’s, sending you a smile. 

and mark seems very uncomfortable while standing next to you.

“uhh...”

what a riveting conversation.

you lean on the trunk, hoping johnny wouldn’t mind, and you send mark a reassuring smile.

“you play real nice, you know?” you begin, and his sheepish little smile is enough to send a puppy running for its cuteness title.

he thanks you quietly with a slight bow of his head, sucking in a breath of air right after while scratching the back of his neck.

and you take in a breath of your own before simply asking, “can i see you again some time?”

at this, he seems to lighten up with confusion.

but he nods eagerly. and 4am just seems a bit less cold.

mark takes out a visit card from his jacket pocket, and basically places it in your hands before slumming on about having to get into the car before johnny kills him. 

and before you know you’re in a stupor in a parking lot, smiling ear to ear while a friend of yours snickers from the entrance of the bar.

you walk home with your bike in tow, which takes you until 5:15. you simply don’t feel stable enough to drive, and your eyes might as well close with how much you’re smiling.

imagine your surprise when you’re finally home, in bed, and you look at the card only to realise it leads to a cafe and not to a smiling funny band boy.

but by the time you’re actually in bed, you’ve had to shower, take off your makeup, take the hair gel out, and so on, so it’s way too late (or... early?) to think about it.

you drift off to sleep until 1pm, and you’re woken up groggy and confused. the visit card sits at your bedside table still, though.

so you get ready, and you don on your usual attire and favourite jacket to go along. 

it’s a great day outside, and very, very warm compared to the morning.

you check the card again and on the back of it is a small, monochrome map of a part of town you never really quite drove through.

(the speed limit was too just small)

it takes you a very short time to actually get there but the parking is hellish; the streets are bustling and although that’d be fun if you were on foot, it notably is not.

however when you finally walk into the cafe, you’re greeted by many a people chatting, the atmosphere groovy and the jukebox in a corner reminiscent of the 50′s playing today’s tunes.

the chairs are pink and green, the tables annoyingly checkered and covered with see through cloth.

and behind the counter sit two people.

it’s where you head first, and you order a drink, the worker’s certainly aiding the pleasant atmosphere. 

you slip a question of “does someone named mark work here?” to the two people, to which one of them nods.

“i’ll fetch him for you.”

you situate yourself on a free table right across the counter, gazing at the vinyls and pictures lining the walls.

suddenly, mark’s standing near it with your cup in hand and a small plate with an even smaller cookie on it. 

his smile is still adorable.

meanwhile, mark is trying to keep calm behind said expression.

he found you exceptionally attractive- and when you offered to help him and the boys, he completely felt himself soar to new heights.

you had an aura which made mark feel renewed, in a sense, and his shift just got ten times better.

your visit to the cafe didn’t go unrewarded, really.

because it’s the way you acquire his number, and you get to call him each night from the house phone. 

he’s sometimes unavailable- and you get a certain amount of fear when it’s his mum that picks up the phone.

really, the woman’s very sweet, but you can just tell she’s growing annoyed by her son’s consistent talking to you (not to mention he must be hogging the phone, as last time you checked it was 12 when you started the call and 3 when you ended it).

it develops quickly; you just... click. and soon you’re visiting him in the cafe.

showing him how to ride your bike while he grips your waist in fear at the sheer speed of the custom thing.

watching him play in bars.

gradually coming to watch him in the rented shed.

it’s one night that you two are sitting together in the shed, his hand lazily wrapped around your shoulder and playing with your fringe, while he attempts to strum his bass. you laugh at a dumb joke he says.

and then you realise- he’s still very cute. even from the downside angle you’re looking at him from.

so you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek- something he’s become used to you doing- before asking if he wants to officiate it.

mark blushes first, and the red really suits him. maybe you’ll try and convince him to put some of your makeup on him, just to see.

but then he nods, and sits up only to kiss you.

from then on, not much changes; you’d already established a comfortable, flirty relationship, and you’ve developed crushes from the day you’ve met.

but a romance with mark, and for real, is fresh each day.

be it him taking you to the arcade, or him showing up to your house to ask you to help pierce him, or design a tattoo with him.

or be it him dedicating you a song, which he plays the night after much to the dismay of johnny and yuta, who are already tired of the constant love songs.

mark is just a comfort- he feels like what sweet tastes. 

you even get invited to sing with them a couple times. it’s all good fun, really, but you stop once the boys get their first actual offer.

a label, which wants to sign them, sponsor them, and within a year they have a concert in your hometown and a record.

you couldn’t be prouder when they truly achieve such a status to be invited as an opening act to another, more famous group’s tour. and although you don’t tag along, and miss mark immensely, he spends most of his coin on payphones to  contact you.

when he does come back, you’re overjoyed. and mark is, too.

he kisses you with such reverence and longing that you can almost feel his soul on your tongue. 

but mark doesn’t stay; and soon, neither do you.

tour after tour as an opening act, it’s the summer of ‘87 that you’re truly at your happiest when nct get a tour of their own. 

you and mark? continue to be happy, to flourish by each other’s side.

they say it’s within couples to fight. but your years together prove that this isn’t true, and the timid, sweet boy from a band who stole your heart and you, his burst of confidence and a ray of sun, have never once fought.

you drink, you cry, you laugh, all together and by each other’s side. as he grows in fame and maturity, you truly know:

you fell in love with the man.

[modestlyabsurd]

An Old Memory (Loki x Reader)

A quaint, modest home nearly a century old with a faint aura of history. Curtains still flowing across windows, pinned back to allow yellow sunlight into the kitchen. Upon looking, one could feel the hustle and bustle of happy company, smell the coffee steeping in the old pot that shouldn't possibly still work, and see a young woman preparing Thanksgiving dinner for her small family. Huddled around the stove, watching her movements as well as the pumpkin pie she mixed, were young and old children alike. The woman let the youngest of the three lick the spoon before shooing them from the heated oven.

He opened his eyes from the distant memory.

Now, the home smelt simply of cleanliness and very light perfume that had not been misted in some time. The stovetop and surrounding countertops had a thin layer of dust upon them. The floors were clean, the air was a medium temperature due to proper cooling of the home. He looked around, walked quietly, into the living room. It left a lingering touch; forgotten, almost. Furniture arranged for plenty of guests (of all ages, by the large chest of toys in the corner) a television, a computer.

All was there, except any life.

He went over to the wall and studied the framed faces hanging proudly. He recognized her in many of them. In one she donned a blue dress, gazing lovingly into a man's eyes. Her hand on his face, their foreheads touching. The man was much larger than her, holding her closely in a field of grass.

The next was her in mid-laughter, hugging a smiling baby to her face. Radiant, alive. The following photographs displayed somewhat of a timeline, as she is pictured with two growing children, one boy and one girl, as well as grandchildren.

He looked into each room, there being only three. Two were empty, used as storage space with boxes stacked in every corner. Before he reached the back bedroom, a key turned in the front door. It opened. He quickly made himself invisible.

A woman entered. She carried market bags, visibly filled with food, and set them heavily on the counter. He nearly mistakes her for her mother, before he can clearly see their small differences.

This girl had swimming blue eyes, light hair, and was of course clothed up to date. But her body language so eerily resembled ... alas. With beads of stress over her face, she emptied the bags, which contained enough prepared meals for days. She then went into a cabinet above her head, pulled down a transparent shallow box, and emptied something from it as well; all in a habitual motion.

"Mama?" She called out, filling a glass with water. "I brought you some lunch!" Her accent was so easily recognized, he no longer questioned the roles here.

The lively woman of roughly twenty or thirty Midgardian years of age bounced past him unknowingly, to the bedroom he had yet to see. He watched from a distance as she knocked on the open door before entering, going to the middle of the room where a bed sat and a person lay motionless.

"Wakey wakey Mama, you don't wanna miss the sunshine."

The ancient lady opened her small, heavy eyes. They looked around the room, before settling on the young lady beside her. "Hey Lillie," she said.

"Hey there!" Lillie smiled down at her aged mother. "It's lunch time, you know that?You asked for something soupy earlier, so I made you some homemade chicken noodle. I hope it's half as good as yours was," said Lillie, showing the bowl of soup. Then, she began to spoon feed her mother's lunch to her.

This, is what finally caused Loki's throat to become hard and dry.

Every spoonful, every bit, every sip of water. For nearly thirty minutes, making mundane conversation in between. He started to wonder where Lillie acquired the strength of heart and mind to complete these grievous tasks. In his own mind, he could never do such things for even those closest to him.

Little by little, Lillie fed her mother until she began eating slower and slower. Eventually, she wouldn't open her mouth to the food. "You full now? Must've liked it, heck, there's hardly any left!" Lillie laughed.

"It was scrump-dilly-umptious. Thank you baby," she responded, taking the cloth laid under her chin and blotting her lips.

Lillie smiled, "You don't have to thank me Mama. I'm just happy to hear it was worth eating. Now we gotta take your medicine, okay?" Lillie took the tablets she'd placed on the bedside table along with the remaining water in her glass. "Alright, I'm gonna put 'em in there, then you swallow 'em with the water, okay? Ready?" And she did.

For another hour the two generations spoke of nature, current Midgardian events and random pieces of life's perspectives. Loki remained invisible to them for the duration, keeping his pained emotions inside until Lillie left.

After that, with caution, he uncloaked himself and stood in the doorway, watching the circle of human life taking its course. This was a cruel curse, he deemed, certainly cast upon the wrong person. She fell in and out of sleep, small sounds escaping her throat occasionally. Loki didn't know how long he had left.

With some uncertainty, he calls out her name.

She opened her eyes, and scanned around the room once more. Her gaze fell upon the strange man clothed in green armor. "Who's there?" her delicate voice asked.

Loki cleared his throat. "Loki," he paused, "of Asgard."

Her brow furrowed, as the name and vocals didn't register. "Loki? I, I don't know a Loki."

He entered slowly, careful with his steps, and careful not to startle the frail woman he once knew quite well. He sat in the chair that Lillie sat in before, by Y/N's bedside. Her confused eyes followed him intently; guarded. He recalled those eyes. Bright, squinting ever so slightly when she smiled or laughed. Now overshadowed by soft, wrinkled skin; the captivating brightness somehow remained in her irises.

Loki gently took her hand from her side, feeling it tremble. "You don't remember me, darling?" a smile ghosted his lips as they locked gazes. "I don't believe my appearance has changed drastically. Yours certainly hasn't either."

"Loki," she paused, trailing off into deep thought. She nodded, "It rings a bell. And I suppose you look a little familiar."

"Think back to when you were eighteen. You once had a dream that you'd left Midg- er, Earth, and ascended into another world. Do you remember that?"

Staring straight ahead - confused, worried, but beginning to recall - she nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do. There was people there, and... and it wasn't much different than Earth. They talked funny, kinda like you are right now."

"Yes," Loki breathed, holding her hand closer to him. "And on the journey back to Earth, the BiFrost began to crumble. Someone caught you before you fell to the abyss. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," she exclaimed as the emotions of this event washed over her once again. "The one everybody told me to be scared of, and I was. I was scared of him from the things I'd heard. He'd apparently killed a whole lot of people, and hurt twice as many. He was some kind of royalty there." She swallowed, "but a fight broke out on the bridge to Earth, and it started to break and I fell. But somebody grabbed my wrists before I was too far. I, I saw him. I screamed for my life, 'cause it was him. The one they'd told me about. Loki, that was his name. After that, I  stayed with him there for a little while longer and got to know him and, and," she trailed off. Her eyes darted back to the dark man beside of her. "It was you!"

Loki laughed and kissed her small knuckles. "Indeed. Though it was not a dream, my darling."

She glanced at her hand, Loki drawing over her protruding veins with his ghostly pale thumbs. To make sure this wasn't a dream either, she raised it, pressed her palm to his cheek. It was cold. Just as it used to be.

Everything began pouring back to Y/N as her medication took effect. She remembered accidentally winding up in another planet, another realm, though she didn't quite remember how she got there. That of course didn't matter at the moment as joy flooded her mind and body upon seeing Loki once again; sixty-something years later.

"Well I'll be. You're just as handsome as I remember you, Loki."

"And you are still the most beautiful, charming, most notably intriguing Midgardian I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

She was at a loss for words, the same effect he used to create upon her.

"I saw your daughter. Beautiful, full of life and strength of character. Like her mother."

"Lillie?" Y/N said, "Oh boy, she's something else. I, I don't know what I did to deserve such amazing kids. Taking all that time to come out here and take care of me every day. My son'll be out here by dinner time. Said he's gonna bring my granddaughter with him."

"You're a grandmother," Loki whispered to himself, in awe. "So many things have happened since our short time together. I think of it quite often now."

"Yeah," Y/N sighed, "I did too. Before my mind started leaving me. You know I'd have married you if the laws of physics allowed it."

Shaking his head, he thought back to those times, his actions. "I wanted nothing more than to marry you, my dear. But, as can be seen now," he laughs shortly, "it was not meant to be that way. You were still given a family, just as you always wanted and very well deserved." Loki looked off into the air, a smile painted on his face. "We used to discuss our futures back then. My wishes proved to be far more complicated than your own. I always wanted authority, or, equality, while you simply wished for happiness."

They locked eyes once again. Y/N could listen to Loki speak for hours on end. It was the few times like this that they shared, that she recalled so fondly after they separated. Him talking about anything and everything, in a proper soft spoken tone, unlike what she grew up around.

"Did your dreams come true, darling?"

"They did. After I came back home, I met my husband. For a while, though, all I could think about was you. How I couldn't be with you and all. I missed you real bad. But then he came along a couple years later. Stocky little blond-headed blue-eyed devil. But not at all like your brother. I think you'd have liked him."

"If I may ask, where is he now?" Loki asked, with the idea that he was treading on thin ice.

"Oh, he's been gone for years now. He was a good decade older than me, I think he was eighty-four? Eighty-five when he died? Died of cancer."

"My apologies."

"Oh, it was time. He was ready, and the family was too. He died a happy man." Loki couldn't help but think of the eighty-one-year-old white haired, fragile woman before him now, laying in her bed with little mobility. He shuddered it away for the moment, until her frail, aged voice interrupted such thoughts. "Did your hopes and dreams come true, Loki? I prayed they would."

Her small grip seemed to tighten a bit upon his hesitation to answer. Quite frankly, no. None of his dreams had come true. He was preparing for the war of his life and didn't see much of a happy ending in sight. But he found a source of sad, awful gratitude, in that his friend likely wouldn't suffer the consequences of said war. Not at this rate.

He refused to let her know the complete truth about this. Much like he'd always done, about everything. "No. Not yet, at least." He licks his lips, "But I was never the luckiest chap."

"Give yourself a break," says Y/N, looking straight into his eyes with the same bright sweetness he recalled so fondly. "You never know what's in store. You might think one thing's gonna happen, and then something totally different happens, but it turns out to be better than what you expected to begin with. Don't you have another thousand years or so left on you?"

Loki smiles sadly. A ray of sunshine pours through the window above Y/N's bed. "I suppose theoretically, yes. Nowadays I'm not so sure what my dreams are any more. To rule? To inherit? To love? To leave something behind besides a bad memory?Whenever I get to thinking about it too much it just ... smudges into a blur in my mind. Like a spilled pot of ink." He remembers exchanging letters with her years ago, after opening a passageway for them to do so. He remembers stopping as well. Allowing her letters to pile up on his desk within his prison cell, untouched. Unloved. Detached. How selfish he'd been to leave her without another word, reasonlessly.

The loosening of fingers around his cold hand jerks him back to reality, where the elderly woman's eyes fall closed and her hold slips away. Panicked, a cold sweat coating his neck, he grabs her wrist to feel for signs of life. A faint but steady pulse beats within her veins. He leans over her to listen for her breath, and it's there, in deep low snores. She's only fallen asleep.

Loki takes this to mean his time to reunite with Y/N has expired. Gently above creaking floorboards, he swallows down a wave of cries and stands; he notices the lines of concern on her forehead and kisses them, before silently bidding her farewell for the last time.

And on his way through the BiFrost back to Asgard, he allows himself to feel. The waves of light sweep away the tears, the whirring of speed muffles the cries. A series of realizations wash over him, but the most important being that something is about to give in the universe - and he's going to be part of it.

When he arrives at the base of the Asgardian palace, guards are lined up along the bridge's barriers. They bow. The gatekeeper Heimdall addresses him.

"Welcome back, Allfather Odin. I take it your journey was pleasant."

"Only as pleasant as a journey to Midgard can be."

~

memoriiiiiaaaaaa

hi hello thanks for reading this sad thing that's been hidden in my notes for years

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @sadwaywardkid @tarynkauai @triggeredpossum

[faelune-home]

Shall We Dance?

(A/N: I told myself I wouldn’t join ffxivwrite cos i don’t write that often, plus being able to do something in one day would be difficult for me...and yet I wrote this just today :’D idk now if i will try any ffxivwrite prompts, and im not submitting this for today cos it doesn’t fit the prompt and wasn’t written for it in the first place, but i’m considering it a bit more

Personal rambling aside; while I as a player stuck with Bard all the way through my msq playthrough until i finished shadowbringers, and didn’t switch to maining dancer till about 5.2, i figured for character timeline’s sake, I wanted to look at when miqo!Fufu might’ve first found the dancer troupe. It feels fitting that they’re based in Limsa at the level to start Stormblood, so this little story shot is set just before the trip to Kugane

No direct story spoilers brought up here, not even for the dancer questline

@ffxiv-writers)

“I’m still not happy about this. They can dress themselves up as ‘privateers’ all they like for whatever loophole, it doesn’t suddenly change the fact that they’re pirates.”

Alphinaud sighed, “As you have said so many times now, sister. And I shall remind you again that they were the only crew available on such short notice, and it affords us a chance to travel under Garlean radar.”

“And yet we still have to wait for them to prepare the vessel. If we weren’t so pressed for time I almost wish we could’ve asked the Admiral to remove her colours from one of her own ships for this-”

“With what hands? Most of her men are now in Gyr Abania aiding the Revolution, and what few remain here would be beholden to the citizenry. I know you’re frustrated with the current terms but at least be reasonable. With any luck we can secure a different ship for coming home at least.” Alisaie shot him a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin, however she didn’t comment further.

The bustle of the market crowds passed them by, paying the siblings no mind as they waited. A flash of red broke through the crowd, and a little pink blur behind as Lyse and Tataru joined the two, boxes in hand.

“We’re all stocked up on supplies for the trip. No word from Carvallain yet?” Lyse asked, placing her own crate stuffed with foods on the ground. Heads shook, and the woman shrugged nonchalantly, saying, “Well, a little while longer to wait isn’t going to hurt. We’re getting a ship either way, and for now, we have good weather at least, and I heard there’s a show going on today.”

“What kind of show?” Alphinaud asked.

“Clearly the kind that can empty a market,” Alisaie observed, and indeed when the group looked around, the formerly swamped stalls were barren, leaving vendors to restock after the rush, the thundering of cobbles having faded further into the city.

“Well, Fufu isn’t back yet, so maybe it’s her little show?” Tataru chuckled, knowing of the Bard’s tendency for sudden musical moments. “You three can go and find her and enjoy the fun. I can take our supplies to the ship and fetch you once we’re ready to set off.”

The group split, with the Lalafellen woman heading for the docks, while the trio went back through the market, keeping an ear out for any activity or music. The closer they got to Bulwark Hall, the buzz grew louder, many a person chattering excitedly. A faint tune drifted over the sound of the crowd from the southern docks.

“It doesn’t quite sound like her kind of music,” Lyse mumbled, cupping her ear to strain over the din.

“We won’t know till we actually check,” Alisaie stated, already beginning to push past a pair of Roegadyn toward the music. The crowd only grew thicker as the music got louder. True to Lyse’s observation, the vibrant guitar and violin was unlike their miqo’te friend’s usual style of lively harp music. A swift schwing of metal against metal cut through the music, bringing out a cheer in the people. With a final push, the Scions broke through the final row to view the spectacle, ignoring the annoyed mutterings from behind them.

A miqo’te dancer spun in steady steps with the music in the centre of the plaza. It wasn’t their own miqo’te friend, yet the fire in her movements caught their attention all the same. The grace in her steps, the power in her swinging arms, chakrams in hand, one could understand the crowd’s zeal at the mesmerising movement.

Yet all too soon after the Scions’ arrival, the music came to a bombastic close and the woman struck her finishing pose, another schwing ringing in the air from her chakrams brushing against one another. The roar of the crowd was deafening, forcing an applauding Lyse to lean closer to her friends and yell, “She was quite good, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, though she isn’t who we were looking for,” Alisaie shouted back. The throng of people had already parted, the excited buzz fading with the people, and with the freed space at the plaza, one other figure stood other than the Scions, her face the picture of awe even with the broad smile she wore.

Alphinaud noticed her first. “There you are.” Fufu’s ears flicked, suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh, I didn’t even realise the time,” she chuckled nervously, “Sorry, I only meant to check in on some spots here in case people needed my help while we were waiting, but I got a little distracted.”

“I can see why, it was very impressive,” Lyse smiled, patting the miqo’te on the shoulder. Fufu nodded, almost bouncing on the spot as she exclaimed, “She was! I haven’t seen that dance since before coming to Eorzea, but it was still as magical as I remember!”

“Hold on, you’ve seen it before?” Alisaie asked, to which the woman nodded again, her eyes glittering. Alphinaud spoke before her, having spied the baggage the troupe used, “It appears they’re from Thavnair. You’ve said you’re from there yourself, or at least raised there.”

“Yup! They’re Troupe Falsiam, and they generally only perform in Radz-at-Han. At least I haven’t heard of them doing many tours in my lifetime. My tribe lives pretty far from the city and most trade is done with travellers, but sometimes they’d plan special trips for certain goods or just to treat the younger kids, and I always loved watching the Troupe when I went.” Fufu let out a happy sigh, caught up in memories. The group jumped however when another voice chimed in.

“You seem very familiar with our troupe, my dear.” They turned to see a woman walking over to them. If the metal rings hanging at her own hips didn’t betray her as a dancer, the way she moved with elegant poise and grace would have instead. She gave the Scions a polite bow in greeting.

“Forgive the interruption. I’m merely surprised that we already had a familiar fan on these shores. Troupe Falsiam hasn’t visited Aldenard in a long time, as you so rightly said. Ah, but I forget myself; I am Nashmeira, leader and teacher of the troupe. The young dancer here with me is Ranaa, one of my brightest stars currently.” Ear flicking from having heard her name said, Ranaa turned away from the boxes she was helping to pack, still dressed in her dancing outfit, and gave the group a wave.

“She’s very good,” Fufu quickly complimented, eyes wide with glee at the turn of events. Ranaa smiled back, then wandered off down the path, taking a bundle of clothes with her.

“Hmm, good, but ever still learning,” Nashmeira nodded. Alphinaud stepped forward and gave a polite bow of his own, prompting an eye roll from his sister behind him. “Tis a pleasure to meet you. We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” 

The woman tilted her head, recognition flashing in her eyes as she responded, “Aye, I’ve heard of your organisation. Though if you don’t mind my saying so, a job such as yours wouldn’t leave much free time. I’m curious then that our show caught your attention.”

“You’d be right. We’re unfortunately caught waiting for our vessel to be ready before we depart for the Far East,” Alisaie answered, then motioned to Fufu with a small smile, “Well, that and we were looking for this one here. She was taken in by your performance before the rest of us.” Nashmeira herself looked closer at the miqo’te, as though appraising her.

“Hmm,” she hummed, “Actually, you have quite the presence…” Then she nodded.

“Might I request a dance of you?” she asked. Surprise crossed all of the Scions, even more so the one addressed. “I’m well aware that you’ve clearly pledged yourself to another organisation, so despite any reverence you would have for our Troupe, your priorities lie elsewhere and I wouldn’t wish to ask you to join us and leave them behind. But I see in you the grace of a dancer and I would call myself a fool if I let you leave here without even trying to unlock that potential.” Nashmeira unhooked her chakrams from her hips and held them out to the miqo’te.

Fufu hesitated at first, a blush spreading across her cheeks, however Lyse spoke up, laughing, “Don’t go pretending you’re shy now, you’ve never let a chance to perform slip past before.” The twins seemed to show their approval as well, with Alisaie watching with an expectant smile and Alphinaud saying, “Tataru hasn’t come to tell us the ship is boarding yet. A quick presentation should be fine.”

Finally bolstered by her eagerly waiting companions, Fufu took the chakrams, testing the weight of them in her hands. They swung gently on her fingers, yet the rhythm made her arms bounce as well. Nashmeira motioned to her musicians, who scrambled to take their instruments out of the bags, and said, “Do not feel as though you have to copy Ranaa’s dance. It would take a lot more training and skill to be able to perform that to its full potential. For now, improvise as you see fit. I wish only to see how you move.”

The first strums of the guitar were matched with hesitant footsteps and stiff arms kept close. The joining of the drums saw her test a swing of the arm, though the weight of the chakram almost threw her halfway across the plaza, only righting herself with a clumsy shuffle. Yet as the music built up, the keeper found her rhythm, getting bolder with her kicks and jumps, and freely waving her arms around her, and where she had started with a mask of nervous concentration, she now laughed with joy. 

Joy that was mirrored in the cheers of her friends to the side, the encouragement from a returned and newly dressed Ranaa, and the curious mumblings of a returning crowd, albeit smaller than the one the original performance had garnered. Unaccustomed to dancing to music not of her own playing, Fufu was still in the middle of a spin when the final drum beats landed, ending the song.

“Whoops,” she giggled, stumbling over her own feet when she finally stopped. The gathered crowd clapped politely, evidently pleased at the amount of entertainment on show that day. They dispersed quicker than before, though that afforded the troupe teacher a chance to step forward with her observations.

“As I expected, on many fronts. You do have a dancer’s grace to you, though as evident by one that hasn’t been trained, there’s a heaviness to it all. Some clumsiness as well, though whether that was nerves or again, lack of training... But your energy was spectacular as well, even through the rough of it all. Not just anyone can draw in a crowd the way you did, even with an unrefined style like that. With some work you could be a fantastic performer.”

“I’d like to think you already had a headstart on performing,” Lyse added, the Scions rejoining the centre plaza as well, “all that work you’ve done with the old Bard in the Shroud, I’d say you already had plenty of stage presence without having ever stepped on a stage.”

“That was incredible!” Everyone turned, seeing Tataru at the entrance to the plaza.

“How long have you been there?” Alisaie asked as the smaller woman walked up to them.

“Since I think halfway through all of that. You were amazing!” she praised, making Fufu smile. Alphinaud however looked serious, asking, “I take it the ship is ready then?”

Tataru jumped. “Oh right! Yes that’s why I came here. We have to go now.” A solemn look came across the Scions as they nodded. Fufu herself pouted, ears flat against her head.

“Definitely now?”

“Unfortunately. As nice as this little detour has been, we are still on an important mission. My apologies, friend,” the boy said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. Yet as she smiled back, albeit still looking crestfallen, Nashmeira spoke up herself.

“Actually, if you were so taken with dancing that you would wish to continue it all the same, I do believe I have a solution that could benefit us all here. Your companions included.” Curious looks were shared among all while one of the musicians, at Nashmeira’s whispered request, went searching in one of the bags.

“You see, the dance of Troupe Falsiam is not like most others in the world. It is suited not just for the stage, but also for the field of combat.” The woman’s smile grew as she saw the mixture of impressed yet curious looks on the younger folks’ faces. “Although I would prefer to teach you myself, in lieu of that, I would offer you this instead as a substitute.” At this, the returned musician held out his hand, a glittering pink stone laying in his palm and a spare pair of chakrams hanging from his fingers.

“A soul stone,” Lyse gasped.

“Aye, one with many past dancers’ experiences etched into it, going back generations. I would like for you to practise without it, but should you have need of the skills in a pinch, or even a desire to dance freely without inhibition, you will have it with you.” Fufu had already grabbed the crystal and the metal rings, smiling widely as she admired it.

“Thank you so much! I’ll practise as much as I can, with and without it!” she gushed, bowing deeply. For that, the woman smiled back warmly.

“I shan’t keep you any longer, since your business is clearly important. You make for the Far East you said?” They nod. “Then I wish you luck in whatever it is you are off to do. And to my new pupil I say that whenever you return, if we yet remain here in Eorzea, I would very much like to see how much you’ve grown while you were away.” Fufu nodded feverishly, mumbling more thanks as she bowed again.

Even as both groups finally went their separate ways and the Scions followed after a now hurried Tataru, the Bard and newly christened Dancer didn’t take her eyes off her new Soul Stone, not until they had boarded the ship and sailed far into the waters, where she had plenty of time to practise with her new skills.

[amuseoffyre]

Britpicking Index

Some useful compare/contrasts for non-British people writing characters in Britain :) (Also, vice versa, because me and my editor have had some run ins over things I didn’t realise had different names in the US). Feel free to add more if you think of them. These are the main ones I’ve encountered and seen discussed in various forums.

Apartment

Flat. We occasionally use apartment now, purely because Americanisms have slipped into the lingo, but mostly, we call them flats.

Bangs

Have never understood why they’re called bangs. We call them fringes.

Bathroom (Going to the…)

Nipping to the loo, having a slash, nipping to the little girl/boy’s room.

Candy

Sweets. Just generally sweets of any kind.

  Chips

Crisps. Because they’re crisp, I suppose?

On a related note, chips over here are the great big chunky potato fries. The little skinny ones (ie. Like McDonalds or Burger King’s) are French fries, but generally, people will still call them chips.

  Cookie/Biscuit

Honestly, this one is… all over the place because US biscuits sound like savoury scone-type things but are very much not savoury scones because they’re served with gravy. Or apparently with jam/honey/other stuff.

Meanwhile UK biscuits are generally small, crunchy and sweet. But I have been reliably informed that a biscuit =/= cookie. However, some things that UK manufacturers call cookies are – in fact – biscuits. Do not trust cookies that crunch and hurt your teeth.

Fannypack

Um. So fanny is a certain area of genitalia over here. Just... worth knowing. We also call them “bumbags”.

Faucet

Tap. Also, we have separate taps for hot and cold in older buildings. Because Chaotic Evil :)

Freeway

Motorway. (More road/traffic information at the bottom)

Garbage/Trash

Rubbish. Bins are the general receptacles for it. 

Gas (Gasoline) and Gas Stations

Petrol and petrol stations. Same stuff, a lot more expensive from what I’ve seen of pricing per gallong versus per litre.

Grill (For cooking)

This one tripped me up very hard in one of my short stories. My US editor and I were as confused as each other when we described them to one another.

We do have grill pans here (ie. The pans with the ridged bottom) and we do the outdoor grilling thing over a flame as well, but generally in the UK, if we say ‘grill’ we are talking about the oven broiler.

Outdoor grilling is just called barbecue unless on a large/professional scale, when it miraculous turns into a grill. The George Foreman grill is also a thing, but I haven’t seen them show up in fic all that often.

Jelly

Jelly = jam, ie. the spreading stuff for sandwiches and things. Jello, on the other hand, is called jelly.

  Jumper

Not a dress. These are generally the knitted kind of pullovers/sweaters. Christmas jumpers are definitely a thing.

Lemonade

It’s a trap. It can refer to a) freshly squeezed lemon juice, b) fizzy lemon juice or c) lemon-ish-flavoured-ish fizzy drinks like 7Up and Sprite. And to add to the trap, it varies in every shop and restaurant. Good luck!

Line/Lining up.

Queue/queuing. Also getting in line.

  Movies (Going to)

Going to the cinema or going to the pictures.

  Pancakes

Yes, I hark back to The Discourse of crepes versus pancakes. UK pancakes were not like US pancakes in my tothood. They were thin, rolled-up things that were more like crepes. However, Scotch pancakes (or drop scones – no idea. Not a frigging scone) are like chibi US pancakes, thick and fluffy. Ingredients vary across the board. I’ve seen recipes including butter and soda and everything. The most basic recipe is pretty much eggs, flour, milk.

 Pants

This is a big one that shows up an awful lot. The word pants in Britain tends to describe underwear of some variety, so you can imagine that this gives a very different mental image of a scene if someone is wearing tight pants in a fancy restaurant.  Pants can be anything from tighty-whities to full-blown granny pants.

Generally pants get called trousers over here. We have the usual varieties of jeans and leggings and things, but generally, full-length leg coverings? Trousers.

Pie

Generally, a pie is savoury, unless specified otherwise.

Pumps

Technically, some shops do refer to them as pumps, but most people I’ve encountered in my 30+ years of living here just call them shoes and define by other means (ie. ballet flats, beach shoes etc)

(Also, fun fact, pump is frequently used as slang for a fart. So someone putting on a pair of pumps...)

Refrigerator

Just fridge, usually.

Roommate

Unless you are literally sharing a room with them, they’re a flatmate. Also, UK universities don’t generally do shared dorms. Everyone gets their own private room, though not everyone gets their own private bathroom.

Sidewalk

Pavement or footpath depending on how rural said walkway is. (More road/traffic information at the bottom)

Shopping Cart

Trolley. If it doesn’t have one wonky wheel, you are Blessed.

Sneakers

Generally, trainers. This can cover any kind of laced-up shoe that is used for sport or is kind of casual and flat, although we also differentiate between Converse, tennis shoes and such as well.

Plimsols are those lace-less slip-on canvas shoes used by kids for indoor sports. They are awful and smell like rubber.

Soda

I can’t give a fixed answer for this one. There are some areas that call all fizzy drinks “pop” while there are other regions which call all soft drinks/fruit drinks “juice”.

 Store

Shop. Superstores, on the other hand, are supermarkets. On a related note, going grocery shopping is generally just known as “doing the shopping” or - more northerly - “getting the messages”.

Street cars/Trollies

Trams. This was a matter of great and heated argument back in the day. Fortunately, there aren’t all that many in the UK, so unless you’re writing in specific parts of the country, it shouldn’t be an issue.

Suspenders

Braces. Because using the word suspenders over here is generally referring to the stockings-and-suspenders variety, with strong hints of lingerie involved. Kind of a nudge-nudge, wink-wink, wahey! kind of thing. Because sometimes, we never grow past the Carry On films.

Trunk (of a car)

The car boot or just ‘the boot’. Similarly, the hood of the car is called the bonnet.

TV

Called either TV or telly. Daft little thing, but putting the telly on reminds me of home :)

Washcloths

Flannels or facecloths.

Some minor oddities that may be useful:

Eggs

We don’t refrigerate them. We don’t have to. Some people keep them in a special shelf of the fridge, but generally it’s not necessary.

Laundry

In British houses, washing machines are generally in the kitchen. Don’t know why, given that Europe tends to have them in bathrooms or laundry rooms. (Useful to know, we don’t call the baskets laundry baskets/hampers. They’re generally just referred to as “the washing”)

Also, a lot of houses don’t have tumble driers. Outdoor drying is still quite common (weather permitting) on lines strung for the purpose between poles or on a whirligig contraption in the back garden. In Scotland, blocks of flats often have a shared “drying green” which does exactly what it says on the tin. Except, because it’s Scotland, I believe they named it ironically.

If you don’t have a tumble drier and the weather Gods are displeased, then we resort to the good old-fashioned airer, a murderous contraption of metal rods (usually coated in white plastic) that unfolds (and bites the unsuspecting finger when it collapses for no good reason).

Recycling

Oh. good. god. In the name of trying to make us save the planet, we have bins for everything. In my area, we have a regular bin, a recycling bin, a garden waste bin, a composting bin and a glass-recycling box. I know places that have more. I know places that have less.

They’re usually on weekly rotations and it’s an absolute nightmare trying to a) find space to store them and b) find space to put them out for the rubbish collection. Some areas that are mainly blocks of flats have large communal bins with similar distinctions, but I think pretty much everywhere is burdered with an excess of large plastic bins.

Roads and the Use Thereof

We drive on the left side of the road with the driver’s side on the right of the vehicle. Intersections are called junctions and I think roundabouts are a much more common phenomenon in Britain than in most sensible countries.

We still have the usual road signs and things, although British variations thereof. You can find British traffic signs by any basic search online. Traffic lights are usually just the three colours - red, amber, green - but you do occasionally get ones with extra signals for cyclists and the like.

Cycle lanes are about, but they’re not as common as somewhere like the Netherlands.

Which brings me to crosswalks - we have two common varieties: zebra and pelican. Yeah, we’re eccentric like that.

The pelican crossing is the one where you press the button and wait for the little green man to give you the all-clear to walk. It’s called Pelican because it used to be a semi-acronym - "pedestrian light controlled crossing".

Zebra crossings usually have no buttons. Some of them have striped poles with roung yellow/orange lights at the top, but not as much anymore. These kind of crossings give pedestrians the right of way, although a lot of drivers seem to ignore that rule.

Technically, they do have their names, but most of the time, we just refer to them as “the crossing”. No one really differentiates between pelican and zebra anymore.

School/college/variations.

Generally, we have state schools (government funded, variable on quality) and the independent schools which are the fee-paying ones for people who want to go private. Be aware that public refers to independent schools in some places, but to state schools in others. Children are entitled to education between the ages of 5-18.

For the early school stages, it varies depending on region. Where I am (Scotland), you have 7 years of Primary school (P1-7) and up to 6 years of Secondary school (S1-6).

I get a bit confounded with the English system because it seems to vary a lot depending on region. Primary covers most for the early years, up to age 11, but then you get a cocktail of Lower/Upper, Sixth Form and College for the secondary years depending on which area you’re in.

We don’t use terms like sophomore etc (I honestly thought that was the flag-code thing)

College is generally seen as the stepping stone between school and university. You don’t need to go to college in order to go to university in a lot of areas, but in some regions, your final year of school is done at college. It’s all a bit confusing.

University is where you go if you want to study a degree. Again, the courses vary by length depending on subject. A standard bachelor degree is 3 years in most places (except for stuff like medicine and architecture). Masters are an additional year (or two) on top of the Bachelor. Anything beyond that is variable depending on both university and course. We call the unis for short.

Swearing

Depending on region, the strength and frequency of profanities varies. For example, I’m in Scotland and one of the ladies I work with has used the c-word as a verb. Someone was playing the fool and she described them as “c*nting about”. My boss was usually ill if she didn’t drop f-bombs 8+ times a day and usually while laughing. It’s rare not to hear someone on the bus swearing on a daily basis as well.

Going back to the previously mentioned fannies, please enjoy an infamously Scottish advert:

So swearing. Yes. Variable. Definitely something to be aware of.

[lloydsluck]

Crow’s Feet

Prelude

Ever looked at something that’s so fundamentally flawed, so bad in design, form and function, it’s actually intriguing. Like a botched piece of taxidermy or a first attempt at a short novel. A piece of work that was probably not half-assed but whole-heartedly assed with good intention and it would be insulting to the creator to jokingly ask did you write this story as if you’re the old piece of gum stuck underneath a Grade 8 English Lit student desk?  With no light, sense of tense, or spellcheker? The stereotypes and bad similes cause eye rolls so

 far back into one’s head it’s like… well it’s hard to think of a comparison here, so count yourself lucky. Not to mention the ADHD diversions, talking about mounting dead animals in one sentence quickly sidestepping to self-awareness of this piece of literature. I digress. When last did you see a questionable piece of art that you found beautiful? So bad, it’s great. So useless and time-wasting, it’s what you’ll think about ironically one day on your deathbed. Because heck… made you look. 

The Incision 

1

Mondays. The start of a new week. New opportunities for a new you. A fresh squeeze of hope that things will get better served with a side of “I can change” attitude. And no matter how many Mondays we have, (4 187 to be precise, if you, like the average human being will live to 79), you will wake up to the same old boring Monday, every week, the same way. 

Each one with a long dreary stretch and sigh, heavy eyes, telling yourself that you will make the most out of this week. But you won’t. Because laziness is time consuming and you don’t actually have anything else to do, really. 

However, on this particular Monday, which was Fick McOwen’s 2226’s Monday, things were different. 

Fick woke up with the dreadful sensation of drowning. Sinking deep in a casket of darkness. As he gulped in a breath of thick air, it tasted of rotten cabbage coating the back of his throat. Blind and bewildered, sharp metal sounds scratched close above his head. The sound stung his eardrums and made him cock up his forehead banging it hard against a flat surface.

‘Jeeezus fuck’, he hissed. 

With no sense of time and space, his ears were ringing overcharged electric chimes in his head which felt cracked and ready to explode like a reactor in Chernobyl. He took a few minutes to try and calm himself. No good ever came from a panic attack in closed confines with a possible concussion. He finally raised his hands to his chest and did what most drunks do the minute they wake up, pat themselves down and check their underwear.

*

One week earlier.

2

If she was just a bit nicer, Jeffrey thought, she may have already had a proper and dignified burial for her husband. Stomping up and down a room that looked like it was decorated for a five-star hotel in Vienna, the newly-widow’s bony figure moved fast from left to right like a rabid old fox prowling a fence. For Jeffrey, her unwanted but needed bodyguard/help/punching bag, she was Hitler’s sphincter. She sparked fear in him and tightened his nerves with her demanding presence. Like a screwdriver twisting and turning into soft wood. A reaction he despised about himself. It ruined many good days. Sunny days and days like today. 

Watching her from the corner of the large room, she attempted phone call after phone call, shouting at poor bastards who made the simple mistake of answering their phones that day. 

Wanting to disappear he closed his eyes and listened to every passive-aggressive step she took in the room. He liked to tell when she walked on the tiles or the bear rug; it was a fast tac tac tac womp womp womp womp tac tac womp womp…then nothing. He opened his eyes and with a fright found her standing right in front of him, steaming red with anger.

Her greying blonde hair was fastened in a tight pincushion on top of her head. This pulled back her frail white skin that held everything in place. Face to face, he couldn’t help but stare at the permanent makeup she had done on the lower lids of her eyes and on top of her brows. It was starting to fade and as a result, it looked like she put eyeliner on days ago and never washed it off. 

Her stare was cold and deadly like an overworked mortician’s. It complemented her daily outfits of thin grey pencil skirts and matching suit jackets. She had her name embroidered on the inside of the neckline since all of her clothing was specially washed and pressed at a local laundromat. One that she owned of course. 

Margaret. 

That’s what her husband used to call her. Or Margarine, Margie, or Macaroon. She would always remind whoever was listening that she was actually named after Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden. If you had to look her up, you would see the uncanny similarities between the two women. So much so, that Jeffrey often wondered if they weren’t related. Considering how much of a royal bitch she was.

Nevertheless, he had to call her Mrs. Ergo. And he preferred the kind request from John Ergo, her late husband, since he didn’t think she would have liked the names he had listed for her in his head anyway. 

She snapped back up and walked across the room towards the large oak desk that faced the gigantic windows that looked out onto their garden. Their Ergo-Eden. With a deep sigh, he sat up straight and smoothed back his black hair that was styled according to an old Italian mobster he saw in a film when he was 15. 

“It’s all in the confidence of smoothing the wax over your hands first and then through your hair.” That’s what the old man said to his fellow pasta slurping, red-wine drinking, two hits a week gang that sat around a checkered table talking about the importance of looking respectable, no matter what the job. And this was what he told himself in the bathroom mirror every morning, (impersonating a very bad Italian accent of course) while he prepared for his day. 

Apart from the respectable hairdo, Jeffrey was built like a small bull with a refined jawline. At first glance one would imagine he spends his days lumberjacking in the forest; but instead of plaid shirts, he was forced to wear black on black as per ‘management’s’ request. 

He refocused his attention on her and as foul as she was acting that day, somewhere deep inside him, he felt sorry for her and her loss. His face twitched as he clenched his jaw trying to shape compassion on his face, but feared he looked more like a constipated clown trying to keep his cool. He was given cards once with all the different faces and expressions on it. Ironically, the illustrations looked like they were drawn by an autistic robot with no emotion nor artistic talent (it was), but it helped him deal with different people. Lines that came down the forehead with no teeth, meant anger or disappointment. Teeth showing meant they were happy – or about to bite you. 

Margaret often made faces Jeffrey couldn’t place on his cards and her teeth always had some lipstick stains on it, which quite frankly, just distracted him altogether. 

He watched her go down a list of names and numbers, furiously scratching them out when the call didn’t go as planned. Eyeing the last name and number on the list, she picked up the phone and started dialing. 

3

Fick carefully pulled the skin up the neck and then over the top of the head, trying his very best to keep his hand steady. He wore magnifying goggles that pushed his choppy brown hair up toward the ceiling and enlarged his olive-grey eyes. It looked like the head of a praying mantis was stuck on a lanky man's body who dressed as if he found a discarded box of 80s band shirts and never bothered to wear anything else again. 

'There.' He said as he lifted his hands and inspected the bird-like shape that was coming together in front of him. 

In the back of the garage-turned-workshop, a small radio was trying to hold itself together while Henry Rollins tore away at its speakers. The music filled the room and gave Fick the ability to concentrate. Nothing else was audible. Not a phone or a thought could break his focus. 

And it paid off; the crow started to take a lively shape, fast. All it needed were the eyes and some beak touch-ups and this bad boy was ready for some teenager's window sill.

Fick lived in Long Fountain, a small town where the kids were either into wrestling, the backyard kind, or satanism – also the backyard kind. This meant there were a lot of goth-like metalheads who gave themselves names like Agares and Forneus and hung outside the grocery store to smoke cheap cigarettes they bummed off the shop clerk. They would wear black makeup and dangle fake blood vial necklaces around their necks. Some would even proudly claim that they spray-painted hale satin on the backside of the church announcement board. To top off their rebel-without-a-cause-and-lack-of-basic-grammar-look, these kids would own a taxidermied crow on their windowsills, just for that extra edge. 

“It’s a phase” most parents would say, but Fick couldn’t care less. He got fifty bucks out of it, liked the work, and asked no questions. 

As a self-employed middle-aged Taxidermist, he could work from home and at his own pace. Something he considered to be more valuable than a performance bonus cheque at the end of a year after slaving away in a badly lit office desk from nine to five, five to seven days a week.

He didn’t necessarily consider himself a hermit, but he did prefer his own company with the exception of a few selected people – very selected and very few. This was a choice he made unapologetically clear to others who wanted to befriend him for no real reason. When presented with this frankness, they would awkwardly laugh it off and insist he’s just a fun and sarcastic guy. He despised those people the most. 

Furthermore, Long Fountain was a small enough town for the nosy types to know everyone and their business, while still quiet and sparse enough for others to embrace the privacy of the town’s border. If you had to take a drone shot from high above, the edge of the town looked like it disappeared into the desert like an ocean of drought that spilled into a suburb. Fick could never figure out why they called it Long Fountain though, as there wasn’t even a lake or river anywhere near them. But he liked it there and he appreciated the colourful desert sunsets that could be found if you were at the right place at the right time.

The only other peculiar thing about the town was that there was an abnormally large crow population, which he didn’t mind because it meant more product for him. That, and an abnormal amount of  old age homes. 

He gripped the tweezer handle between his teeth while he carefully glued the last soft tiny black feathers to the rim of the beak; he tended to hold his breath during these final touches. While the song came to a screeching halt, the ringing of his cell phone surfaced through all the noise and concentration. 

‘Fuck!’ He spat out the metal twangs, pulled off the goggles and flipped his phone over to reveal four missed calls from an unknown number in town. He was about to throw the phone over his shoulder onto a once purple–now grey–couch, when the screen lit up again with the same number flashing. 

‘Hello’ he answered casually trying to simmer down. 

‘Hello, is this Fick McOwen?’ A sweet lady’s voice kindly asked on the other side. 

‘Yes, how can I help?’

‘I’m looking for someone who can help me with a,’ she paused for a second,  ‘stuffing job?’ 

‘Well ma’am, I do all kinds of taxidermy. We don’t call it stuffing though, rather mounting,’ he smirked. ‘Anything from crows, bucks, ducks, even your pet poodle.’ He stared at the one-eyed crow that was perched up in front of him. 

‘What is your rate?’ She calmly inquired. 

‘It depends on the job. Small birds and animals start at thirty bucks, and then it can go up to a couple of thousand for a full deer, buck or elk.’ 

She went quiet on the line. He could tell she was busy writing something down, possibly a calculation. He hated long silences, it gave him indigestion.   

‘What would you like to have mounted?’ He nudged, just to check that she was still there. She remained quiet. 

‘Hellooo?’

‘Ten thousand.’

‘Excuse me?’ He quickly asked to confirm that he probably misheard.  

‘Ten. Thousand.’ She repeated sternly. 

‘Ma’am. What do you want to have done?’ His stomach started to tie knots of doubt, anticipating a job he may not be able to do. 

‘I prefer a private meeting to discuss this further.’ Her tone suddenly changed from a sweet old lady to an office crank complaining it’s cold. He hesitated for a second. Feeling his gut whisper all tales of caution to avoid this type of interaction. “If it’s too good to be true…” he would always remind himself. 

But…then again...

The ten thousand dollars started to swim through his mind like a beautiful woman in a red bikini, blowing kisses from a crystal blue pool. Caught in the moment, he impulsively replied, ‘Okay.’ She quickly confirmed that her people will be in contact with his people and disconnected before he could even take a breath to say he doesn’t have “people”. 

Confused about the call and left with nothing to follow up with, he decided to write it off as another crazy old lady from one of the care homes who got hold of the nurse’s office phone. Eyeing the cotton-eye-crow, he proceeded to hit play on his stereo, threw his mobile on the couch and stuck the tweezers back in his mouth to finish the job.

NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON

[pennemac]

my hand feels better when it's wrapped in yours

Summary- A Spencer x Reader fic, with submissive reid in a skirt and slight run in with coworkers, but mainly just an excuse for me to produce domestic fluff with baby Reid.

Warnings/Topics- Gender Neutral reader, small anxiety struggle, mainly just domestic fluff, Spencer wears skirts and cute clothes because they make him feel safe :)

I post these on ao3 first! My ao3 is here

Your hand was laced gently into your boyfriend's fingers, his hand warm and soft, bigger than your own. 

He turns towards you from where he had been looking aimlessly at pastries. "Hey, Y/N? I think I do, actually. Wanna go out for dinner, I mean." 

You bite at the inside of your lip a little, not because you didn't want to, but because it was unlike him. Well, no. It wasn't unlike Spencer to want to go out for dinner, it was unlike Spencer to volunteer going out for dinner while he was dressed feminine. 

Generally, he kept the soft side of himself tucked away in a little box, only unlocking it in the comforts of your home, or maybe running a couple errands. Which is exactly what you were doing now. "If you're sure, Spence. But- just because I suggested it doesn't mean that you have to." 

He'd expressed to you before that it wasn't exactly that he was embarrassed about his affinity for womens clothing or taking on a submissive role, just that it was a part of him that hadn't been "touched by the bad in his life." So you were always respectful and cautious of such. 

Whenever he put on the softer clothes, you would never bring up his work, his past, or anything that might make him upset. If he got quieter, less rambly, and just wanted to cuddle, you would also stay clear of upsetting material. 

Spencer himself was grateful that you'd made the inference and that there wasn't a risk of you ruffling his emotions and upsetting him out of his subspace. Which was, afterall, what it was. 

So now, as you stand with a hand in his, watching him nod with just an edge of confidence, it sent tiny caring butterflies fluttering through your abdomen. 

His thumb runs over yours as you both continue walking through the store, picking up groceries that you'd both need for the next few days. You left most of the choosing products to him, trusting his knowledge of harmful ingredients much more than your own. You did that with most things, actually.

As he walks away to go find a spread for bagels, you watch lovingly as domestic bliss trickles through your whole body and settles in the tips of your fingers. He'd slipped on a just above knee-length skirt before you'd left,just a simple black flowing one. 

It leads your eyes down to his mismatched socks, one pink and one green, but both with ruffles around the tops. His converse are also mismatched, one red and one blue. 

Some would call it poor taste, but you found it adorable, an endearing flair of his personality. 

When Spencer turns back to you, the logo emblazoned on his chest is a college you'd gone to, rather than his own. It was a sweater you'd bought larger than you'd needed it, and when your boyfriend had discovered that you rarely wore it, he'd adopted it into his collection of comfort clothes. 

He paces back over to you after reading the ingredients on a honey spread, placing it gently in the basket you were carrying. "It says that it's made with ethically sourced honey. Bees are really important." 

You know that normally he'd continue rambling but for now he just gives a short explanation. It's more than enough for you to agree with a smile, slipping your hand back into his own. 

Had this been what you were expecting when you'd begun dating a federal agent? No, most definitely not. Was it perfect in every way? Absolutely. You couldn't ask for a better outcome. 

As you check out together, you notice a stray stare from an older man, but he's quickly walking away once you make eye contact. It wasn't uncommon to deal with the odd stare here and there, but it still was a tiny bit upsetting. Spencer deserves to be able to dress and act how he wanted without scrutiny, after everything he's been through. 

You're able to shake away the feeling, though, by tapping gently on his shoulder and then pressing a kiss to his forehead once he'd made it available to you. 

Fingers entangled, you finish up your shopping and then exit the store, both with a couple bags in hand.

•• 

The car ride home is in a comfortable quiet, save for the tapping of Spencer's feet. 

Making the way into your small house is also quiet, except for the small laugh that comes from your boyfriend when you nearly drop the keys trying to unlock the front door. 

Putting away groceries is almost sickeningly wholesome, both of you stealing a kiss or two during the process. Once you've put away almost everything, except for what Spencer's got in his hands, you prop yourself up to sit on the counter. 

After closing the steel door of the fridge, he turns and walks towards you with a smile, standing between your legs. His hands fall to your jean clad thighs, which are spread innocently to encompass his waist. 

You lace a hand into his hair, pulling him gently forward to connect your lips just as softly. His eyes open as he pulls back, perfect eyelashes fluttering as he does so. He whispers a small, "I love you." that's not lost to you at all. 

With a kiss to his forehead, you hum and then make eye contact. "I love you too, baby. You're so perfect." 

Still smiling he falls into you slightly to initiate a hug and then decides he wants to stay there for the time being. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders to return it to the best of your ability. "Are you completely sure you don't want to change before we go out? We usually don't go into town when you're all dressed up. It's okay, either way." 

He nods against your shoulder. "Yeah, I'm sure." He pauses for just a moment to think. "Can we go to the Italian place where we had our first date?" 

He nuzzles into your neck a bit when you run your hands down from his shoulders to grasp his sides. "Of course, love." 

Spencer moves from you then, claiming that he wanted to change into his white converse, as they better matched the sweater he was wearing. 

Thinking quietly, you wait for him to return. It was astonishing how lucky you'd gotten. A year ago, you'd have been spending the weekend lazing around in your own apartment, probably scrolling through one app or another. Now, you had Spencer Reid to dedicate your weekend to, and willingly. It had been a plan of yours to just take care of him for the weekend, and he'd agreed to it rather quickly. 

He comes bounding back on long, thin legs before you can ponder on anymore thoughts. You flash a small grin at him as you hop down off of the counter to leave. 

Side by side, you're sure you look abnormal, but you fit each other perfectly. 

•• 

The waitress that greets you at the door is pleasant, and seats you in a rounded booth in one of the corners of the room, at your request, for Spencer. He'd let it slip at one point that he was often uncomfortable at restaurants because there's a very good chance of people being behind him, so now, when you could, you tried to eliminate it as frequently as possible. 

Once you're both seated, and have both ordered your preferred drinks (Spencer's being a water with extra lemon) you notice small signs of anxiety from your boyfriend. 

He crumples up his straw wrapper, and his leg is bouncing where it's next to yours. You'd sat side by side rather than across from each other, preferring the closeness. 

You follow his eyes to a table on the other end of the restaurant, where it looks like 5 people are seated. You turn towards him, wondering what's wrong, but he beats you to it as one of the members of the group stands. "M- my co-workers are here? I mean- I knew they had plans but I didn't- I-" 

You take his hand into yours, silently regretting the decision to let him sit on the outside, because he was far enough out to the room that whoever was working towards them could most definitely see that he wasn't in his normal attire.

The girl who'd approached your table smiles at both of you. "I'm Jj. One of Spencer's coworkers, I don't think we've met." She extends a hand out to you and you take it, shaking her hand. "I'm Y/N. Spencer's partner." Jj nods, looking over at Spencer. 

She glances over his attire, not seeming to care. She just smiles at him instead of commenting. Jj explains that she'd seen Spencer and pointed his presence out to the rest of the group, and that they'd wanted her to come say hello to you both, as they'd only ever heard about you. Spencer continues to shift uncomfortably, squeezing your hand and not looking up at his coworker. 

You nod in response and afterwards she walks back over to their table. 

Spencer's hand clenches around your own. "Are you okay, love? It's just your coworkers, yeah?" 

He sits quietly still, feeling dumb for being as anxious as he is. When the waitress comes back around, you order for yourself and for him that way he doesn't need to interact. 

"Baby, are you alright?" 

His inhale is shaky, but he shrugs. "I'm just… I don't know if I was ready for… for…" For once, he can't find the words, so you do your best to substitute them in for him, to avoid adding frustration onto what he was feeling. 

"For anyone to see you dressed in clothes that make you feel pretty? Baby, I know we haven't talked about it at all really, but people seeing you in skirts or dresses or any other of your comfort clothes, it's… not a bad thing." 

He does his best to nod, watching as you take his hand up to your mouth to press two kisses into the palm of his hand. 

"I also know that you like to keep this part of yourself to you and I, and that's okay too. What I really need you to know is that there's no need to start overthinking in that pretty head of yours, okay?" 

He sighs softly, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He drops his head to give you a chaste kiss and to re-mesh your hands together. 

You eat like that as well, making playful jokes and speaking lightly about the occasional story. 

In fact, you've worked Spencer back into a state or normalcy by the time you have to leave. You're grateful that his coworkers were still sitting after you'd cleaned up your table and left a tip, that way he wouldn't be subject to any more interactions on the way to pay for your meal. 

Once you're back into your car, you let a hand settle onto his bare thigh comfortingly. "Are you sure you're alright? I know how important it is for you to keep your soft side to you. It's okay if you aren't. Or if you want some extra pampering tonight." 

Spencer's hand falls on top of yours. "I think I'm okay… but extra pampering sounds really good. Especially a bath, I think." 

A smile tugs at his mouth, and a mirroring one manages to make its way onto your own face. 

Spencer Reid everything you could've wanted and more. 

You are everything that Spencer Reid could've wanted and more. 

You drive with one hand on the way home to keep yours on his thigh, thumb rubbing small circles into the skin there. 

[rahabs]

How are you staying active during quarantine? I just tipped into 180lbs, highest I've ever been, and I'm getting really depressed about it 😔 I've only gained about 7-8 pounds due to the quarantine, but back in January I was at 163, and I'm really struggling with the fact that I'm back up again after how hard I've been working. It feel like I can't get the weight to stay off, now esp. (Sorry for the mini rant, but I actually followed you Bc of your fitness posts, I appreciate them a lot

Many hugs to you, Anon, and there is no need to apologise 🖤  You are definitely not alone.  I have also been struggling a lot with my weight recently (I have deliberately been putting on muscle, about 25lbs of it, but it is still a struggle to do so and to feel sometimes like my work getting down from 210lbs is being reversed--I am up to 145-150lbs myself, even though I still fit most all of my clothes from when I was 122lbs), but please do not be too hard on yourself!  Some of that weight gain might be muscle, but I understand how frustrating and demoralising it can be nonetheless, I really do.  Like... I really, really cannot emphasise enough how much I understand and how much I get what you’re going through right now, and I wish with all my heart that you weren’t going through it, because it hurts and it makes you just feel awful and so I am really and truly wishing you all the best right now, but also I have the utmost faith in you and despite the setback it is nothing that you cannot fix going forward 🖤

To answer your question, I’ve been doing a mix of things, but the two biggest things for me are that I built myself a routine, and I try to just walk everywhere that I can.  Also, I track in an app called MyFitnessPal, because I need to hold myself accountable.  The gyms in my city have recently opened back up and I have usually been going five times a week (reduced capacity and you can only go for an hour, but I use every second of that hour because cardio is how I best manage OCD/PTSD/anxiety, and I love love love seeing some beloved familiar strangers at the gym--we all wave happily to each other, since we tend to book the same time slots 🖤), but before they opened up my biggest friend was just walking.  I have a lot of joint issues due to my improperly healed torn hip flexor and my former obesity, so I can’t run, but you don’t need to run.  Walking is your best friend.  Or even household chores.  I used to work for a landscaping company, so when I can I will help with the yardwork (even though I dislike it--I try to find ways to make it more fun, and I genuinely enjoy being out in the sun, so there’s that at least).  I make sure things stay tidy, I’ve been writing a lot and trying to see friends when I can, or get out to hike in the mountains.  If I go grocery shopping and I’m waiting in a line, sometimes I’ll lazily bicep-curl my grocery bags.  I’ll walk to the mailbox, I’ll walk through the neighbourhood, I’ll walk to the grocery store or to the nearest gas station.  My dogs are old so I cannot walk them anymore, especially since we are under a heat wave, but I’ll get up and play with them.  Bottom line: if I could find somewhere to walk and an excuse to walk there, I would.  When I couldn’t, I would sit down and exercise by following my favourite home workout YouTube channel.  (Seriously, she is amazing; I’ve followed her for years, since her channel was just starting out.  I just got a half-sleeve tattoo and cannot use a lot of gym equipment at the moment so I have gone back to her videos, as she provides a lot of modifications and alternatives and just so many good at-home exercises that you don’t need any fancy equipment for.)

The routine is the most important part, though.  I need structure, and if I have structure I find that I am less likely to binge, because my brain won’t freak out as much (whether out of boredom or something else).

You might know this already but I’m a (recovering) binge-eater and I also eat when bored or stressed, so I’ve just been trying to occupy myself with things other than food.  I had a really bad spot for awhile where I was doing really, really poorly in that department an binged every day, but I finally put my foot down last week and this is the longest that I’ve been binge-free in months.  I also have BDD, which I am working on (hard going when my attempts to ask the people around me for help often fall on deaf ears).

I think it’s important to realise that fitness and weight loss isn’t always linear.  There will be times where you falter and stumble and when that happens it’s important not to punish yourself--instead just accept and acknowledge that it’s happened and adapt for the future.  Like a little AAA battery!  Bodies are also weird, and sometimes they react to things strangely.  I’m not a professional in any way, but since working to put on some muscle I have noticed that women’s bodies at least like... they are strange things sometimes.   And I know it sounds weird, but try not to put too much emphasis on a number on the scale.  I’m not saying “get rid of the scale!” or “smash the scale!” or anything silly like that because I think to some people having the scale is really important, so long as it doesn’t become something obsessive you fixate on (I have severe OCD, professionally diagnosed, so easier said than done, but it’s doable by adding it to the routine and picking one day a week where I check in), but make sure it doesn’t become a focal point of your weight loss.

Instead, just notice how your clothes are fitting.  If you have body tape, you can use that too.  Pick a favourite pair of jeans and just see how they fit over time, or a favourite bra, or something that doesn’t stretch as easily as yoga pants.  Again, some of your recent weight gain might actually be muscle mass, especially if you aren’t noticing a lot of change in how your clothes from January fit.  When I first hit 145lbs when I was first losing the weight, I didn’t look like I do at my current 145-150lbs, after having got down to 120 and then making the decision to put some muscle back on.  Save for some jean shorts that I bought at my lowest weight, because I build thick muscles in my thighs, I still fit all the clothes I bought and wore at 120lbs--including my fitted dresses, my Stampede jeans, most of my bras, and the pair of “check Lulus” I bought because those things are without mercy.  I also have a couple really good friends I check in with who know me and who I can trust to tell me the truth when I cannot perceive it myself.  And, when I’m being honest with it (which I am trying really hard to be again), I have MyFitnessPal, which has been with me through thick and thin.

If you can, I would recommend a good fitness tracker, too.  Fitbit is really good and user-friendly.  I have a Garmin now, because Fitbit doesn’t make adult watches or watch bands small enough for my ridiculous baby bird wrists, but I had my Fitbit for years before that and it saw me through the vast majority of my weight loss/fitness quest.  It can be very helpful to just help you gauge where you are; most people grossly overestimate how active they actually are, and if you’re up for it, a tracker can be helpful in giving you empirical data from which you can base some better decisions around.

And just do you best to stay active.   I do not know if you have any gyms where you live or if they’re open, but I would really recommend getting a membership, though I totally understand that gyms are not for everyone.  If not, I really do recommend checking out that youtube channel I linked (Koboko Fitness), and just doing your best to walk wherever there’s the option to walk (and it won’t cause undue hardship/pain/etc).  Lift some boxes around the house.  Turn doing the dishes into a stretching exercise.  If you’re familiar with yoga, do yoga (I do not because I am not familiar with it and it can be dangerous to people like me with joint issues to start if you don’t have anyone around who can tell you if you’re doing it right, but my younger sister is working on a cert and she does yoga daily, even with the baby bump).  Many gyms are offering online classes right now too, including the gyms I go to (GoodLife Fitness in Canada), so they can be worth checking out too!

But also just know you’re not in that boat alone.  Many people are struggling right now, including myself, so if you ever need to chat my inbox and my DMs are always open (and I can toss my Discord handle out too if that helps), because a support system can really make all the difference.  I never had one for the longest time, and so when I fell back on old, bad habits it took me awhile to pull myself out of it (again).  I really can talk about this forever but I will stop myself now because I am a chatty cathy but!  Please feel free to send messages whenever you want, Anon, and please be kind to yourself!  I know it’s scary and I know it’s disappointing because I have been there many a time but you can do this, I believe in you!  You’ve had a setback but it isn’t anything that can’t be fixed/corrected and I have faith that you will be able to get back on the proverbial horse and mow down Alexander’s armies in a way that would make the Achaemenids proud 🖤 I hope this helped in some way and that I was able to answer your question!

[unik0rnu]

Lucy Feit - headcannons and overall presentation,

Lucy Feit - current occupation: Overboss of Nuka World and Gage’s “business” partner.

Pre-war: court defender - then gang member and personal agent/tool under the firm hand of her past boss and criminal figure - Harrison. 

Appearance:  Fairly small gal (5'3'' - 160cm)  with slim/agile body type at her 27th’s - still quite young. Pale skin but after wandering through wasteland a bit more rosy. Medium length bright blond straight hair, longer in the back, choppy looking since the wastelands best hairdresser is a knife or an old pair of scissors. Tends to tie her hair into two braids as well. Dark amber eyes covered with thick layer of black carbon powder all around to sharpen the softness of her face. Scar under her right eye caused by the knife she carries and got after a hassle with commonwealth raider. Three tattoos - an ace skull on the right upper side of her forehead, white waster skull next to her left eye and a dagger on the left side of her neck. Small thin nose, downward turned lips, her face expression most of the time bored or doubtful but as she starts drinking or having some fun it turns into a grin. She has a burn marks on top of her hands and softer ones at the palms, hidden most of the time under her gloves as she is ashamed of them. 

Character: Pretty calm but inpatient, snarky, sarcastic and careless most of the time. Tends to be impulsive and acts first before thinking of consequences which annoys Gage quite often. She isn’t the brilliant smart mind but is very intelligent due to her pre-war occupation (being smart vs intelligent are two different things). Compulsive liar and charmer, embed in her mind from pre-war but she is aware of that and tries to control it, using it as a way to get around some situations instead as a habit. Not a leader type but when shit needs to be done she will step up. Got stirred into believing she is psychopathic and sometimes acts as. Likes to drink and stir some fun around as alone and with no occupation on job she gets too bored. Does stupid shit and gets in troubles if left alone for too long. Highly depends on Gage’s directives and advices or other leaders if he is gone. Prefers not to talk about feelings and fears openly, would rather go with “just do it” approach. 

Fighting/combat: Mostly melee weapons -  very skilled with her medium sized disciples styled knife. Knows some basic hand to hand fighting/night bar style with a lot of dirty tricks. Sneaky, fast, silent and agile unless she wants some noise and action. High stamina but for short encounters, cheetah style. Uses grenades for bigger trouble, either as a distraction or to cause more mayhem. Will use a pistol only if there is no other way. Occasionally will take the broadsider if shit gets really serious and dangerous as a special card. Surprisingly strong if put under stress and pumped with adrenaline. High pain threshold but easy to break on mental level. Mixes light base gear with some heavier pieces on top to still be on a move but not to get broken like a stick in direct confrontation.

Factions: Joined raiders and took a position of the Overboss as their nature and goals fit her own. Doesn’t want to be a hero nor a part of anything bigger than a pure survival and getting what she wants. She hates the military style of BoS and their “yes sir” soldiering style around. Before becoming Overboss she worked as a mercenary for the Institute along with Kellogg (Father is not her son in my story and she didn’t kill Kellogg). She doesn’t believe in pure goodness and justice and thinks that every faction will get eventually corrupted and egoistic. Later on strikes a deal with Institute in Nuka World to provide data and plant their devices on the top in exchange for technology and supplies for her gangs. Believes it is a good deal as they stay underground while she operates on the top and the Institute doesn’t care if they kill people or do other shit. Just keeps an eye to not replace any of her people with synths. 

Other informations:  

-  Addicted to calmex as she was dozed secretly with it before the bombs, would use it in stressful situations or when her traumas are flashing back, Gage tries to help her stop taking it. Also likes drinking especially at the end of the day.

-When under effects of calmex and in strong doubt or hesitation the Harrison, shady posture of her pre-war boss might show up and talk to her or haunt her, before disappearing shortly. This might be a result of constant high stress and long drug usage causing some kind of brain damage before. This problem gets resolved as her pre-war boss comes back to life later on.

- Because she worked often as an agent in a night luxury club in pre-war she likes everything associated with it, dancing (oh she loves to swing around), neon lights, drinks, fancy stuff etc. Likes to spend free time at Parlor or Cappy Cafe. 

- Doesn’t feel guilt when killing people during raids but would not kill a helpless animal unless attacked. People have choice and if they choose to be stupid its their problem but animals are driven by pure survival so she wouldn’t butcher them unless necessary. If there were dogs in the raided settlement she would order the pack to take care of them and train. 

 - Can drive a car, quite well actually since she was in some risky and dangerous situations before the war. Also constantly tries to get some vehicles working along with Chip Morse and Lizzie but to no success yet. Wants to have better means of transport other than walking and fast way out in case of serious danger.  

- As the time between pre-war and current time happened pretty fast and she was used to have a lot of money and expensive stuff in her apartment later on as she was finishing jobs for her boss. She would always try to “ beautify “ and make herself comfortable even in poor or rough conditions. A little spoiled bitch. Even built herself a dressing table at Fizztop straight from the pre-war night club changing room she worked before. She would collect/steal everything shiny and golden as they travel and store it there. Doesn’t like to sleep outside away from Fizztop or any other safe-house. 

- Has a leech/bloodworm phobia due to the trauma after being tortured before the war by the corrupted court mobs. Sometimes has a feeling of her wounds in throat still being there even if they are long healed. Hates everything associated with worms and highly dislikes slimey food texture.  

- She doesn’t see a problem in having a little hand to hand fight (literally) and getting punched by a man (hell would even join a bar fight at cappy cafe) but heavily dislikes abusive approach during arguing. If Gage or anyone by any chance would act so or grab her by the neck she would panic and smash his head with literally anything that is in her reach just to be released. Result of her boss, Harrison abusive actions towards her to break and confuse her mentally. 

- Depends on Gage company and his experience as alone she is not always sure of rightness of her actions towards the plans for Nuka World and after all she was always under someone's thumb and orders as a sharp tool for the job. And as he is around 8 years older than her (i would give him 35 years tbh) and spent his life becoming a raider on the top of the mountain she takes his approach seriously. Eventually slowly falls in love with him as she notices the care he provides towards her no matter the fuckuperies that happen on the way. And the confidence that man has in his actions and looking like he does..definitely turns her on as time passes. Gage doesn’t believe at start that someone like her would be interested in him more than on just a job level but doesn’t mind later on at all to have a gal like her by his side at the lone evening/nights at Fizztop.

- She is not that bad of a person and refuses to trash talk traders (well maybe except Aaron) and convinces the operators after powering the plant to improve their conditions as it would also bring more caps and scare the “tourists” less. And she would not want their only doctor to be gone or worse, refuse to treat them.

- She considers Lizzie a friend and would visit her often to check on new equipment or further improvements with grenades. Doesn’t mind testing her new inventions along with an extra drink in her lab. 

- She is bad at cooking, especially the post-war one and would most probably choose a food from a box rather than poison Gage with her attempts on making food.

- Almost always wears her black fingerless gloves, might fall asleep in them too sometimes. Gage notices it and learns later on about the burn marks.

- Has a weird, almost romantic like relationship with her pre-war boss Harrison after he makes a sudden come back, surviving the bombs and joining her in  Nuka World.

[thel3tterm]

Our Author is Dead

This is my current novel project. I’ve been working on it for ~5 years, and its been through many painful drafts and revisions.

Current status: about halfway through the final draft. ~23 chapters and counting.

Read it here!  What is it about?

When Rouge’s boyfriend, Michael, goes missing under mysterious circumstances, he leaves behind boxes of incomprehensible research, and a realization that he hadn’t been the meek eccentric they always believed.

Rouge wanders from town to town, trying to piece together what happened and hopefully bring him home.

Along the way, they have to deal with biological monstrosities, an enigmatic being who eats words, a vigilante in a rabbit mask, overpowered teens on the run from a nightmarish organization, and worst of all- a war over who gets to be the protagonist of the story they apparently live in.

The World:

Our Author is Dead takes place in a country known as Doma.

Doma is very similar to our contemporary society. There’s junk food, convenience stores, comic books, air conditioning, interstates… but no electricity. The east is bordered by an ocean, and its western desert ends in an incomprehensible, uncrossable ‘wall’ of abnormality.

Lets Talk Biomancy: All technology is based upon living organic tissue- a field known as Biomancy. The field is completely normalized in their world. It gets them from place to place, lets them communicate long distances, runs the factories, does pretty much everything electricity does for us. In many cases its unnoticeable, running through the walls or inside of gadgets one might not even suspect are alive. The most noteworthy examples though, are full fledged lab created ‘animals’ of sorts. They might be pets, household assistance, or most commonly, vehicles. Zap Heads: Some people actually do study electricity, and believe in the merits of it as an alternative means of engineering. …Of course, we all know that its just a fringe science and that there’s no way to actually use electricity for anything substantial. People who study it call themselves Electricians. Everyone else calls them Zap Heads.

Novus: A subgroup of people in this country are known as Novus. A Novus, for one reason or another, is born with a slight or major split from their own body. Most people are only able to have an influence within themselves. They are only able to think inside their heads and move what’s attached to them. A Novus is able to have an influence outside of themself, which can manifest in a myriad of ways. Some might bend reality around them to their will, some might be able to reach into another person’s head and change things around. -Novus are looked at negatively by most of the country, and are often disparagingly called ‘Wiz’, based on the thought that they’re like witches. -Medical researchers believe that it is some kind of a birth defect, but are unable to determine if the root is environmental or genetic. -They’ve been noted to have a much higher average body temperature, and a weaker immune system. Flexing their 'abnormalities’ seems to require an extreme amount of energy, so they need to eat a lot more than average and struggle to keep a healthy weight. -Religious people believe that it is caused by a moral failure, and that Novus need to have more self discipline to 'correct’ themselves. -Upon discovery, Novus are immediately documented and given a facial tattoo and serial number. -Most Novus wind up being seized and taken to a 'rehabilitation’ center before they reach the age of eighteen. Few will ever actually leave the rehab centers. Only a small number remain free to adulthood. The Bones: One of the oldest and most prestigious families in Doma is known as the Bones. Despite appearing frequently in history textbooks, newspaper and magazine articles, interviews, important dinners, parties, and the like, very little is ACTUALLY known about the Bones. Here are some definite knowns: -They invented Biomancy several hundred years ago. -They are the only family who actually knows how to make a Biom from scratch, and they hold this secret very close. (Factories merely assemble the Bioms, but an outside party is not able to make a working one unless it comes from them.) -All of their children are women. No Bones has ever been a man. -They seem to have an extreme influence over all the goings-on in the country. Politics, Novus control, science, media, you name it, they’re there. Melissa Bones is currently in charge of their family operations, and her daughter Pamela is the up and coming heir. Characters: Rouge: -27 years old -Novus -Non-binary (they/them) -Very thin, brown hair (unless they dye it) usually in a sideshave or shaggily uneven, long face, tan skin, chipped front tooth, average height -Almost always wearing a patched up and shabby blue coat. -Anxious, self loathing, self-described as 'completely ordinary and boring’, sarcastic, artistic, tenacious -Was diagnosed a Novus at age 17 in a freak accident. They had never caused anything to happen before, and have done nothing unusual since. -Was rescued from a rehab center under equally bizarre circumstances by a childhood friend, and is a rare 'adult’ Novus. -Has a taste for the finer things in life, and likes to critique food and visual design -Loves outlandish fashion, but has no money for it -Is looking for someone dear to them who mysteriously went missing Valence: -Is that even her real name? -19 years old -Extremely powerful Novus. Perhaps the most powerful there ever was. -Can bend reality around her, create bursts of light and heat, move objects at a distance, alter the shape and material of things -Stocky and muscular, on the shorter side, round face, tan skin, black hair typically kept short -Prefers masculine clothing -Prone to anger, determined, stubborn, courageous, strong moral compass, black and white mentality, fiercely independent -Both of her parents are well known 'Zap Heads’. Her siblings are well known activists and researchers. While smart, she was more drawn to music, and felt trapped under the expectations placed on her by her family. -Was friends with several vigilantes and rogue freedom fighters who knew her family -Was taken at age 18 after snapping someone’s leg in half, and brought to a secret facility run by the Bones -Broke herself out and has been on the run since -Was in a shitty garage band. Plays bass. Loves comic books and underground music. Tariku: -14 years old -Novus with the ability to 'see’ into people’s inner selves and mess with their heads, plus a few other things I won’t mention here yet. -Dark skin, thick hair, short because he’s still young but will grow to be tall, on the thinner side -Prefers to dress crisply, usually opting for collared shirts -Wears a blindfold most of the time to prevent accidentally spying on people. (Also because he was taught that his ability is a sin, and he can’t turn it off…) -Thoughtful, cautious, strategic, quiet, prone to guilt, shows little emotion but feels things intensely, rarely shares what he’s thinking about, extremely curious but is often too afraid to explore or take risks -Never swears or uses contractions while speaking -Grew up in a facility with several other Novus with similar abilities who were being trained for a specific, mysterious, goal -Knew Pamela Bones -Decided to escape with Valence after an incident he is keeping a secret, for now -Is curious about 'normal’ things people his age do, but is so far underwhelmed by the reality of the outside world Corvid: -??? -This thing seems to show up randomly in Rouge’s room at night. Is it even real?  -It talks in garbled voices patched together  -Wears a raven mask. Who knows what it is or what it wants. Is it even human? Michael:  -A childhood friend of Rouges, then boyfriend -Tall, gangly, dark curly hair, freckles -A bit of a know-it-all, passionate about everything, pleasant and friendly, keeps things to himself, doesn’t like to share uncomfortable details of his life -Difficult family life, a lot left unsaid -Might be involved in really dark and shady things -Got kidnapped and who knows where he is now Proto: -Lives in the woods -Always wears a rabbit mask, even while they’re sleeping, like a weirdo -Supposedly a friend of Michael’s, but Rouge had never heard of them -A friend of Valence’s as well, and worked with her family -Vigilante, destructive Pamela Bones: -20 -Pale skin, freckles, bright red hair kept long, perfectly aligned teeth, green eyes, a bit on the shorter side, fit, curvy figure -She’s everywhere, it seems. An international icon -Sounds bubbly and friendly enough, but there’s something wrong with her voice, and her eyes, and her smile. It seems a bit uncanny, a bit... off somehow Read it here! ________________________ Tag list: @leonajasmin-writeblr @zburatorii

[headcanonseverywhere]

Lupita Fernandez (full profile) - WIP

A few things are left in blank, but other than that, here’s Lupita’s profile! :D

Basics Name: María Guadalupe Fernández Nicknames: Lupita (she likes to go by this name), Lupe (her little sister calls her this often) Age:  15 (actually 101) Gender: Female Ethnicity: Mexican Birthplace: Arizona, USA Current Residence: Wherever the Hunters go Height: 5' 3" Weight: Blood Type: A+ Birthday: May 11th, 1912 Zodiac: Taurus Eye Color: Hazel Hair Color: Black Physical Description (be at least a little detailed): Maria is a short young girl. She has a deep tan skin, skinny arms and legs, a heart-shaped face with hazel eyes, thin lips, and a button nose. Her wavy black hair is cut short, bobbed-styled, and ends just below her ears.

Personality

Traits: Outgoing, Cheerful/Humorous, Independent/Confident, Caring, Dramatic, Liar, Irresponsible.

Outgoing: Lupita is very outgoing, she talks to anyone and everyone.

Cheeful/Humorous: Lupita loves having a good time with her friends. She enjoys a good laugh, and anyone can hear her laughter from far away. She hates being in a bad mood, or seeing her friends in a bad mood, or even being in a negative space, she'll always find a way to cheer herself, and people around her, up (whether cracking a joke, or dragging her friends to a party/carnival/festival). If all else fails, she'll simply go elsewhere to have a fun time.

Independent/Confident: During a time where women didn't have much of a voice, and were supposed to have a much more submissive attitude, Lupita was the complete opposite. She likes taking charge, and putting matters into her own hands in order to get the things she wants. She likes to do things on her own and will rarely ask for help, if anything, she'll completely avoid asking for help. Also, Lupita isn't afraid to speak her mind. If she has something to say, she'll say it, whether they liked it or not. Of course, she would get herself into trouble because of it, but that didn't stop her "putting some sense into their minds", as she would say.

Caring: Lupita is a very caring person. She cares deeply about her mother, her sister, and her friends. Towards her mother, she would care a lot about her well-being, and would help around the house whenever her mother wasn't feeling well. As for her sister, Consuelo, Lupita was very motherly-like towards her. She loved her sister very much, and would do anything for her. And for her friends, she considered them family, and would always let them know that she was there for them, for anything. She'll gladly help her friends in their time of need, and will give advice if she thinks it's need (which is most of the time).

Liar: After constantly sneaking out of the house to go to parties/movies, Lupita learned to lie like it's nothing. But more often than not, her lies will backfire.

Irresponsible: Lupita is kind of irresponsible. When it comes to Consuelo, she will protect her at all costs, but besides that, she's not really good at dealing with responsibility, as well as making good decisions for herself, and for those around her (ex: whenever she was in charge of looking after her sister while her parents were away, and there happened to be a party she really wanted to go to, she would bring her sister along with her. But most of the time, she would end up getting caught, and getting into deep trouble with her parents, especially her step-father).

Dramatic: Lupita is a Drama Queen. She will blow things out of proportion if she's in an argument, and will make a scene out of everything. If anything, she's borderline melodramatic.

Fears: Getting lost, the unknown (post-Lost Hotel & Casino); ghost stories, horror movies, monsters (prior to being trapped in the Lotus hotel, though she still fears them).

Favorite Food: Chicken and rice

Favorite Drink: Coca-Cola

Favorite Scent: Flowers

Favorite Movie: "It" (1927, starring Clara Bow), and Charlie Chaplin movies

Favorite Song:

Favorite Band/Singer:

Favorite Time of Year: Summer

Favorite Time of Day: Night

Best Subject (Camp): Archery

Best Subject (School): Caligraphy

Worst Subject (Camp): Swordfighting

Worst Subject (School): Math

Family/Friends

Mother: Maria Dolores Fernandez (neé Rodriguez)

Father: Dionysus

Step-Parent: Antonio Manuelo Fernandez

Siblings: Consuelo Fernandez (age 8)

Closest Friends (Camp): The Hunters of Artemis

Closest Friends (Outside): Fatima Lopez

Boy/Girlfriend: none

Past Relationships: She dated a few guys from her town, but they were never serious.

Battle

Weapon: Silver bow and arrow

Style: Archery

Strengths: Speed, stealth, leadership

Weaknesses: Patience, teamwork (but she starts to work better in a team once she joins the Hunters of Artemis)

Abilities (if any):  (please don't over-do it) She has the ability to create illusions, but its strength depends on the person she's using it on, like the more scared or tired person/monster is in battle, the more stronger and believable her illusions are.

Fatal Flaw: Cowardice.

Background:

Maria (Lupita's mother) met Dionysus at a local fair. She didn't know who he really was since he was disguised as a regular mortal, and she couldn't see through the Mist. After several encounters with him, Maria found out she was pregnant, and when her parents found out, they immediately arranged a wedding with their neighbor's son, Antonio. Maria then gave birth to Lupita on May 11, 1912.

Lupita was very mischievous, constantly skipping school to watch movies, or to go to parties with her friends. Her biggest dream was to travel the world and become an actress, and after one terrible night--when she accidentally found out about her mother's affair with Dionysus (she didn't know it was him at the time), and ran away from home--she met a young man promising her that he would make her a star, and travel the world. Excited, Lupita went along with him, but once they reached Nevada, the man left her without a trace (taking her money with him as well (which wasn't enough). Feeling lost and betrayed, Lupita wandered aimlessly throughout the state until she reached Las Vegas, where she came across the Lotus Hotel and Casino. Having no place to go (and tired of sleeping on the streets, with barely anything to eat), she checked in. She had originally planned to stay there for a week or so, until she could figure out a way to make money to get to Hollywood, but instead, she was trapped in there, unknowingly, for more than a century.

A hundred years later, Lupita was found and rescued by two demigods on a quest, and was immediately sent to Camp Half-Blood. As soon as she left the building, Lupita felt an immediate culture-shock. She was startled, amazed, and scared all at once when she saw tall skyscrapers, fast moving cars, and millions of people walking to and fro, dressed in outfits she'd never seen before, and holding up small, and very thin, rectangular boxes she would later learn to be smartphones.

As they reached camp, she was given the demigod lecture, and was told about her true heritage. She also met her real father, Dionysus, and was claimed on the spot. But even though she was given fully detailed explanations about what happened, Lupita still felt shocked about the whole situation. She hated it. She wanted to leave and go back home, but a deep, bitter feeling told her she couldn't anymore. She was stuck in the wrong time period, whether she liked it or not.

However, after the events of "The Last Olympian", Lupita met the Huntresses of Artemis, including Artemis herself, and immediately asked to join them. She realized that since she couldn't go back in time, and didn't want to stay in the current time period, she would might as well roam along through time with the huntresses. With them, she felt she would finally be in a place where she truly belonged, along with other people who were also in situations similar to her's. She could connect with them, she could relate to them easily. With that, Artemis accepted her request, and Lupita became one with the Hunters.

[pillowfluffs]

Sick!Jooheon

Pairing: Jooheon X Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: Sick!AU, Mafia!AU, fluff

author’s note: I wanna slowly start writing again... I’ve sorta been on hiatus and all the short stories that post weekly were written months ago, they’re just in my queue... I hope I’ve improved a little even though I haven’t written in so long, but I’m reading a lot so I hope that counts for something? If not, I’m sorry I haven’t improved and I just hope I didn’t worsen

Other Sick!MX: Hyunwoo // Wonho // Minhyuk // Kihyun // Hyungwon // Jooheon // Changkyun 

*I couldn't find a better gif ;( *

Soft non-verbal music played gently from your phone as you sat at a table in the corner of your study room

Your notes and laptop were sprawled before you as you copied your notes from your lecture into an official study notebook you made

A cool breeze blew in from the cracked open window, making your white sheer curtains float about as if they had a life of their own 

You felt good with the subject at hand

Everything was making sense

You were awake in your classes and lectures and for the first time in a long time, ahead of what you had to do

You flipped through the pages of your textbook and looked online for more information on a subject discussed in class every now and then, but for the most part, you were retaining it all

Your study room was your most favorite room in your house, alongside your bedroom

It had a white wall and curtains with a window and then your circular table and chair that faced the perpendicular dark wooden wall that had some of your paintings and drawings

The wall you faced away from, which your chair was against, was your bookshelf wall, filled with books you had collected over time since your love for reading simply bloomed as you aged

You had a soft white rug on your carpet and the wall with the door in the corner that led to your house had a couch that fit two people perfectly

You spent some days in summer when you weren’t studying by reading or writing or even doing art

Today was a perfect day: the sun was shining, the temperature outside and in your room wasn’t too cold or hot, you were finally studying without any disturbances until a low sound pulled you out of it all

Loud bangs on your door made your heart drop in a second

You shut off your phone without a second thought, letting silence fall over your entire house

You even held your breath

The banging continued and you slowly got up from your spot at your desk, walking towards the far corner of the bookshelf which was near the couch and reached for a wooden box behind a set of books

You wasted no time grabbing the small karambit knife and tucking it in the waist of your pants, hidden by your shirt and a fully loaded small handgun

You hid the box once again in the dark corner of your books before you stepped out of the room, shutting it behind you silently

The banging paused before it started once again, sounding louder than ever

You walked slowly over your carpeted floor towards the door

You went behind the door, opening it and as soon as it swung open, you crouched behind it, seeing two tall and broad figures in all black storm through your doorway

You lunged from behind the door, kicking the back of one’s knee, forcing him to kneel and used his body as an anchor, sending another kick to the other, making him stumble

“Y/N, stop!” The one you used to propel yourself grabbed you firmly by the arms, forcing you to yield and grabbed you by the wrist, squeezing hard enough to make you drop the gun in pain

Your hammering heart slowed down as you realized who had come: Shownu and Wonho

“Would it kill you two to knock, I don’t know, in a way that sounds civil and not like someone’s about to stick their head through the door and yell ‘here’s Johnny!’”

You swiped up your gun and tucked it in your side and began to help Shownu up

“We need you to come with us back to base, it’s an emergency…” Shownu sounded grim as he took your hand, hoisting himself off your carpet

“Why? What happened?”

Your mind went to the worst case scenario every time you heard these words or anything close to these words

“Is Jooheon okay? Is he hurt? Did someone die?” you gasped, choking out the next question

“Did he die?”

“Nah, he’s too tough to die, you know that Y/N,” Wonho smirked as he leaned against your kitchen counter

“No one’s hurt, don’t worry. But, it is Jooheon though… He’s sick and he refuses to get any medical help from anyone, even Kihyun, so here we are because we know that there’s one person he can’t refuse, and that’s you.” Shownu stood leaning in the doorway

“Let’s go then.” You began to walk out the door before Shownu put his arm across the span of the doorway

“You don’t need your arsenal, Y/N, you know this. Plus, you know how Jooheon feels when you have a gun…” He reached behind your back, grabbing your sheathed karambit. “And your knife,” he smirked

“Ugh, fine.” You grabbed your belongings from his hand and brought it back to your hidden box before you scurried out your door

You were probably the most secure person in the city thanks to Jooheon, but you wanted to do some things for yourself, and protection was one of them considering you didn’t live on base with the group

And you didn’t want men in black with you or following you around everywhere you went

Even now with Wonho standing behind you and Shownu walking in front of you, leading you to the car made it feel suffocating

It took you months of begging and pleading to have Jooheon train you mentally and physically

Everywhere you went, every room, your eyes would survey what was around and consider what could be a weapon in case anything were ever to happen

Even the cars were armored with numerous firearms and explosives along with a bulletproof glass

The car ride was scenic, going through back roads and not as often used ones

It was a bumpy ride, but you got there in one piece nonetheless

The base was the same just as you remembered it; an abandoned warehouse that seemed like a ghost town but was anything but

The inside was redone, remodeled so everything was clean and new and secure

Shownu pulled into the parking garage below ground and your feet were on the ground before the car was parked

You knew where everything was and didn’t need a guide

It was only a matter of time before you appeared outside of Jooheon’s quarters, hearing the sound of glass smashing with the others crowded outside his door

You walked past all of them and opened the door to Kihyun bracing himself as Jooheon laid back down against the bed, refusing to drink any of the medicine Kihyun provided

He was dressed nothing like the doctor he was in the group and had a handgun similar to yours strapped to his hip

“Oh, thank god, you’re here”

A weight lifted off of Kihyun as he approached, pushing his cart of medicine to you

“Everything you need is here, but he should take this,” he said as he handed you a new bottle of what you assumed to have been what Jooheon threw against the wall moments before

“Have fun…” He patted your shoulder before he left the room, shutting the door behind him

Jooheon laid in his bed, breathing heavily under his blankets, seeming as exhausted as ever

The room was dark, even with the bright sun just shining outside the windows

“Hey,” you said softly as you sat on the edge of his bed

You reached forward, resting your hand on his forehead gently, feeling how hot he was before he was able to comprehend your presence

He squeezed your wrist tightly, feeling like he was about to snap it right then and there when he released you

“Oh, sorry,” he coughed out

A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead as he laid there

Mugs and issues littered his nightstand beside his bed as well as weapons at his disposal

The curtains closed, giving the room a dark atmosphere

“How long have you been sick, honey?” You rested your hand against his forehead, feeling how hot it was, which was much hotter than you originally thought

“I think a few days or a week,” he wheezed

He took your hand in his, bringing it down to his chest where he held it, brushing his thumb over your skin

Dark circles were painted over his pale skin under his eyes

“Why weren’t you taking your medicine? Why were you refusing Kihyun’s aid? They and I just want you to get better.” You gave a soft smile as you brought his hand up to your lips, pressing a chaste kiss against his skin

He heaved out a sigh, avoiding your eyes, but never let his hold on your hand waver

“I just need you and I didn’t want to be babied or anything by them..”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face hearing his soft voice, sounding childlike

“Well I’m here now and whether you like it or not, I will be taking care of you,” you said firmly as a matter of factly

“I know you like to protect and take care of me, but let me return the favor and do it for you, okay honey?”

He coughed as he nodded, scooching over a little so you had more space to sit beside him

His touch never left your body as you pulled the cart over to his bedside

Your hands went straight to work, knowing what you were doing without a second thought

You pressed a cooling pad to his forehead and prepared a clean cup of warm water while getting a clean teaspoon, filling it with the opaque, sweet-smelling orange liquid

You rested your arm against his back, helping him sit up in order to take his medicine

“This will make you sleepy, so I’ll go when you’re asleep, okay?”

Just as the words fell from your mouth, he tried to stifle a yawn as he began to curl up in his sheets 

“Stay with me, please?”

The way he sounded, the way he looked, everything about him in this very moment almost made you forget who he really was; a ruthless man ready to put a bullet into anyone who would ever wrong you or anyone in the group

You stood thinking for a second, wondering if you could afford to be sick or not if whatever Jooheon had would pass to you

You brushed away all thoughts and before you could even realize or stop yourself, your body was already moving, climbing onto his bed, under the blankets beside him, letting him nuzzle up against you, falling asleep

“Thank you, Y/N…,” he said before he was consumed by sleep

~~~~~

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[imaginepirates]

Beyond Childhood

A Will x reader requested by @apirateslifeforme2. Will is the reader’s childhood friend, but they haven’t seen each other in a long time. After meeting at Elizabeth’s wedding to James, their feelings for each other begin to rekindle.

~3100 words

~~~~~~~

         The wedding was spectacular. The governor had gone all out for Elizabeth. She was his only daughter, after all, and he loved James like a son already.

          The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and traces of perfume where women walked. The gardens were immaculate; hedges were trimmed into all different animals, and flowers were planted in staggering arrays of color and kind. Fountains sprayed water lazily into their basins, carved statues sitting atop them.

          In a large, open section of grass, the ceremony was to be held. The clearing was situated on a hill, and you could see all the way down to the bay. You were far back enough from it that the shouting and ringing of bells was only a whisper on the wind. The musicians blocked out most of the sound. Their melodies echoed over the gardens sweetly.

          Elizabeth had been a good friend of yours since childhood. Together, you’d climbed every tree in the garden. You reflected on those memories fondly, remembering the times you’d tramped through flowerbeds or made castles of mud. Your childhoods had been filled with such imagination and wonder.

         Now, Elizabeth was getting married. Your best friend, smitten with a commodore. It was bittersweet. You loved Elizabeth, and though you hated to see her off, you were happy for her. It was more than you could say for yourself.

          If your heart had belonged to anybody, it had been the smith’s boy, William. You’d been close as children, too, but you hadn’t seen him in the past year. Whatever you might have felt for him was a dim shell of what it had been. You didn’t even know him anymore.

          You rounded a corner to a gaggle of girls you knew from finishing school. How young you’d been! The girls before you were much older versions of themselves from when you’d known them; they were taller, their cheeks had lost their roundness, and they sported delicate long arms and protruding collarbones.

          You had changed in the past years, too. You had become more of a woman. You vaguely wondered what William would think of you now.

         You were distracted by Elizabeth, who ran across the gardens to meet you. At least, she tried, but it wasn’t so easily done in such a long dress. It was pale yellow, and embroidered flowers decorated the bodice and skirts. It was expertly done. The embroidery was done in such light shades of reds, greens, and blues that you could hardly tell it wasn’t all yellow.

          "Lizzie!“ You called. "Why, you look like a fairytale. I hope you feel the part.”

          "Y/N, I’ve been waiting to see you. I do feel the part, if you must know. But where’s your escort? Surely you didn’t come alone. Shouldn’t you be dangling off a man’s arm?“ She gave you a jesting smile. She knew you weren’t the type for that sort of thing.

          "And shouldn’t you be hanging off the arm of your dearly beloved fiance?”

          "We both know it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to meet before the wedding.“ She batted at your arm. "Though I must say, it’s making me impatient.” She glanced over to the side. “Oh dear, there’s Mrs. Whopsle. I’d better say hello. For appearances sake, you understand.” She gave you a look. Both of you had hated the woman from the time you were ten.

          Elizabeth wandered off, and you were left to putter in the gardens until the wedding began. You snaked through the labyrinthine hedges. There were so many people, you thought there wouldn’t be a single unoccupied patch of grass.

          You rounded a corner to find an empty space. It was a corner of the garden, and it was a small section with closed fences on three sides. Flowers swayed in the breeze, and small trees had been trimmed into little domes.

          You enjoyed the quiet for a moment. As you were about to leave, someone else walked in. He seemed out of place in his nice clothes, and the sleeves of his shirt were too short. His hair had been slicked back nicely; it was clear that he’d taken some time on it. He was skinny, too, much more so than the lords who’s tables were always laden with fine foods.

         Despite his clothes and tamed hair, you would’ve recognized him anywhere. It was Will. He was cleaner than normal, and his hair wasn’t the unruly mess you remembered, but he still had the same look, like he was rather lost. Perhaps he had always been a bit lost after the shipwreck. No matter where he was, he had a look on his face like he didn’t belong, and that he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

          The only place he didn’t look lost was the forge. There, he was right at home. You thought he looked a little more angry there. But the forge was his home, and where he’d always been most comfortable. Here in the gardens, he looked out of his element.

          "William?“ You prompted.

          "Miss L/N?” He hadn’t noticed you before. “How-how are you?”

          "I’m well. And what of you?“

          "As well as I can be, miss.”

          It saddened you that after all the time you’d spent together as children, he still called you Miss. How many times had you snuck out to meet him as children? How many times had you played with wooden swords and hid from his master in the rafters? “Please, Will, I’m still Y/N.”

          Will blushed. “It’s not my place.”

          "I would have it no other way. If it’s not your place, then whose is it? We’re close friends, William.“

          Your words did nothing to convince him. You weren’t surprised. What kind of close friends didn’t see each other for a year? "Even so, Miss. You’re a lady now, and I a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

          "Will…" You were cut off by someone announcing the beginning of the wedding ceremony. Will took his leave, bowing slightly and leaving you to make your way to the neat rows of chairs on the lawn.

          The ceremony, in your opinion, was long and drawn out. It was an important wedding, of course, but the officiator could’ve spared the crowd half his talk. You were secretly glad when it was done and you could escape the oppressive mob of people. Seeing Elizabeth smiling so brightly was worth it, though; you hadn’t seen her do so since childhood.

          You boarded a coach and fled to your aunt’s house, with whom you were staying. She and your cousin would return later. You flung yourself down the moment you got to your room, thankful that you’d left a window open.

          You read until you heard the footmen call up to you. Your family had returned, it seemed. You heaved a sigh and wandered down the stairs. They were nice enough people, but you couldn’t help the need to be alone.

          As it turned out, it was not your family returned, but a package delivered. At the door stood William, looking sharp and having just come from the wedding. He held a thin box under one arm. It was navy blue with gold script, and could only be one thing.

          Your cousin was a lieutenant in the navy, and he’d been needing a new sword. Truly; he wasn’t one to ask for things needlessly. He would be happy to see it had finally come.

          You were happy that it was William who delivered it. “William.” You nodded a greeting. “It seems I’m the only one home. Do come in.” You beckoned him in with a hand.

          He followed you into the hall at the front of your house. You led him to the dining room, where you had him lay the sword and case. “Tea?” You asked.

          "I should be going.“

          "Nonsense.” You waved him off and rang for a servant. You wanted to spend a bit of time with him. You hated the thought that might go another year without so much as a word with him.

          "You have a very nice life here,“ he commented, looking around at the furnishings.

          "I do,” you agreed.

          The tea came, and you sipped at it in awkward silence. Neither of you were the best at making conversation. Will fiddled with a napkin while you played with your skirts. You didn’t speak until you’d finished your tea.

         "Did you talk to Elizabeth today?“ You asked.

          "I wasn’t given the chance. She saw me there, and I figure that’s enough.” He stared sadly into his cup.

          "I don’t see much of her either. You miss her, don’t you?“

          He hummed his agreement.

          "I miss us. All the things we did once. Our little group was unstoppable. Now…” you trailed off. “William, I haven’t seen you in a year.” It hurt to admit.

          His face softened. “It’s true.” He reached out for your hand then, but hesitated, face conflicted.

          You grabbed his hand as reassurance. “Promise me we’ll see more of each other.”

          "I would like that.“ A soft smile came to his lips, one you hadn’t seen in a year. It made your heart flutter.

           You saw him out the door just as your aunt arrived home. She spoke with him briefly on the path up to the house. The rest of the talking she left to your cousin, who asked about hi sword. Your family headed inside, you waved to Will as he left.

          Your cousin was mightily pleased with the sword. You found it a pretty blade as well. It was well balanced, that much you knew. You felt it yourself when you held it. To know it was Will’s work made your chest tight.

          You visited him within the month. You couldn’t stand being apart for so long, and you’d made a promise to see him more often.  You snuck into his shop, which wasn’t hard, given the drunkenness of Will’s master.

          William was the one who really made all the blades. He was a wonderful smith. Most of his swords were plain, but some had beautiful patterns in the steel. He crafted other things, too, like cuffs and chains. Anything the navy needed, Will made.

          "Will?” You called. There was a muffled clanking in response as he hastily set down his tools. He hadn’t been expecting you.

          Sheepishly, he pulled off the giant gloves he’d been wearing. He looked a little embarrassed, but you couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was due to your status compared to his, or maybe it was because his shirt was plastered to his back by sweat, and you could see the muscles of his arms through it.

          "What are you making?“ You asked. You peeked over his shoulder, but there was no way to tell what the lump of metal was to become.

          "Leg-irons.” He replied. “I have to return to making them before the iron cools.”

          "Of course. I hope you don’t mind if I join you.“ You walked around to his anvil where the metal sat. You stared over his shoulder as he hammered it out.

          His strokes were tense at first, but he relaxed into a rhythm. You knew what it meant. He’d likely forgotten you were there. It happened when you were children, too. You and Elizabeth would watch him work as his master lie drunk. Around Elizabeth, the tenderness stayed in his shoulders. You didn’t think she had noticed. It was only when he’d been alone with you that he’d relaxed a little. His work was always better then.

          It seemed like ages before he finished. When he did, it wasn’t some misshapen hunk of metal you saw. Leg-irons, perfect as could be made. You wondered how the cold iron felt on prisoners. Likely, it chafed the flesh raw.

          "You’re wonderful at this, you know.” He also made a wonderful view, but you weren’t about to tell him as much.

          "Thank you.“

          "Now that you’re done, I need an excuse to stay,” you teased. He blushed, and you could feel heat of your own rushing to your face. “What do you say to a duel? Or are you too scared?”

          Will smiled and climbed up into the rafters. “I had to keep them up here,” he explained. “The smith doesn’t know I have them.” When he returned to the ground, he held two of the wooden swords you used to fight with as children. It was a sweet reminder of how things had once been.

         You accepted the sword he handed you. It was heavier than you remembered, but not too bad. You tossed it between hands, judging its feel.

          When you took up your position en garde, all the old memories came back. The smell of the shop as you, Will, and Elizabeth fought. The smack of wood against wood, the heat of the stuffy building. Dust constantly getting in your eyes.

          When Will lunged at you, you were more than ready. You parried, though he was stronger than he had been as a boy, and you had to take a step back.

          You retaliated with an attack of your own. Body sideways, you struck out, fully meaning for the blow to be blocked. It was, and you jabbed at him a few more times. The fourth strike in, you whipped the blade down and hit Will on the knee.

          William was quick to even the score. He was good with a blade, you noted. He drove you back a few steps before feigning left and striking you on your right rib. It smarted, but it wasn’t likely to bruise.

           You didn’t have much hope fighting against him anymore. He hit you a number of places, always softly. You were thankful for it. Still, you continued to fight, but between your skirts and lack of practice, you did a dismal job.

           After a time, you called for a halt, breathing heavily. You hadn’t had any form of exercise in a long time. Being a lady didn’t allow for such activities. You leaned on the sword. Will looked happier than you’d seen him in the past month, not that you’d seen him much.

          There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but he wiped it off. You were in much worse shape. He didn’t mention it, and he didn’t seem to mind. You sat on some chairs at the end of the room.

          "Just like old times,“ you said.

          "Like old times, but I’m stronger than you are now.” He smiled sheepishly. “I seem to remember getting knocked over a lot when we were younger.”

           You couldn’t help but laugh. He was right; as children, you and Elizabeth had often fought on the same team against him. He hadn’t stood a chance. “And I seem to remember that this was easier. When did you get so good at this?”

           "I practice every day. I don’t always have things to work on, so I spend my time using the swords I’ve made. It might come in handy someday.“

           "I hope it doesn’t.” You looked into his eyes. “For your sake. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

          He raised his eyebrows. “That’s what the practice is for.”

          You shoved him lightly on the shoulder. Just then, a loud knock on the door came followed by a slurred curse. Will looked at you, eyes dark.

          "He’s back,“ Will said, referring to the man he was apprenticed to. "I suppose you have to go.”

          "Yes. I’ll see you soon.“ Impulsively, you wrapped your arms around him, giving him a light hug. He was too surprised to return the gesture, but you took it as a sign of embarrassment. Hopefully he appreciated it. You would hate to think he didn’t want it.

          You returned home. You spent the next week thinking of Will and trying not to. If your family noticed your distracted state, they said nothing. Your feelings for Will had been thoroughly rekindled. It didn’t help that you were of two different social classes. There was nothing worse than thinking that you couldn’t have him; no matter how you felt; so you avoided the thought entirely.

          You were taking a walk through town to refresh yourself when you stumbled upon him again. It had been purely on accident; the walk was meant to get him out of your mind.

          "Will! How nice to see you,” you said. “What brings you out this late?”

          "The fort wanted new shackles as soon as possible. I’ve just finished them.“

          You noticed the basket he carried under one arm. "Oh. Could I accompany you?”

          "Of course.“ He scratched the back of his neck before offering you an arm. You walked towards the fort together, and you tried to ignore the heat of his arm under his shirt.

          "How are you lately?” You tried to strike up conversation to make the walk less awkward.

           "I-I’ve had a lot on my mind,“ he stuttered.

           "Oh.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s bothering you?”

           "I shouldn’t trouble you with it.“

           "It would be no trouble at all!” You hesitated before saying, “I’m not being nosey, am I?”

           "No!“ He coughed. "Of course not. But it’s not that important.”

           "I don’t believe you.“

           He looked at you helplessly. It made your stomach jump into your throat. What couldn’t he tell you? It couldn’t be that he was thinking of you.

           Could it?

           "Will, you can tell me anything.” You could hear how unsteady your voice was.

          "It’s not-not something to be shared.“

          He turned away from you, but you kept ahold of his arm, gently pulling him back towards you. "Will…”

          You were much closer to him than you had intended to be. You couldn’t help but glance at his lips. He didn’t pull away, and slowly, you leaned closer.

           His eyes fell to the ground. He moved his hands to your arms, keeping you back. “Y/N.” His voice was barely a whisper. It was the first time he’d used your first name. “We can’t. I’m a blacksmith.” He looked at you apologetically.

          "I’m sorry.“ You were appalled. You hadn’t meant to do anything, and now he knew how you felt. He hadn’t been thinking of you after all. You meant to pull back from him, but his hands on your arms kept you in place.

          "It’s not that I don’t want it,” he breathed. “I-I’ve fancied you since we were children. But…”

          His words came as a shock. “You have?”

          "I thought you wouldn’t feel the same way.“

          "I do.” Saying it made it feel more real, somehow.

          "Yet we can’t be together.“

          You cupped his cheek with a hand. "We can. It’s not like I come from an immensely wealthy family. I’m not Elizabeth. I’m an orphan, just like you, and I’ll hardly come into anything at all.”

         "All the more reason for you to be with someone else. You need someone who can take care of you. Someone who can keep you comfortable.“

          You laughed. "I would rather be happy than comfortable. Besides, didn’t I play in the dirt with you as a child? Did I ever balk at how you lived?” You brought your other hand up to his face. “Will, you were never any less than anyone else. You aren’t less than anyone else. Not to me.”

            "Y/N…" Will leaned closer to you, closing the gap between you. Gently, he pressed his lips to yours, and you dug the fingers of one hand into his hair. The other you kept on his cheek.

          He broke away, only to kiss you again a moment later. It was slow and careful, and you wouldn’t have asked for anything else. How many times had you pictured the moment in your head? And yet it was better than anything you could’ve thought up.

          You stood with bodies close, eyes closed, basking in the feel of one another.

         The basket of irons was duly forgotten.