#which my brain is all there's still milk i do not have to go grocery shopping yet

[windwardstar]

part of the problem with hating having to go shopping is that my brain is also always "there's food at home" and "there's still stuff in the cupboards/freezer I can make, I'm not out of food" and meanwhile the only things in my fridge are the condiments.

i really gotta go grocery shopping but like... i can still scrounge up food in my cupboards

[mollymagician]

Been battling with the Writing Paralysis Demons

Here, have I come bearing a chunk of spooky street-artist Dream-verse

One thing they don’t talk about, in the grand tradition of stories about some poor sod who’s suddenly discovered that Magic Is Real And Nothing Is What It Seems, is that afterward you still have to get the laundry done.

Magic is real, and you still need clean pants.

Magic is real and you still need to go round the shops for milk.

It’s been three days since he discovered conclusively that Magic Is Real, and Hob is tired. Everything seems to take longer, he can’t concentrate on anything. He estimates that at least 75% of his brain is currently being used up processing a completely new world view, and tries to cut himself some slack. He read somewhere that it takes the human nervous system around 23 days to adjust to a new normal, which means twenty more days of feeling as though he’s been hit by a bat while also trying to learn a foreign language that no one else can hear.

Magic is real and now it’s Friday and Friday means takeaway and bad telly, at least it has these past few months. Five o’clock found him walking up the side of the Inn, balancing a pizza box from the cafe down the road and a sack of groceries. It had become habit now to scan every flat surface around the outside of the building, like someone with half an eye always out for a lucky penny. He caught himself doing it in the blue twilight—ground up, right to left, until his gaze landed on his doorway and he felt his heart quite literally leap in his chest.

The brickwork around the door leading up to his flat was decorated with…roses. Had to be roses. Green lines twisted in an angular labyrinth across the brickwork, studded here and there with small swirling vortexes in crimson.

Hobs steps crunched slowly on the gravel as he approached. He’d been gone an hour, at most. The lines of chalk were bright and fresh. In the blue twilight he could just make out a faint rain of dust caught in the crevices between the bricks, not yet blown away by the wind.

The back of his neck prickled.

He pitched his voice to carry over the quiet background clatter of the pub going about its Friday night’s business. “Evening, my friend. If you’re nearby.” He coughed to clear the cold rasp from his throat. “I know the Inn can be a riot this time of day, and I know you like your quiet. I just thought…you know, my flats just up these stairs. You could come in out of the wind. If you wanted.”

The breeze sent a piece of litter skittering across the empty yard.

“I know my word counts for fuck-all in the grand scheme of things…but I promise you’re safe here.” Resisting the urge to turn around took every ounce of willpower he currently possessed. “I don’t want to use your powers for—for nefarious purposes. I’d just like to know how you’re faring.”

Silence.

“Well…” Hob leaned over and used one foot to tip the old brick he kept nearby into the doorframe. “The door’s open. And. There’s pizza. If you’re interested.” Before the sensation of being a monumental idiot could freeze him to the ground, he turned and started up the stairs. The door thunked against the brick as it swung nearly shut, muffling the sound of the wind.

He managed not to run up the darkened stairwell, but it was a near thing.

[qierxing]

A/N: For Trey's bday and also my brain can't stop thinking about this. I gotta go crazy(mera i'm stealing your naming of magicord thank u)

Prologue | Sex Doll! AU | Yan! Trey Clover x Reader TW/CW: Reader is a NEET, self harm idealization, bad coping mechanisms

You're attending your brother's wedding, right?

The text is simple and innocuous. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. There's no hidden sub context that your mother would leave in such a sentence. Yet it sends cold sweat running down your back as you begin to bite your nails anxiously. 

Weddings meant people. People meant socializing and having to answer questions such as “So what are you up to these days?” or “Do you have a partner?” all while smiling and trying not to rip your own skin off.

You end up gnawing off a chunk of your nail off subconsciously, still stuck on the bright screen boasting the text message. Your thumb hovers over the textbox, unsure of what to even reply with that wasn’t a solid “hell no”. It wasn’t your brother or anything, and it would probably be nice seeing him again, but not when there’s the added pressure of other people and even worse, the subtle judgment that would definitely ensue at seeing your current form.

Sighing, you switch off your phone. You’ll come back to it later. Darkness claims your room again, but your sight’s adjusted well enough that you manage to avoid stepping on the various candy wrappers and instant noodle cartons littered around the floor. Pushing past the trash bags in the kitchen, you open your fridge and curse internally. Right. You ate the last frozen pizza from your stash. And of course, there’s nothing in your fridge besides milk.

You’ve no energy to go walking to the grocery store, so you lumber back to your room like a zombie, picking up your phone again and switching the tab to the maps to look at take out places. A Magicord message notification banner comes up, distracting you temporarily from debating which takeout place would be the cheapest to get delivery from. 

{21:37}: ohhh my seven, look at what they release!d!! [image attachment]

The image boasts a handsome man with sharp green eyes and long curved horns. He’s smirking as he brandishes a large staff at the viewer. A familiar gothic logo is splayed next to the figure. You roll your eyes. Of course your friend is going crazy over the newest Twisted Wonderland android lineup. She’s been going on and on about how their models are the hottest designs around and how cool they were. She even has several around (Sea Witch knows how much it cost) if you remembered correctly.

{21:38}: whos that lol

{21:38}: COME ON ISN’T HE HOT

{21:39}: it’s literally a robot what

{21:39}: 🙄 can’t even appreciate hot looking robots smh

You huff a tired laugh at the enthusiasm she has, even at a relatively late hour. Still though, you’re much too drained and worried to indulge in her endless fangirling.

{21:41}: i’ll start appreciating robots if it means i don’t have to deal with my brother’s wedding

Just as you settle on a fast food place for takeout, another message banner pops up and makes your eyes blink and widen.

{21:45}: wait bet?

Oh Seven–

{21:46}: bruh. dont you dare do smth stupid

{21:47}: >:3c

{21:48}: i swear to the seven what r u doing

{21:51}: dw bout it

You squint at your messages with suspicion before deciding it wasn’t worth your time to play mind games with her. A notification pops up about your delivery and estimation time for your food and you decide to take a well needed shower before the poor unfortunate soul could come face to face with you. 

When you finally leave the bathroom feeling somewhat better and refreshed, a knock echoes on your apartment door. Great timing. When you open the door, however, it’s not a person holding a plastic bag that greets you, but a man with a huge box next to him. Your mouth opens and closes silently in confusion as the man doesn’t even blink as he holds out a clipboard for you.

“Signature, please.” He blandly says, as if you weren’t standing there gaping at him with baggy eyes with dripping hair.

“I-I, uh, I didn’t order anything?” You try to reassure yourself that the delivery man messed up your neighbor’s order, calming the flaring nerves as best you can before your brain starts shutting down. “I think you got the wrong place.”

The man purses his lips and checks the clipboard. “Are you [First] [Last]?” 

“Oh, uh, yes?” You’re taken aback. Did you order something off of Sam’s Shop and forget about it? 

“Then it’s for you. Signature, please. I need confirmation you received the item.” The man looks bored out of his mind and you’re not willing to make a bigger nuisance of yourself than necesscary, so you hastily take the pen and sign your name in a barely legible scrawl. The man drones an insincere thank you out before turning on his heel and leaving right away, leaving you with a huge box that will no doubt break your back if you tried to pick it up.

After much sweat and puffing, you manage to scoot the box into your apartment hallway, before you give up and decide that was enough. Picking up your phone again, several notifications show up on your lock screen.

[Your food delivery is delayed by: 10 minutes]

{22:30}: teehee, enjoy the free gift UwU

{22:31}: and no its not the new malleus guy. i gotchu smth u would like

{22:32}: YOUR WELCOME

You have half a mind to call her and start yelling her ears off, but that takes energy and effort that you’re not willing to afford right now. So you rub the bridge of your nose and take deep breaths in and out, and remind yourself you can’t afford to be in jail for a murder.

Okay. It seems that your friend got ahead of herself and got you an android that you probably will hate and even worse, would be expensive as hell to maintain. That’s fine. This is fine. You could probably just return the box or something. 

Still, curiosity burns in you at what lays inside the package. You’re well aware that Twisted Wonderland has a variety of models, so what did your friend even get you? Couldn’t be a RSA model, they were often sold out and when they were in stock, it was always limited. 

Ah, screw it. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind, you scour your drawers to find that dollar store razor you keep for situations like these and start tearing into the tape and cardboard. Finally managing to clear the tape, you open up the top of the cardboard box and your eyes widen at the contents.

[quirkle2]

you didn't just write that angst down of your zombie au and expect me to go on about my day without crying,,,,

also also, now i wonder what did mob do to finally have reigen and teru trust that he's, well, still him? WHAT HAPPENED I NEED TO KNOOOOW (and the terumob hug oh no, oH NO *RIPS MY HAIR OUT)

((sorry if i'm asking too much i'm just that invested in this au jwnxjwndi i hope you don't mind 🥹))

DW im like so stoked abt the questions i LOOOOVE talking abt the zombie au it makes me ill

i think it's a lot of little things that add up, actually. mob, compared to other zombies, is still quite reserved and quiet. in his weird little sparse mumblings, they occasionally catch what sounds like pieces of their names in the stream of syllables. even tho he's a zombie now and most of them r usually sloppy in their movements, mob still sits with relatively good posture and with his hands politely in his lap

one of the biggest things was seeing him sit down next to ritsu and plop his head on his shoulder. old habit of his when ritsu was bummed abt smth... they saw that and the gears started churning..

a lot of behavior can be explained away if ur desperate enough for sciency proof, which is what teru likely tries to pull at first. zombie mob watches ants on the ground and gets easily distracted by animals and bugs, much like he used to pre-zombie, but many many zombies do that anyway... the hug-back is purely muscle memory there's surely no recollection of emotions or a desire to comfort in there... that thing he still does when he tilts his head at confusing things is surely a Typical Zombie Behavior

when they go to grocery stores to loot them mob stands in front of the fridges with the milk cartons that are 100% expired by now, like he wants one. he seems more quiet and a little bummed when ritsu tells him they're bad by now and that he can't have one. him and teru Totally used to have one of those silly secret handshakes for the funsies and teru starts it on instinct one day and mob returns like ?half of it in a very stilted and sloppy fashion, struggling to remember but doing it well enough.that almost makes teru cry Again

but honestly, even without any of that at all, if they rly search in his eyes, they See it. they see Him, and they never know how to describe it, but he's still there in his gaze, it's just incredibly muted and tired. there's recognition when he turns his head and looks at them, there's even some semblance of fondness when they smile at him. you don't see it if u aren't looking for it, and at first they're convinced that's the deal, that they Want to see it so obviously it's just a trick of their brain that they Do, but...it is there. he is still there

reigen and teru quickly join ritsu in the belief that mob is still very much mob, in almost every interaction they have with him. and they quickly become just as eager to find a cure for him—seeing him be Him But Not Quite is harder on them than they thought it'd be,, makes them miss him that much more

[star-going-supernova]

Hey Starchild, how's it going?

I am quite bored at the moment due to lack of 3 star content, so I figured I'd just throw some dumb prompts/scenarios at ya for your amusement.

1. Vanessa learns that Gregory can drive a car, chaos ensues.

2. A few days after being freed, Vanessa encounters another lost child (not an orphan) in the pizzaplex. Flash backs and panic attacks ensue before Gregory comes to save the day.

3. Gregory accidentally calls Vanessa "sis" for the first time. Wholesome fluff and happy tears ensue.

4. Vanessa attempts to have a "friendly get together" (date) with Luis at the pizzaplex, but gets constantly interrupted by the glam fam's shenanigans. Eventually the 2 decide to join in on the activities and have lots of fun.

So yeah, I wish I had more news to share. I hope you consider doing some of these prompts as I think they have a lot of potential.

Have a wonderful week!

Hey, friend! It's going pretty good, I recently finished up two small projects for work, so that felt nice. And I've been getting so much writing done recently, which feels awesome!

Aw man, that sucks. I hope you find something to do/read! In the meantime, I was struck by a vision. Hope you enjoy!

• • •

Vanessa was losing her mind. And not in the mind control way.

For weeks now, any time she came out of the pizzaplex or the grocery store or even the post office once, her car wasn't where she would have sworn she parked it. It was still in sight, just always a little further away.

Gregory, who always opted to stay inside, never seemed concerned. He was absolutely bewildered whenever she brought it up. "What do you mean, did the car move? This is where you parked, Ness!" he'd said more than once.

"I'm going crazy," she announced, setting the milk on the backseat. "This is not where I parked, Gregory, I know it isn't."

She fell into the driver's seat with a wumph and gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline. "I was by the lamppost, not the cart corral. I specifically told myself, 'Take a good look, Vanessa, you're by the lamppost with the dent.' And now!" She flailed at the window. "The lamppost with the dent is way over there!"

Turning to Gregory, her tirade came to an abrupt halt. He was practically shaking with suppressed laughter, lips pressed tightly together in a futile attempt to keep a straight face. His eyes were alight with mischief.

The little hamster wheel in Vanessa's brain squeaked round and round in frantic circles. "You!" she belated cried. "You've been moving the car!"

With a snort, Gregory broke down laughing.

"You brat!" Vanessa yelped, indignant. "This whole time, I can't believe—since when can you drive?"

Collapsing against the door in hysterics, Gregory wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "It's been so hard not to give it away," he choked out between giggles. "Oh, man, the look on your face!"

Vanessa sat back in her seat, making noises of disbelief. The betrayal. "I took you in, I feed you, I gave you my old Switch, and this is how you repay me?"

Gregory positively howled with laughter, leaning over his legs.

"Adopt a gremlin orphan, they said. It'll be fun, they said." Vanessa started snickering. "Well they didn't say you'd come pre-programmed with knowledge on how to drive!"

"Pre-programmed," Gregory wheezed.

Finally starting the car, Vanessa shoved his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just wait till Freddy finds out."

"Oh, he knows already. They all have a bet going on when you'd figure it out."

"They what!"

[thessalian]

Thess vs Sudden Reminders

I hate the days when the pain’s bad enough to add to my already well-established disordered sleeping patterns. What I hate more is the likely ADHD, because while occasionally useful, sometimes there are things you just would have preferred not to have blip into your head right then, y’know?

I was pondering a late-night snack. See, on my trip to the shops earlier, I thought, “Why not treat myself to milkshakes?” So I was pondering whether I wanted one and then my brain supplied the following, with no small amount of probably unwarranted urgency: “THE BANANAS!”

There is logic to this, I swear.

See, I found a recipe for coffee smoothies that looked like just the thing. Frozen bananas for, like, potassium and vitamin C and vitamin B6 and fibre and all the other good stuff bananas have, and yoghurt for the vitamin D in which I am apparently deficient and which was the whole reason for me starting to have smoothies in the first place, though that’s lessened by the liquid content being coffee instead of milk, but it’s still something. Nice to have variety, at least.

I am getting away from the point, which is that it requires frozen bananas. And I bought bananas on my big online grocery shop but had not remembered to put them in the freezer yet. And it did occur to me that people packing groceries ordered online will generally grab the stuff that’ll go off first because ... well, it gets rid of the stuff before it has to go into the bargain bin, and it’s a little trickier for an online customer to complain. So if I forgot about putting the bananas in the freezer for much longer, I would probably end up with bananas barely fit for banana bread.

So there was me at three in the godsdamned morning, slicing bananas and scraping off the black bits before dumping them into freezer bags and cramming them into my fairly full freezer.

At least that’s done, though, and I can probably try for sleep. Just hoping that my brain doesn’t shout some other bit of MUST DO NOW chore at me while I’m settling in.

[exospherethoughts]

yikes. I don't think I really had a clue how bad I was getting again, until I found myself staring into my own eyes in the mirror tonight immediately after having spent ten minutes twisting and turning to see how prominent my ribs and spine are. Spoiler alert: not prominent enough for my brain's satisfaction.

The night before I left to visit my parents, I had a really really bad night, partially because of, well, it doesn't matter. But part of it was because of photos I found of myself from high school. Body checking photos. And a few candids that I had filed away because they basically doubled as body checks at the time. I remember feeling so so so fat and disgusting in all of those photos, I literally have scars from having carved the word "pig" into my stomach (thank the bloody gods it faded so much that it's only visible to me because I know where to look), I remember having a panic attack in a grocery store aisle during a spare block in high school because the lowest calorie thing I could find was a 60 calorie bouillon cube and that was too much, I remember the euphoria I felt the first time I managed to go 40 hours without any calories, I remember I remember I remember... and yet I was 20-25lbs lighter then than I am now. I would kill to have the body I did back then. Sure, I found myself in the nurse's office needing to lie down pretty often because I kept getting dizzy spells and I spent more time counting calories, tracking my weight, and doing ridiculous stupid quiet exercises in the middle of the night than I did doing things I love. But at least my hip bones and ribs and spine stuck out and I felt like sometimes I had a tiny bit of control over at least one thing!

I mean, I spent the majority of March and April barely eating, not as bad as when I was younger, but still nowhere near what would be considered "normal" (but that was partially because I was adjusting to the initial appetite loss from the Vyvanse, which has since disappeared). But I think it's somehow worse now, despite the fact that I'm eating a fairly normal amount every day (glass of milk in the morning, my usual green smoothie for breakfast, and whatever my parents make for dinner). I think my mind is getting stuck in the rabbit holes of obsessing over my weight and bones again, and the only reason I haven't completely gone off the rails with starving myself again is because I'm so tired of being physically ill and weak and I have enough shit to deal with just from chronic illnesses, I don't need to make it any harder for myself.

But that doesn't stop my brain from pinching and poking at all my fat rolls, it doesn't stop me from skipping seconds, it doesn't stop me from going on runs or taking the stairs instead of the elevator or walking the long way around to get to places, it doesn't stop me from feeling trapped in this awful flesh prison I'm in.

[sorryiapologized]

County line, I'm counting down mailboxes until my house. This place had a heartbeat in its day.

There aren't the words to describe the ache of nostalgia that gathers in your chest swirling around the pain of trauma until it becomes one all consuming tornado. That's how it feels when I drive back into the small town I grew up in. It's a town I didn't think I'd escape from, a town that became me as much as I became it. When I drive back home I drive backwards through my life there.

My chest tightens as I come down the big hill and see the downtown buildings come into view. I drive past the college I attended. Memories of shame fill my brain as I remember trying to hide the fact that I was a "townie." I felt like a loser compared to all my peers who were experiencing freedom for the first time.

I keep driving north. I go down the hill where my dad witnessed a car crash that left a sixteen year old boy dead. The boy was the same age as me; went to my rival school. My dad stood out on the side of the road and watched the life drain from his eyes. The boy was hit by a drunk driver. My dad called me to tell me he'd be home late. He didn't rush home to his child to hold her. He rushed to a bar to drink away the trauma.

I drive past the grocery store that was just a little too far to walk to when I was growing up. That store was the first sense of freedom I had, the first time I felt pulls in two directions. I could finally drive, I could go anywhere. I had a little bit of money. Unlike my friends who would drive to make-out spots or the one bar in town that let underage kids in, I spent my time and money driving to that store to get food for my family. I paid for my groceries at the self check with my "coin sock." I'd collect every penny I found and hope that it was enough to cover the bread and milk I was bringing home. My dad always said he'd pay me back, but never did in full. He thought I was lying when I told him how much I spent. If I didn't have enough for everything I'd secretly leave my abandoned items at the self-check avoiding the shame and judging eyes of a cashier.

I pass the horizontal road that every public school I attended is on. My elementary school and middle school share a yard. A turn to the right and I'd be back there. A turn to the left and I'd be at the high school where I spent four years worrying about fitting in, fretting over every tiny social interaction. I thought I'd miss school once I left it. I was the kid who used to cry on the last day of school in elementary school because I was going to miss my teachers. On the last day of high school all I felt was relief. A sense of hope burned in my chest, even though I knew I'd spend the next four years in that town, I still held hope that someday I'd get out.

I take the curve under the bridge that my sister used to call "the high road" when we were little kids. Mom would ask us which way we wanted to take back from the store, the high road or the low road. I always said the low road just to be contrary.

A left into the neighborhood. Past the church that looks like a frog. Down the street where I used to speed when I was running late. Past the house where my dad's best friend lived. He died of COVID a few years ago. It finally inspired my dad to get the shot. A left at the mailbox. One year my sister and I made an igloo there on a snow day. When I was four my mom and I used to walk the dog down there to get the mail. I couldn't reach the box back then.

We pull up the street. The street where I learned how to ride a bike. It was a pink princess bike and I hated it. Dad said he picked it out for me because it had animals on the seat. It's the street where I used to go sledding. My dogs would pull me in my little plastic green sled. My cousin once laughed so hard she peed in that sled. Its the street where I'd pull my sister around in a green wagon. Its the street where we'd do our snow dance and pray for a white Christmas. Its the street where I met my childhood best friend. Where we'd play soccer in the road, where I skinned countless knees, where I invented my own version of baseball.

I can no longer park in "my spot." In high school and college I'd park my car on the right side of the driveway. Now my dad's girlfriend has claimed the space. I park in front, where guests used to. The purple bushes that turn red in the fall are gone. The green shrubs where I lost my favorite stuffed animal for years has been replaced. The big tree I helped my dad plant in the front yard was cut down years ago, now. Even the front porch is different. No more hanging flower pots.

The house doesn't smell like me when I walk in. And I don't just walk in anymore, I knock. There are portraits of his girlfriend and her kids up along the walls. The walls that sat bare for years after my mom left. There's food in the fridge, now that a woman lives there again. My bedroom walls are no longer the bright robin egg blue I painted them when I was eleven.

On the outside, the house doesn't look much different. The town isn't much different. But I can hear the heartbeat louder than I ever did when I lived there. It's the same heartbeat that echoes in my ears when the anxiety rises. No matter where I go, no matter how it changes I am still a version of this town. I am a version of this town that does not exist anymore, a version I may only remember. There's an ache in that, an isolation, to know a place that nobody else has ever seen so intimately.

[100dayproductivity]

51/100.

Good job again yesterday caring for my toe and leg. It takes so much time though! Who has time for self-care day in and day out?? I will try to foot bath & foam roller again today but I have other priorities today.

I did get the two tasks on my list done yesterday: shred my oldest income tax documents; and sort out money owed between me and my ex. (Money owed is for expenses incurred on our children, so if one of us pays for something, the other owes their share of the expense. Normally he pays for most things and sends me a bill for my portion. Occasionally I'm the one that pays for something, which is why there is a bit of accounting involved sometimes. Yes, it's tedious.)

Continuing on with income tax, the next step is to go through my email inbox and put everything that I need for my taxes into a separate folder. One of these years I will be organized and put things in a separate folder as soon as I get them so they're already corralled come tax time, but 2022 was not the year. Geez, here's a brain wave: how about I create a 2023 folder while I'm at it so I can start doing it for this year?

Other priorities today: get ready for my week with my kids. That means grocery shopping for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack food for them. Well guess what? I already accomplished some of that this morning. I picked up bread and lunch fixings, milk and cereal. I've taken beef out of the freezer for dinner tonight. I still have fruit for their after school snack. I may need to just pop over to the produce store for some vegetables, although I may be able to make do tonight with the bit of cabbage I still have left and buy more produce tomorrow.

Other priorities today: go to the pet store to pick up litter and poop bags. Well guess what? I already did that too! (Winning!) Not only that, but I brought the dog in my care with me on the errands (she loves the pet store--they give her treats; hates the food shopping because she has to wait outside) so I got the walk and errands all done in one go before lunch.

Priorities yet to be done today: tidy kitchen table and take some fruit out of the fridge before my kids get home; tidy stove and counter tops before it's time to make supper; and put away laundry before end of the day. That reminds me, there are towels from a dog pee accident in the washing machine that have gone through a rinse but need to go through a wash cycle. Forgot about it yesterday.

My elderly cat was snuggling with me for warmth while I was writing this. Hate to disturb him when he's snuggling for warmth! But he just left so no excuses; gotta get on my chores list.

[emma-guide]

The Ultimate Keto Meal Plan: A Review

My friend Lisa told me I should try the The Ultimate Keto Meal Plan, saying that it had great recipes and that it’d help me stick to the ketogenic diet even if I wasn’t that committed to it. I bought it and tried out her recommendations, and I have to say that she was right! This book covers everything from what foods to buy at the grocery store to which brands of almond milk work best on the keto diet. It also has great recipes for keto-friendly breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, plus snacks and desserts too! Definitely worth checking out!

Introduction

The keto diet is a high-fat, low-carbohydrate diet that has gained popularity over the years as an effective way to lose weight. The goal of the keto diet is to put your body in a state of ketosis so that it can burn fat for fuel instead of carbohydrates. The ultimate keto meal plan review will take you through a step-by-step guide on how to begin this diet and provide you with a list of recipes you can try.

The first thing you need to do when starting the ketogenic diet is go into full ketosis. This means restricting your carbohydrate intake to about 20 grams per day or less for 3 or 4 days so that your body enters into this metabolic state.

What is the Keto Diet? The keto diet is a high-fat, low-carbohydrate diet that shares many similarities with the Atkins and low-carb diets. The goal of the keto diet is to get your body into a state of ketosis, which means using fat as fuel instead of carbohydrates. On the keto diet, you cut out all grains, legumes, sugar and most dairy. Unlike Atkins or other low-carb diets, you don't have to count calories on this one.

The Pros and Cons of the Keto Diet The keto diet is a very low-carb, high-fat diet that shares many similarities with the Atkins and low-carb diets. The goal of the keto diet is to force your body into a metabolic state called ketosis. Ketosis occurs when there isn't enough glucose available for energy, so the body turns to fat as an alternative energy source. When this happens, fats are broken down in the liver and turned into molecules called ketones. Ketones are then used for fuel throughout the body, including the brain. Essentially, by cutting out most carbs from your daily food intake, you're allowing your body to switch over from a sugar burner to a fat burner. This can result in quick weight loss because you'll start burning through those stored fats.

The Keto Diet Meal Plan

The Ketogenic Diet, or keto for short, is a diet plan that focuses on low-carb and high-fat foods with moderate protein. The keto diet is the ultimate keto meal plan because it has an extremely low glycemic index rating which means it can help you lose weight by regulating your blood sugar levels. Other benefits of the keto diet are that it helps with some neurological disorders and reduces hunger.

Recipes

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body. 

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.  

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can. 

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso. 

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again. 

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position  

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window. 

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit. 

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for. 

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock. 

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful. 

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain. 

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it? 

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can. 

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity. 

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge. 

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use. 

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore. 

K = Kinks 

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity. 

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold. 

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence. 

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench. 

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail. 

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping. 

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest. 

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”) 

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.   

[waitineedaname]

"Accidently ending a phone call with your roommate with a casual ‘I love you’ seems like a very good reason to move out"

For benrey @ gordon?

“And can you pick up some oat milk while you’re there? I just realized I’m out.”

“Man, oat milk freaks me out,” Benrey said, pushing their shopping cart towards the dairy section anyway. “Like, do oats even have, uh. Others?”

“Others?” There was a beat of silence as Gordon attempted to figure out exactly what the hell Benrey was talking about. “You mean udders?”

“Yeah. Cow things.”

“Dude, that’s not how oat milk works.” Gordon’s laugh made Benrey’s cheap phone speakers crackle.

“Then how does it work? Huh? Mister scientician?” Benrey propped the phone between their ear and shoulder as they opened the fridge door to grab the brand of oat milk he knew Gordon liked.

“I don’t fucking know! I’m not a goddamn milk scientist.” Even through a phone call, Benrey could hear the smile on Gordon’s face. “They squeeze juice out of the oats or smush them into a paste or something. I don’t know. Stop making me think about how oat milk works, it’s going to make me not want to drink it anymore.”

“Cool, so I’ll buy milk with extra lactose then.”

“You will not, unless you wanna deal with me laying on the couch complaining all afternoon because my stomach hurts.”

“You do that anyway.”

“Fuck off, man.” Gordon’s tone of voice didn’t carry any bite to it. “Alright, I gotta go, I’m almost at the end of the queue to pick Joshie up. I’ll see you back at home, okay?”

“Mhm. Love you, bye.” Benrey hung up and shoved their phone back in their jacket pocket. They unfolded the shopping list and attempted to decipher the mix of their own chicken scratch, Gordon’s doctor handwriting, and the occasional misspelled request for snacks in Joshua’s six year old handwriting. Okay, they had to get those frozen chicken nuggets Joshua liked, another pack of seltzer, a can of black beans since Gordon was planning to cook dinner tonight-

Thinking about Gordon made them suddenly freeze in place as they realized what they’d just done. Did… Did they just say “love you” on the phone with Gordon?

Aw, fuck.

They’d been living with Gordon for a while now. It hadn’t always been an easy thing for either of them. When they’d been freshly respawned, both of them had been jumpy around each other at best, and at worst, they were at each other’s throats trying to kill each other. It took a long time and a lot of uncomfortable conversations for them to get to the point where they could interact without an unbearable amount of tension. From there, they were able to start rebuilding an actual friendship. Turns out, they got along a lot better when they weren’t in mortal danger. Who knew!

Living with Gordon involved a lot of rules, both spoken and unspoken. They involved stuff like “don’t ask weird questions about Gordon’s feet,” “if one of them gets too angry, walk it off instead of actually fighting,” and “no gross body horror in front of Gordon’s son.” It also involved shit like “please for the love of god don’t put empty juice cartons back in the fridge” and “don’t stain the carpets with Sweet Voice, this is a rental and that security deposit is worth getting back.” So far, Benrey hadn’t had too much trouble following the rules. They had been a security guard, after all; following rules was supposed to be their thing. Besides, they were a low price to pay to get to spend time with Gordon.

One of those early unspoken rules, however, had been “keep the flirting to a minimum.” That one had been a little tricky at first, but it had been necessary, especially back when they still weren’t on the best of terms. Benrey learned that when Gordon was already worked up, blowing a kiss did the opposite of diffusing the situation. This was news to Benrey. Who didn’t love a little kiss from their buddies? Lame.

That had been an early rule, though, and one that had kind of faded into the background over time. The longer they lived together, the more physically affectionate they both got, and a little domesticity is only to be expected when you share a household. It was nice. Comfortable.

And then Benrey had to go and say “I love you” on the phone. What the fuck.

That had to be crossing a line, right? Gordon was fine with some handholding and some cuddling and they’d make dinner together once a week, but this had to be pushing it.

Benrey went through the rote motions of buying the rest of their groceries without really paying attention, too busy panicking. There was only one option. They had to move out. This was fine. This was totally fine. They could just crash on Tommy’s couch until they find a place of their own because there was no way this wasn’t going to make Gordon freak the fuck out. As much as they loved fucking with Gordon, they’d learned there was the fun kind of freaking him out and the bad kind of freaking him out. They were fairly certain this fell into the bad category.

By the time that they were walking up to their apartment door, they were already mentally packing up all their things, resigned to their fate. They were so stuck in their own head that Joshua barreling into their legs when they opened the door actually startled them.

“Benny!” Joshua cheered, clinging to their jeans.

“Hey, li’l dude.” Benrey carefully tried to push past the kid without tripping over him on the way to the kitchen. Tragically, that’s where Gordon also happened to be.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Gordon asked, taking some of the grocery bags from them. “I thought you’d gotten lost in Costco again.”

Benrey grunted noncommittally and started putting away groceries instead of answering Gordon. Maybe if they didn’t look at him, they could avoid confronting whatever Gordon’s reaction was. Yeah, definitely, this seemed like a sustainable, reasonable decision to make. Yep.

“Dude.” Gordon’s hand suddenly appeared on their forearm. Benrey stared at it, then looked up at Gordon’s concerned face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re putting carrots in the utensil drawer.”

Benrey looked down at their hands again. Oh. So they were.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from the store,” Gordon said, gently taking the carrots away from them. “Did something happen? You wanna talk about it?”

Benrey screwed their mouth up. No, they didn’t want to talk about it, but learning how to talk through things like adults was something they both had agreed to do. That had been a rule introduced by an exasperated Tommy, sick of mediating their bullshit. So, they sighed and looked away while Gordon put the carrots in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. “I was thinking about how I’ve gotta move out.”

“What?” Gordon stood up too fast and smacked his head on the freezer door. He swore loudly, and Benrey reached over to hand him a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of his head. “Thanks. But also, what? Since when are you moving out?”

“Uh, since now?” Benrey said, confused. Shouldn’t it be obvious?

“Why?”

“‘Cause I said I love you on the phone? Dummy? You, uh, a fucking old man got bad brain disease, not remembering things?” They said, defaulting to picking on Gordon to avoid focusing on anything else. Gordon stared blankly at them for a moment, then, against all odds, a grin spread across his face.

“Benrey,” He said, and Benrey decided he didn't like that tone one bit, “Are you embarrassed?”

“Whuh? No.” There was no way they could be embarrassed. That definitely wasn't what was going on here. Nope. Not a bit, “...Maybe.”

“Dude, you don't have to be embarrassed about that.” Gordon laughed. “Do you know how often I've said stupid Freudian slips? I called my sixth grade teacher mom once and wanted to change my name and move to Canada. I've been there.”

“It wasn't, uh… It wasn't too much? Not crossing a line or anything?”

“Nah, man. It was kinda sweet.” Gordon flashed him a smile and finished putting away the last of the groceries.

“Cool.” Benrey relaxed, letting go of the tension that had been building in their shoulders. “That's good ‘cause I was gonna fight you for custody of your Xbox.” Gordon snorted.

“Good fucking luck, you’re too much of a Playstation guy to win that case.”

The evening passed relatively uneventfully from there. Gordon enlisted Benrey’s help in cooking dinner, and Joshua eagerly told them all about the cool dinosaur facts he’d learned in class that day. They went through the easy routine of watching just one episode (which of course always turned into several episodes) of Joshua’s choice of TV, then Benrey helped wash up in the kitchen while Gordon put Josh to bed. Gordon joined them as they finished washing dishes and squeezed Benrey’s shoulder affectionately when they were done.

“Alright, man, I think I’m gonna head to bed early tonight.”

Benrey nodded. “Cool. I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t worry about it. G’night, dude.”

“Night, Gordon.”

“Oh, and Benrey?” Gordon paused in the doorway of his bedroom and waited until Benrey glanced up at him. Gordon smiled. “Love you too.”

He shut the door before Benrey could respond, leaving Benrey to stare blankly at the door. They let out a groan, careful not to wake Joshua. Oh, Gordon was going to be the death of them.

[matbaerzal]

Like This Pt.1 | T. Jost

Summary: Tyson is the best roommate you could ask for, you can't imagine ever living with someone else... no- no not like that, your relationship is purely platonic! > (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) A/N: First fic of the year hafsjkhf.... The reader studies Special Education, which will play a small part throughout this fic. Warnings: A short mention of sexual dreams Reader pronouns: she/her Words: 2,4K Tagging: @konecny-s @vitekvanecek @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @ricohenrique @notaccurateornice @tysojost @justjosty ... lmk if you want to be tagged ❤️

As you reach the door to your apartment you shift your second grocery bag into your left hand before fishing your keys out of your pocket. You hurry to turn the key in your lock as your arms are tired from the heavy weight of the amount of food you’d bought. You huff out as you open the door, absent-mindedly throwing the keys on the side table as you set the groceries down on the floor.

“I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?” you hear Tyson speak as you take off your coat and shoes. In the corner of your eye, you see him put his phone down before pushing his chair back, standing up, and walking over.

“Hey, how was work?”

You huff out a breath in reply, and when you see him grab the groceries you almost try to object, but relief washes over you before you can. You follow him to the kitchen with the intent to sort the food so he can get back to what he was doing, but he brushes you away.

“Go sit down - relax” he gives you a pointed look.

“Thanks” you smile, hesitantly making your way to the couch.

“You hungry?” he speaks over his shoulder as you sit down.

“Very” your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I made some dinner earlier, want me to heat it up for you?”

“Don’t you have an interview” you shout back.

“Eh, they can wait” he shrugs

Without waiting for you to reply he takes out the tupperware from the fridge before putting it in the microwave. Once it’s heated up he brings it over to you, along with a glass of water before he gets back to his interview, apologizing profusely to the journalist on the other end of the call for keeping them waiting.

Living with Tyson had its ups and downs, but all in all the two of you fit together well as roommates. You’d met him during his first year in Colorado, back then you were living on campus. You’d planned to move in with a friend of yours, but after she graduated she got a job offer in another state and decided to move, leaving you practically homeless as there was no way you’d be able to afford to live on your own at the time - and there was no chance that you were ever moving in with your dorm room roommate again. Tyson offered for you to stay with him for at least a little bit until you figured things out. Then he realized he really liked having you around. You’d hesitated, thinking he was just trying to be nice, before he practically begged you to stay.

Hundreds of comments from friends asking if you’re dating or having sex later, you’re still living with him - not dating, not having sex, never even having kissed, and neither of you wanted to cross that line. With the way you and Tyson clicked, there were a lot of people who had trouble believing you were just friends, but at this point, you felt like you knew each other too well. All your dirty laundry had been aired out between the two of you - both literally and figuratively. The smell of his week-old workout sweat in the laundry room was enough to put you off. It wouldn’t be fair to say it hadn’t crossed your mind though. Objectively he is very attractive - you can’t deny that - perhaps, maybe your mind traveled places as he walked out of the bathroom after a shower with only a towel wrapped around him. You knew for a fact that he’d thought about you too, having drunkenly admitted to you that he had a dream about you once - which explained that one morning where he wouldn’t meet your eye and couldn’t have gotten out of the door quicker.

But neither of you ever acted on your attraction, it was pushed into the back of your minds - ignored completely. Because that’s all it was, an attraction, and nothing more.

You watch him as he continues his interview, zoning out as you eat your food. You hear every tone of his voice, completely focused on him but at the same time not registering a single thing he’s saying. It’s only when he looks over at you that you’re shaken out of it.

“Is it alright?” he whispers, covering the microphone.

You shake your head as you're brought back to the real world, it takes your brain a few seconds to catch what he said and your cheeks feel warm as he chuckles - “Hm?”

“The food? Is it alright?”

“Mm, yeah” you take another bite, resting the fork in the food container as you reach for the TV remote to distract yourself.

You’d been swamped with work lately, between your studies and your part-time job as a teaching assistant, you barely had time to take a breather. Your third year studying Special Education at the University of Denver was hectic, any time not spent at work or on campus or studying at home was spent either eating or sleeping in your bed. Tyson could see how tired you were whenever you came home, he always cooked a little extra for his dinner so you wouldn’t go to bed without eating first. His mediocre pasta meals always tasted like heaven after the long days you had.

By the time Tyson plops down on the couch you’re finished eating and zoned out on an episode of New Girl.

“Do you have any plans on Sunday?” he asks and you shake your head - “just studying, writing”.

“Wanna come to the game? I completely get it if you just want to stay in-”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to” you perk up, you hadn’t been to a game in who knows how long and you’d put aside your assignments at least for a little while if Tyson ever asked you to. He never had to ask before, you’d come whenever you had time, but it’d been seven weeks now - Tyson kept count.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Tys, really” you pat his thigh - keeping your hand there a touch longer before removing it when you meet his soft eyes.

--

You wake up late on Sunday, head stuck to the pillow, body hesitant to leave the bed. You’d already woken up once and decided to sleep longer so you force yourself out of bed, put some clothes on and go to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. Just as you get the milk from the fridge your apartment door opens, signaling that Tyson’s home from his morning skate.

“Good morning” he smirks at you, his eyes running over your thrown-together outfit and noting the remnant of sleep in your eyes.

You nod, trying to speak through the mouthful you just took, making Tyson squint his eyes in a laugh. He waits patiently for you to finish so you can repeat your question to him - “how was the skate?”

“It was alright, easily gonna have a nap after I eat though”

“Want some cereal?” you arch your brow. He stops and thinks for a second, contemplating if he should say yes, or make his usual scrambled eggs - “you know what? Yeah” he decides. You raise your brows at him, about to make a comment but he interrupts you. “Yeah, yeah pour me a bowl before I change my mind”.

You hold your hands up - “wasn’t gonna say anything” you try, but he doesn’t look convinced. You rush to get him a bowl and a spoon, setting them down for him, pouring in some cereal as he comes over to sit next to you on your kitchen island. He pours the milk himself before lifting the bowl to clink against yours, muttering “cheers” before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

You sit in comfortable silence as you eat your food, moving around each other as you put the bowls in the sink to worry about later. You walk to the couch and open your laptop to get some work done before you have to get ready for the game.

“Do you ever take a break?” Tyson yawns, laying down on the couch next to you, his head landing on a pillow close by your thighs.

You figure his questions rhetorical, but his eyes stay on you as you start typing away on your essay. “I’m taking a break later, y’know, at the game”

“No, I mean like a real break, like flat out on the couch, books closed-”

“You’re funny”

“I’m serious”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time for breaks Tys”

He goes quiet after that, a thoughtful look on his face as he settles into the couch, your eyes linger on him for a moment before you go back to writing your essay. It doesn’t take long for his breath to get heavy, the small snores escaping him making you smile. As you skim through an article you might use for your essay your free hand finds his hair - his curls too soft to resist running your hand through. His snoring stops as your hand first makes contact making you freeze, but he’s nuzzling into the pillow and snoring again before you know it.

Even after you’ve read the article your hand stays in his hair and you do your best to type with one hand, only opting to use your right hand when absolutely necessary. You were in tweaking stages so luckily you could keep one hand planted in his hair most of the time. You’re checking the clock here and there, knowing he didn’t set an alarm and that he didn’t like napping too long on game days, but just as you’re about to wake him he leans into your touch, eyes slowly blinking open as he hums, absentmindedly you brush his hair away from his forehead - “sleep well?”

“Like a baby” he smiles, “what time is it?”

“uh, two-thirty” you glance over at the little clock on your computer.

He leans into your hand one more time as if to savor the feel before he starts to get up, once on his feet he stretches his arms above his head, you can’t help but look as his t-shirt lifts to reveal his stomach, but you avert your eyes quickly and hope he doesn’t notice. If he did, he doesn’t comment, “want me to make dinner for you too?” he throws the words your way over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?” you tease, fully well knowing the answer, even saying it with him once he replies - “chicken and pasta”.

You turn your head to look at him, and he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you when you smirk at him.

“Yeah, yeah” he brushes you off - “do you want some or no?”

“Yes, please” you smile.

He quickly makes the food, the recipe burned into his brain from making it time after time. He puts a little extra cheese on your plate, coming over to the couch with both plates once he’s done. You close your computer, place it to the side, and take the plate he hands to you with ease. Once your plates are scraped it’s time for Tyson to get ready, change into his suit and leave for the arena.

He walks out of his room wearing one of his three-piece suits and if you didn’t have the restraint you’d built up over the time you’d lived with him you’re sure you would’ve drooled at the sight. You’d think he was doing it on purpose, but you’d never let your weakness for the vest-jacket pairing slip, and he looks oblivious as he meets your eyes. The little spin he does for you does nothing to help and you have to give yourself credit for being so collected when he raises his brows as if to ask: “Is this alright?”.

“Looking good, Tys. I’ll see you after the game” you get off the couch as you speak and give him a quick hug, his phone pinging with a message signaling that JT is waiting for him downstairs as you break away.

“See you later,” he says.

“Kick some Dallas butt.”

He laughs as he walks through the door leaving you to yourself. You don’t wait long until you start getting ready yourself, not being able to focus on your writing with the anticipation of the game in the back of your mind. You put your lucky Avalance hoodie on, grabbing your coat before leaving with more than enough time to catch the warm-ups. There’s a couple of familiar faces there when you arrive. You’d met the players’ girlfriends a few times, mostly in this exact setting and you fell right back into the group again. You felt for them, having to watch their boyfriends play such an unpredictable sport. You guess you could imagine how it felt at least a little, living with Tyson and all, but the energy they brought to every game was admirable.

The game was tight, the boys fell behind in the first period but in the second and third they were no doubt the better team, but the puck just wouldn’t go in the net. With ten minutes left they manage to tie it and with 5 minutes left Tyson takes a tripping penalty. They killed the penalty and scored not long after to secure the win, but you could see Tyson beating himself up over the penalty that could’ve cost them the game. The look on his face as he sat in the penalty box is something you keep in the back of your mind as you leave with the girls to meet him.

He’s one of the first ones to come out of the locker rooms, head hanging low. Gabe pats him on the shoulder before he greets his wife, Tyson throws a forced smile towards his captain that seems genuine to anyone that doesn’t know him the way you do. The smile reaches his eyes once he sees you though and he drapes his arm over your shoulder when he reaches you, leading you towards the garage - “Let’s go home”

To be continued...

---- Copyright © @matbaerzal (2021)

[rowanaelinn]

Fire on Fire - Chapter Six

this is finally going somewhere! i had to cut this chapter in two otherwise it would have been six thousand words so… sorry for the cut😬

Warning for sucidal thoughts in this chapter.

chapter five // chapter seven

“She did not!” Aelin laughed loudly, still in her nightclothes. “Why do we always miss that?”

“Miss what?” Sam asked as he entered the room, two bowls of cereals in his hands. He gave one to Lysandra and brought two spoons so Aelin could eat in his bowl. Lysandra and Aelin just woke up, it was four in the afternoon and Aelin didn’t eat anything since last night, so she was starving.

Aelin, Lysandra, Nehemia, and Sam might have partied a little too hard last night. So this morning, Aelin and Lysandra decided to stay home. Sam didn’t look happy about Aelin missing class but he didn’t say anything, knowing Aelin’s mind was made. He came back from school an hour ago and woke them up.“Gods, I love these cereals,” she moaned at the taste. Aelin loved food, and it showed on her body. The only good thing about her injury is that now she didn’t have to pay attention to everything she ate to fit in stupid costumes. She might miss dancing but she loved food more.

“I finished the last box, by the way.”

Aelin nodded, making a mental note she’ll have to ask Quinn to go grocery shopping as soon as she could.

“Leave me some, Lys,” Nehemia said as she threw herself on Aelin’s bed. She was glad to have a gigantic bed when the four of them were home, which is almost all the time lately. Nehemia threw her hair behind her shoulder, silently asking her friends to pay attention to them.

“That color suits you, Mia,” Aelin smiled and it was genuine. Nehemia had fresh new braids, they started black but ended in a deep ocean blue. The girl never wanted boring colors in her hair and almost everything suited her. Lysandra and Sam agreed with her, making Nehemia smile arrogantly. But Aelin knew that Nehemia was hiding a real smile behind that.

“Might dye my hair blue to match you,” Aelin said and Nehemia looked thrilled.

“Don’t you dare!” Sam said, turning to Aelin and almost spilling the cereals and milk on her bed. “Your hair is so pretty. Buy a wig but don’t you dare dye it.”

“Excuse me?”

He pouted, “Please?” Even with this ridiculous face, he stayed beautiful. She loved the twinkle of mischief, the hint of exasperation at her, and the kindness that made her feel good, the kindness that made her want to be the best person she could be.

“Okay,” She sighed and he had a victorious smile drawn on his face. “Let’s go for the wig.”

He smiled and kissed her, pout-ring all his love for her in it. She could spend years kissing him. “You two are gross,” Lysandra complained, Sam and Aelin pulled apart and Aelin sent her best friend a vulgar gesture.

“Anyway, Lys, what did we miss?” Sam asked again, this boy was the most curious of the four. He liked to hear gossip about everyone.

“Ansel was high at Nox’s party two days ago.” Aelin was sad they missed a party just to be at a Gala, but her parents were home for once and demanded that she was with them.

“You’re joking?” Nehemia asked and laughed as she took Lysandra’s spoon to eat some cereals. The brunette threw the dark-skinned girl a look that promised violence.

“You’ll never see me taking drugs, that’s for sure,” Aelin sighed and rested her head on Sam’s shoulder. “God, I already regret drinking twice in a week.”

“Good,” Sam said and she rolled her eyes.

The four friends spent hours talking and laughing together. They practically all lived at her home, anyway. Sam and Lysandra’s families were fucked up enough, so they spent their time here. Nehemia’s parents worked too much to notice that she didn’t come home most nights. Aelin’s parents were never here either, so she welcomed the company.

When it started getting dark outside, Aelin’s phone rang. She had no idea who called her but it could be one of her parents, calling her from wherever they were now or even Aedion who had a habit to lose his phone.

“Hello?”

“Aelin?” A deep voice asked and Aelin thought she recognized it in the back of her brain but she couldn’t put a name on who it belonged to.

“I’m not trying to be rude but, who are you?”

The man laughed and the sound gave her chills. “It’s Arobynn Hamel. Your mother was supposed to give you my phone number but I guess she forgot.”

Her body froze. Arobynnn Hamel. Of course, she knew that voice, she had watched enough interviews of him to become familiar with it, she even met him two days ago. She sat straighter in her bed, attracting the worried gaze of her three friends. With a more serious face than they had ever seen, Aelin motioned for them to remain silent.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry, Mister Hamel. She didn’t give me your number, I’m very sorry.” She was so embarrassed, Mala knew how much Aelin would be mad at her mom for it. Her friends looked surprised at who called her.

“Calm down, Aelin. It’s okay.” He comforted her as he laughed softly. “And call me Arobynn.”

“Alright.” She said and waited for him to explain why he was calling her, not that she wasn’t happy about it because she was. She just knew she would embarrass herself if she opened her mouth and started talking.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” He asked and Aelin furrowed her brows. That was weird but exciting at the same time.

“No, I am free. Why?”

“We didn’t have a lot of time to talk Saturday and I think it’s a shame. I am still in Orynth for two days and would like to talk with you. Your mother told me you wanted to be an author or work in the publishing industry, is it true?”

“Yes,” it was the fastest answer of her life. Yes, she had always dreamed of working around books.

“From what I’ve heard, Aelin Galathynius, you are special. I’d like to see that by myself. Allow me to take you out for dinner tomorrow and we can talk about your future.”

If Arobynn Hamel helped her… She could become a successful author. She could picture it, a small house, Sam at her side, a study full of books she wrote, a life away from the spotlight, a happy life. It’s exactly what she wanted. Special, he thought she was special.

“Dress code?”

He laughed again and Aelin couldn’t help but smile. “Something like the dress you had on Saturday should be good. I’ll pick you up at seven, is it good for you?”

“Perfect.”

They hung up and she looked at her friend, still surprised, and smile. She was thoughtfully happy.

“Aelin?” Aedion asked, tearing her from her daydream. “You there?”

“Sorry. What is it?” She was tired and hungover, she didn’t get lots of sleep last night and she was feeling the effects. Dorian had left early this morning, long before anyone woke up. It was better than having to face Aedion’s judgmental looks.

“I asked if your scholarship got renewed for next year, Lysandra got the answer in the mail yesterday so you’re supposed to have yours too, right?” She looked up from her bowl of cereals, confused for a second. When she met Rowan Whitethorn’s face, with the same confused expression as her, she remembered.

Lysandra, Aedion, and everyone else believed she got a scholarship, frankly, she had no idea how they believed her. But they never had a reason to distrust her, that’s probably the reason.

Most of her relation with Arobynn was secret and the money he spent on her was part of the lie.

“Yeah, everything is taken care of.” She smiled, it was the truth in a way. She dared to look at Rowan and she didn’t why, didn’t know how, but she knew he didn’t believe her. She could see it in his frown and eyes.

“Good,” her cousin smiled as he drank his coffee.

She smiled back, he was worried for her, she knew it. It’s exactly why she didn’t tell him anything, he didn’t need the stress. “I’ve got everything under control.”

---------

“What are you still doing here?” Arobynn asked, startling Aelin. She had been too busy on her computer to hear him coming. “It’s past nine, we finished hours ago.”

They both had worked for hours today and she was tired. “What are you still doing here?” She asked.

“I asked first, darling.” He sat in his chair in front of her. She was still in her seat, the chair almost belonged to her for all the time she spent on it. She wanted to be annoyed at him but today had been different. He had been different. He wasn’t the Arobynn she had known years ago but he was close, closer than he usually was lately. Aelin was pretty sure he hadn’t had a drink all day, which could explain his mood. That was a good thing.

“I’m writing and waiting for my cousin to check his damn phone so he can pick me up.”

“Where’s your car?”

“Broken,” she grilled through her teeth. The damn truck had decided not to work this morning, causing Aelin to have a nervous breakdown. “A friend of mine had a look at it and told me it would cost me more to repair it than to buy a new one, so here I am, depending on my cousin.” She hated it, hated to depend on someone. But it seemed to happen a lot lately, so she might have to get used to it. “What are you doing here?” She repeated.

“My meeting lasted two hours,” he said, his voice hard.

“Ah, sucks when you have to actually do your job, right?” She remarked and didn’t know if it was a reproach for the way he over-worked her or a teasing. Maybe both, she didn’t want to wonder about it too much.

“Someone’s feisty today,” he joked and she fought a small smile. “Ready for Monday?”

“I already told you no, Arobynn.”

“Why not? You finish the school year in four days.”

“I have a job, Arobynn. I can’t just-”

“Everything’s taken care of.” He cut her off with a smile. It was the kind of smile that told her he had done something and was feeling rather proud of it.

“What.”

“Did you know Rofle was my friend? After a drink or two, he agreed to let you come back in September, right after your internship at Hamel Publishing.”

“And you did that after I told you no?” Her tone was rising. “And are you friends with everyone here?”

He rose from his seat to stand right before her. She had to raise her head to look him in the eye. One of his calloused hands rested on her cheek, caressing her cheekbone. "You know how powerful I am." She did, Arobynn wasn’t just a successful author or the CEO of a publishing company, those were just hobbies for him. He had grown up in a rich family, had been raised to be like every rich people. He had learned how fake smiles and words were weapons, how to manipulate people. He had a way to manipulate everyone he called his friends, whether it was a picture, a video, or a letter. He had something on everyone. “I once promised you I would make you shine, Aelin. I won’t let a shitty job ruin that promise.” For years he had told her she was special, he had told her she could reach the stars should she just let him help her. And for years she had believed him, so she decided to do it again. She only nodded and it seemed to be enough for him.“I’m calling a cab for you.”

“No.”

“No?” His voice was surprised. “Is it because of the money?”

“For fuck sake Arobynn I can afford a cab ride,” that was a total lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “I just… can’t.”

Understanding and pity flashed on Arobynn’s face and she had to keep herself from yelling at him for it. “You still can’t?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She said voice hard that didn’t let room for questions.

“Pack your things, I’ll drive you.” This was what Arobynn from four years ago would have said, what the Arobynn she had come to know would have said. In a flicker of hope, she said yes. Hope that she could erase what happened between them, that she would forget like Arobynn repeatedly asked her to, and just start again because she didn’t know how to survive another person leaving her.

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

It was the middle of the night when Rowan heard her cries.

At first, he had ignored them, trying to give her privacy. It was unusual of her to let someone hear her, so Rowan thought it might be very bad. But after five minutes of cries, he couldn’t stay in his bed anymore.

When he walked into her room, his heart broke a little. She was in bed, sleeping, trashing against the sheets, crying, and trying to talk. Even with only the light from the bathroom, he could see the pain written all over her face.

He couldn’t take it, he couldn’t just walk back to his room and ignore her. So, he shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up but it didn’t work. She kept jerking in her bed as if she was fighting with the pillows and her blanket.

“Aelin,” he said, using both his hands to shake her. “Aelin,” he repeated louder. Her eyes jerked open, she turned her head several times, trying to figure out where she was. Her whole body shook and a second later she leaned over the bed and vomited her guts out. Rowan held her hair back, avoiding touching her directly so as not to overwhelm her.

When she lay back down in bed, she was still crying, her limbs shaking as if she were hypothermic even though Rowan could see the sweat glistening on her skin.

Rowan had only seen one person look so wrecked in his entire life, himself. He saw it every time he woke up and looked into the mirror. It was worse ten years ago because he had no idea how to hide it, in a decade he learned how to conceal everything. How to recognize which night was most likely to give him a nightmare, learned how to stay quiet while he felt like dying inside.

“You should take a shower,” Rowan said, voice softer than he has ever used with her. He had been wrong, so wrong.

“I don’t think I have the strength.”

“To shower?” He asked but there was no judgment, he only wanted to make sure.

“To live.” Her small voice broke and his heart did too. When she looked up at him, eyes filled with tears, Rowan didn’t see anything but desperation and loathing. He knew it wasn’t directed at him but at herself.

“Come here,” he said as he slid his arms under her body. “We’re gonna clean you up, okay?” He lifted her up from her bed, avoiding the content of her stomach on the floor as her weak arms curled around his neck and he guided her to the bathroom.

————

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy

[kaistarus]

The Only Exception

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Nishinoya was genuinely happy with his life. He’d gotten used to being by himself and had accepted the fact that that was how it was supposed to be. Until you came along and threw everything he thought made sense out the window.

A/N: I really like this fic. It’s one of my favorites Nishinoya ones so far just because it’s his pov and timeskip and the amount of love feels makes me happy. i got a lot of serotonin while writing it :D

Masterlist

Nishinoya had never been someone’s first choice.

He knew that sounded dramatic, but it was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, Tanaka could chug three-fourths gallon of milk before vomiting, and Nishinoya was never anyone’s preferred option--which never bothered him so keep the pity to yourself.

He learned to accept this when he never got scouted for the All-Japan Youth Camp and after the only person Nishinoya ever even kind of loved ended up loving his best friend. It taught him to keep his expectations low and to focus on things he could control, which was what led him to solo-traveling Japan and then the world. He realized things might be better on his own, and with the constant itch that he was missing out on something bigger traveling alone just made sense.

But then you came and ruined everything.

Hold on. That came off way more aggressive than Nishinoya wanted. He meant there was a perfect vision for how his life would go-pyramids in Egypt, Hollywood sign in Los Angeles, deep sea fishing in Italy-until he toppled over you in the streets of Italy. He’d been sprinting toward the docks when you stepped out of a marketplace and he collided into you, knocking you flat on your butt and sending your groceries all over the sidewalk. Nishinoya fumbled through his best apology in broken Italian while shoving produce into your paper bag, but froze in surprise when you snorted rather than began an enraged lecture.

He swore his heart actually stopped when your eyes met. You were clearly amused by his flustered behavior and when his heart started back up it was abnormally fast. Not once had he understood what Tanaka meant when he explained the first time he’d seen Kiyoko, but the first time Nishinoya saw you everything Tanaka said clicked. If Nishinoya had been fifteen he probably would’ve proposed to you on the spot.

But he wasn’t, so instead he shakily handed you your groceries with furiously red cheeks.

“Come ti chiami?” You asked with a raised brow.

Nishinoya blinked several times. He racked his brain for what he’d been taught on his last fishing trip, but it was mostly curses and inappropriate sayings he should probably avoid using. He was pretty sure Duolingo mentioned ‘chiamo’ as name though.

“Nishinoya?” He answered like a question and felt relief wash over him when you nodded.

“What are you doing this weekend, Nishinoya?”

He stared blankly before pointing at you with wide eyes, “I understood that.”

“Well you obviously don’t know Italian,” you rolled your eyes and he pouted at the incredibly accurate jab, “so, are you free?”

He looked around the empty street before pointing to himself. “Are you still talking to me?”

“Is there another Nishinoya around here?”

“I mean, there could be.” He looked up thoughtfully. “The odds would be crazy though.”

You laughed lightly which made a warmth creep up his neck. “I’m talking to you. I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“You’re attractive and you seem nice,” you cocked your head to the side. “Is that not a good reason?”

He stared at the ground intensely. “I guess… It is?” Then his original reason for being there struck him and his eyes widened. “Oh shit. I have to go,” he started leaving before quickly coming back. “Wait, I, uh, yes. Yes to the date thing.”

You chuckled, pulling a cellphone from your pocket to let him hurriedly create his contact before continuing his sprint to the docks-with a teasing recommendation not to knock anyone else over. That literal run in was the moment his entire world view became out of whack.

It wasn’t that he thought he was immune to liking someone-high school Nishinoya fell for any breathing human that gave him attention-he just lost the ability to imagine someone liking him. Maybe he’d been by himself too long or maybe that was just another fact he’d grown used to. He didn’t know anymore.

He did know that when he showed up at the restaurant thirty minutes early-there’s only so much pacing someone can do before they go insane-he hadn’t expected to see you. Just sitting on a bench beside the main entrance, looking too perfect while bouncing a knee and nibbling on your thumb nail as if you were nervous to be there.

Except it was only him, so that wouldn’t make sense.

“Hey,” you said when you spotted him standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“You’re here,” he raised a brow. You took it as the time, but he meant it in a general sense. He truly hadn’t expected you to show up.

“Oh,” you chuckled awkwardly, twisting the material of your clothes. “Yeah, I was kind of nervous.”

He mulled that over for admittedly too long, but it just seemed like such a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t that you looked stupid, but that’s what made it so confusing.

“You’re also early.” You pointed out when the silence became awkwardly long.

“I was nervous.” He said like it should have been obvious.

“At least we’re starting on equal ground,” you said with a shaky breath.

Equal ground? He wasn’t sure his brain was cut out for this type of critical thinking. He’d even spent the past few days planning for every scenario-even you sneaking out the bathroom like in the movies-but he never pictured you being nervous.

“Uh, yeah,” he tapped against his leg while glancing through the window at the half-filled dining area, “we can probably go inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you gave him a quick finger gun before whipping around with shoulders to your ears.

Nishinoya blinked several times before looking back down the street. A part of him thought about running, saving you both from the shitty date to come filled with awful conversation starters he’d pulled from an online article for high schoolers. However his fate was sealed the moment you sent a gentle smile over your shoulder and his feet began following you through the door without his permission.

Ever since that day he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since you giggled behind your hand instead of wincing at the terrible jokes he regretted the moment they left his mouth; ever since you weren’t burdened by the need to translate for him the whole night; and ever since you were amused rather than annoyed at his nervous rambling and awkward icebreakers.

It was just too good to be true.

Like the first time you came over and teased him for the cheesy dialogue in his favorite action movies. How his chest ached when your head rested in his lap and you gazed at him with overwhelming amounts of affection. He’d never dreamed he’d have this-couldn’t have if he tried. Sharing his favorite things with someone while they traced designs against his palm and occasionally sealing them with featherlight kisses. The fire it sent up his arm was too much and not enough and he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this.

It was a little scary how much Nishinoya didn’t want to lose it.

And that thought started keeping him up at night. Nishinoya was never really scared of anything-it was kind of what he was known for everywhere he traveled. If anyone needed something done they asked the foreigner with a death wish. So, the idea that you had that effect on him was, again, terrifying.

But what was Nishinoya supposed to do when you press your forehead against his in the middle of the night? Running your fingers through his hair and paying special attention to the blonde strands he’d always been secretly self-conscious of, whispering low how they were one of your favorite things in the world. How could he regret anything when you rubbed your nose lazily against his and kissed him softer than he ever deserved? He didn’t give a shit how scared he was if it meant he could stay like this, with you, for as long as you’d let him.

Because his heart raced a million miles a second when you mindlessly held his hand under a table or leaned against him just to be close. Because for some reason he was the first person you called when you were excited or when you needed comfort. Because when he rambled too long about spearfishing or an old friend’s volleyball game your eyes lit with genuine interest rather than annoyance. And because he was in love with you.

Which he both wasn’t prepared for and had known was inevitable. Falling for you had been like getting hit by a semi-truck he’d seen coming for miles.

It probably happened sooner than socially acceptable, but that didn’t surprise him given his all or nothing nature. This outcome was decided the moment Nishinoya knew he’d be fine with you breaking his heart a hundred times if it meant he could keep waking up next to you cascaded by the rising sun because he was still too lazy to invest in curtains. Just you cuddling closer to him for warmth in your sleep would make every ounce of pain worth it.

Once Nishinoya’d acknowledged his feelings it was nearly impossible keeping them down. With every breathtaking smile, or brush of your hand against his, or bubble of laughter that rang throughout his apartment it nearly spilled from his lips like a breath. It took all self-restraint he had to hold it back. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know because you deserved this piece of him-every piece of him.

He just wasn’t sure you’d want it.

His resolve lasted nearly a month-a month longer than he thought he was capable-before the feeling was too intense for him to keep down. And it wasn’t anything drastic that made him break. No, it was something so absurdly casual that he was almost pissed at himself when the words flowed from his mouth.

It had been a completely average morning, nothing crazy, the weather was actually gross with rain pounding against the windows and the sky a depressing shade of grey. But then you stepped out of his bathroom while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, giving him a lopsided smile before slurring a soft request for breakfast. It was like time froze and he was in a stupid romcom except you were there so it was actually an oscar nominated masterpiece.

Your head lolled to the side, half-lidded eyes filling with concern at his silence. “We can cook together. I didn’t mean it like-”

“I love you.”

That seemed to wake you up. Your body straightened while your mouth hung open in stunned silence. Nishinoya had expected this kind of reaction, so he clenched his fists tight in preparation for the worst.

“Are you sure?” You asked, barely above a whisper. “That’s a pretty serious word, Noya.”

He knew that. Nishinoya had spent too many nights losing sleep over that.

“You scare me,” he confessed, deciding if he was going to dig his grave he might as well make it deep. “I’ve never really been the one someone chooses. More like deal or settle with.” He grimaced when his heart squeezed painfully in his chest, “but I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone and that scares me. You make me feel wanted and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Because I do want you.” You whispered and his stare locked on yours so quickly, meeting your loving gaze while his heart started racing. “And everyone you know must be really stupid because I feel lucky I got to choose you. I get to love you.”

He stared at you wide-eyed while his chest swelled with so much emotion he was surprised he hadn’t passed out.

“Sorry, that sounded really lame.” You placed a hand against your forehead and Nishinoya shook his head vigorously.

“I think that was the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You stepped closer and cradled his face, gently brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. If he wasn’t so manly and awesome he may have teared up, but he definitely didn’t. Which was why you obviously weren’t wiping any water off his cheeks before pulling his lips against yours.

Nishinoya set a languid pace that turned desperate when you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled you as close as he could, which was never enough, snaking an arm around your middle and sliding one to cradle the back of your head. 

When it got heated enough that he decided he’d very much like to move it to his bedroom Nishinoya’s stomach growled and you snorted against his lips. Nishinoya pouted, whining when you pulled away with a playful smirk.

“Later,” you said, pinching his cheeks and waving his head around. “Food first. We’re both hungry.”

He did love food.

He disrespectfully watched you leave him in favor of searching the fridge for food that could be thrown together for breakfast. A dopey smile covered his lips because he loved you. He was lucky enough to get to love you. And for some ridiculous fucking reason you were dumb enough to love him.

He would do whatever he could to keep it this way. For now, that was helping you cook breakfast. Tomorrow, who knows? But whatever it was you would be there, so it would be pretty god damn amazing.

[meetinginsamarra]

221 Plants for Sherlock Challenge

my entry for @sherlockchallenge​ October prompt “Plant”

also posted on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/34365841

221 Plants

“I´m back with the shopping,” John shouted when he reached the landing to 221b.

“That´s quite obvious going by the insufferable noise you made while stomping upwards.” John might as well have expected Sherlock´s voice sounding utterly bored.

“Well, since you´ve not deigned to help me with the heavy bags you´ll have to endure the noise.”

“Couldn´t help. I´m busy.”

“As if you´d ever. Sloth.”

“Elephant.”

John hauled his booty into the flat, the ancient brainstem-transmitted feeling of having killed the mammoth and thus ensured the survival of the Neanderthal clan made him high on endorphins. Even more, this time he´d also successfully navigated the enchanted forest of supermarket aisles in record time and subdued the terrible sabretooth tiger in form of the credit card-eating chip-and-pin machine which added an additional adrenaline boost and a feeling of omnipotence.

On his way into the kitchen John wondered again what the jungle-like array of potted plants cluttering the coffee table was for. He´d refrained from asking this morning when he´d gone to work. Often, it was better for John´s mental health not to know the reason behind each of Sherlock´s wacky doings. Although knowing now might probably benefit his physical health since the jungle had spread considerately and was already obstructing the whole area around the sofa as well.

John entered the kitchen, in his mind already putting away the milk and desperately hoping there´d be no head in the  fridge again, so he was slow to register Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table with a syringe sticking in his arm.

“What the fuck are you doing?” John ogled the needle suspiciously.

Green-ish eyes blinked surprised. “Drawing blood,” Sherlock fiddled one-handed with the tourniquet, “obviously.”

“Why?”

“Experiment.”

“I could have helped with that if you´d waited.”

“Too late now, I´ve already taken mine.”

“I did not offer my blood but to help you drawing yours.”

“Still too late.”

John started packing away the groceries. “So?”

“So what?”

“What are you drawing it for?”

“Digestion of human blood.”

John was used to Sherlock´s weird ways but this was strange even for him. “Did you turn into a vampire now?”

“Nonsense, it´s for a case.”

“Which?”

Sherlock threw John an exasperated look. “Lestrade has an exsanguinated corpse and no one knows where all the blood has vanished to. I will prove that it´s been fed to the victim´s collection of carnivorous plants.”

“Ah. So you needed to install a jungle in the sitting-room?”

“Excellent deduction, John.”

“By buying dozens of Venus flytraps?”

“221 exactly. Do keep up.”

John scoffed, “I´m not the most observant person but I know exactly you´re totally making this up.”

Taken by surprise, Sherlock´s mouth went slack, trying to think of a witty reply but none came up.

Something clicked in John´s brain. “It´s to do with the movie I made you watch last weekend, right?”

Sherlock squirmed under John´s inquiring look. “Maybe?”

“You hated it.”

“I hate all the movies you make me watch. Especially the musicals.”

“Why watch them at all?”

“Because you liked it,” Sherlock mused, “I mean, her.”

“Her who?”

“Audrey.”

John´s whole brain was clicking suddenly. “Oh! You noticed I liked the alien blood-drinking plant in “Little Shop of Horrors” named Audrey II.”

“I may not follow the plot but I do register when you´re happy.”

“That´s actually sweet of you.”

Sherlock blushed, “You´ve been very pleased when she ate the obnoxious dentist.”

“Everyone likes their dentist to get eaten.”

“So, I wanted to make you happy.”

“How would feeding your blood to the bloody,” John chuckled at the involuntary pun, “Venus flytrap forest in the sitting-room make me happy?”

“By trying to grow a plant able of digesting human blood like Audrey,” Sherlock smiled shyly, “as a gift for your birthday next week.”

John was about to praise this unexpected bout of altruistic thoughtfulness when he noticed the mischievous glint lighting up in Sherlock´s eyes.

“I´m flattered but I see you have an ulterior motive.”

“Erm.” Sherlock hesitated. John was getting dangerously observant.

“Out with it!”

“If it works I´d also gift one to Mycroft, telling him this breed smells of cake. Would teach him a lesson if Audrey III bit him in the fat nose.”

Delighted, John laughed. “Brilliant, go on then!”

🙏If you liked reading please consider clicking the link to the AO3 post https://archiveofourown.org/works/34365841 so my ficlet gets all your hits, too. Thanks!🙏