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tiens-letters · 4 years ago

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with these hands, I vowed to love you

with these hands, I vowed to care for you

and with these hands, I ruined you

Childe (angst)

tw : slight gore and just pure pain

...

It was that time of the year again, going back to the snowy region was a bliss for you. Having to visit your fiancée's family was an unspoken tradition after he introduced you to them. They practically took you in as one of them immediately, especially that little angel brother of his.

Teucer.

The train ride was comfortable , the window giving you the familiar beauty of the snowy landscape of snezhenaya. It was snug inside the rather spacious compartment Childe rented out, even when you told him that you'd rather share a normal one due to your thrifty nature he'd shrug it off, claiming it that he has too much mora and nowhere to spend it on other than you.

Gifts from him would scare you as you knew these weren't anywhere cheap. Everything he gave was expensive, he loved showering you in gifts and it made you feel so overwhelmed.

"Ajax, you're spending too much." you were visibly sweating beside him as he picked out another one of the dresses on display at the local boutique of Liyue.

"I think this one would suit you better, don't you think so love?" of course he wasn't listening, placing the dress in front of you

"Ajax." you frowned at him

" I just want to spoil you." he whines

"I know but sometimes its just..." you stopped yourself before saying anything further in fear of offending him

"Was it too much again?" the tone in his voice softens as he puts back the dress, he knew how you didn't like that habit of his, formed from the first time he saw you down by the docks.

"One dress, Ajax. One is enough since you picked it out for me." you gave in not wanting to see him so dejected, he immediately brightens up as he pecks you on cheek before rushing off to a different aisle of clothing. Sighing, you sat down on the sofa present in the shop, watching the ginger decide thoroughly of what dress to buy.

But of course, your love for one another runs deeper than things bought off gold nor silver. No, it ran deeper than anything else, rivaling the oceanic depths.

"What are you thinking about hmm?" he hums below you, head resting against your lap.

"Im just happy to be visiting again, that's all." you smile, nimble hands brushing through his soft hair "Sleep well?"

"You bet I did." he grins taking your hand and placing a kiss to your beating pulse and then another and another, showering you in his deeply rooted affection. Soon his kisses reached where they are supposed to belong, those soft lips of yours and then inching their way to the sensitive spots on your neck, leaving marks only he can place on you.

Breathless and bothered, you pushed him back "The attendants are gonna see, you idiot." at least you still had some control in you

"They will only arrive when we call them , so its fine to have a little fun before we arrive." there was that sly grin of his as he continued in where you both left off, ears perking to hear more sounds exclusively for him and him only.

"You horny bastard!"

...

It was cozy by the hearth, you and his siblings huddled together in one single fleece blanket, steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Childish giggles and hushed stories erupted amongst you. Teucer having wrapped in your arms as he snuggled closer. Anthon and Tonia flanking your sides.

"Hey, who's fiancé do you think you guys are coveting?"

"Oh don't be like that, your siblings just miss them." his mother chided from the couch where she sat, an open book on her lap, she didn't seem to age and always looked so young that at first you were shocked to have been introduced to her.

"But mom, I haven't seen her all day." her son pouts as if he were still a child denied his candy

"Give me a break, you're always clinging onto her you know." his sister rolls those identical thalassic eyes at him "You wont die if you go a day without her."

"Listen here you little---"

"Ajax." you interjected, as much as you enjoy the siblingly banter of theirs, you cant have them going at each other with offensive words. His pleading gaze aimed at you as he practically begged for you both to go home.

"Please?"

"After I put Teucer to bed." you sighed, standing up with the youngest in your arms

"Seriously this guy." his sister groaned "I was having a good time."

"Tonia dear, we can continue our conversations tomorrow." you winked at her, it was a promise

"Fine."

Both of you bid farewell to his mother and made your way towards Teucer's room and tucking him in.

"Happy?" you turned to your fiancée, a narrowed look in your eyes as he grinned beside you

"Of course, sweetheart!" he pecked your lips as he pulled you closer

"Can you not do it in Teucer's room? Have some shame." his siblings' comments were endless, this time it was from his older brother.

"That's why were going home." Childe picked you up as you made a surprised yelp making the other party roll his eyes "Also, get ready to lose tomorrow brother. I'm getting that white deer for my lady."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The walk was short towards Childe's home as he preferred living alone. It was a grandiose manor and you were sure you will never get used to how big it was and filled with such furnitures of the finest quality.

"Well, how was your day darling?" you hummed, arms snaking around his neck

"Oh you wouldn't believe it."

...

It was there.

You felt it in the cold breeze that wafted into the room.

A shift in the flow of the wind, it was different yet familiar at the same time. Leaving the window open as the harsh temperatures of the night climbed and crawled inside. The curtains danced in the turbulent current of the gale, carrying songs only you could hear. Songs that made mountains tremble and build civilizations at the same time.

there was something foreboding, something terrifying and something heavy and dark that devoured anything in its path.

You heard him first before he came in through those doors, that tousled ginger hair of his caked with melting snowflakes in the warm glow of the lamps. His rugged appearance caused by the hunting competition between him and his older siblings induced his worn out state. That soft yet jaded smile of his was what welcomed you as he trudged inside the bedroom, lazily discarding his clothes on the basket for dirty laundry and entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

"why is the window open? " he asks you, sliding inside the warm covers

"I just wanted fresh air ." you smile as you shut the windows and pull the blinds enough for you to see the moon that hung above the sky. Joining him under the covers, you cradled him, his head resting on the crook of your neck. Your hands finding their way into those soft locks of his , entangling them as he hummed softly against you. Those arms of his that held weapons and skin littered with scars both old and new now held you close, so tenderly as if he'd never taken a life before.

"sing me a song, sweetheart. " his queries were simple yet genuine

"of course." you sang until you equated him to a sleeping newborn

It was warm, so warm that you could have mistaken it for a summer afternoon in Liyue, resting on the couch with silken pillows and window showcasing the view of the harbor below. The steaming cups of soothing tea Beidou would brew for you when nights became cold at times she would pay you a visit after trading that would take weeks, months and rarely years.

you slept.

Why is it cold? you wondered, Did Ajax open the windows?

You were blessed by the tsaritsa so such climates shouldn't matter to you.

You woke up.

A shadow was cast over you by the man youve sung to sleep. Virulent blue eyes looked at you with so much abhorrence, for a second you couldnt recognize them and thought it was a stranger to which you were ready to terminate.

"Ajax?" your voice was hoarse, as you slowly lost the feeling in your lips.

He was crazed, still trapped in that dreaming state of his, drifting between experiences. Today was a re-enactment of a memory he would never speak of, not even to you. There were parts of him he'd never tell you, such a soul as yours should never hear.

You choked and coughed as the metallic taste of mortal ichor filled your throat. How could you have not felt anything earlier? Was it because of your futile attempts to coax Ajax back into reality or was it because of the numerous thoughts your mind came up with to he answer as to why he is in such a virulent state. Excruciating pain filled your whole body as you writhed and struggled under his grip. It felt as if something was being ripped out of you.

"Ajax, darling come back to me." you cried, it took so much to even utter a word as you bled out, you know not where but you could feel it. The liquid vital for your survival was seeping out of you, flowing like a lazy river on an autumns day, only that it was warm, sticky and addicting.

"Ajax?" a hiss comes from that mouth, he cringes as you freed your numb hands to hold his face and he let you, seeing as to there was no point in stopping you as you dangerously danced on a tight rope of life and death. You couldn't tell in that delirious disposition of yours if his eyes were shifting between Ajax or the primal eyes of a beast hunting its prey.

It wasn't too late was it?

But why didn't your eyes meet his?

Who snuffed out all the lights?

"I've abandoned that name a long time ago."

The cold took over you completely, freezing you until you broke under his touch with words left dying in your ichor filled lips

and then fear was the last thing you felt.

fear that he might not return to his sweet, charming self.

fear that he will curse everything in his path.

fear that he might attempt to use different various methods to bring back what was lost

and fear of his ruination.

you care not for your death, even in your last minutes of life, you dare not blame him for what he's endured so far. only wishing he never had to experience such in the first place.

This is what the wind warned you about in its lullaby.

...

Childe woke up for the second time.

Oddly more worn out than the day before, but your songs always worked, how come? . He wondered if you left to make breakfast as the covers felt empty as he reached out for you. No, you were a late riser, always having to slumber in the middle of the warm covers of the bed you both share. It was he who mostly did the cooking in the morning. So your presence gone was a displacement in the moment of his waking.

His eyes had to adjust to the view of the room as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he called for you. The pitter-patter sound of the water on the bathroom tiles were non-existent as he strained his ears to hear for any trace of you.

"What..." he was confused as to why the room was trashed, furniture broken in half and strewn about the room, the drapes shredded and laying on the floor and the mirror shattered to pieces, shards sharp enough to cut through skin yet he slept through such a thing?

his first concern was your safety as you had not been present in the room and it him.

the heavy stench of blood lingered in the air. His enjoyment for such things turned into something suffocating because blood was never shed in his own home nor in his very room. In the state of confusion, something dark caught his peripheral vision. A large blemish in the covers beside him, it was dyed a deep dark crimson and he knew well what it was. He began to shake in worry, telling himself not to panic until he finds you safe. All he could remember was you singing him to sleep, held captive in your soft arms, encased in your warmth, so how did it come to such a morning that looked like a result of a monster's tantrum. He calls out for you, his bare feet on the floor as splinters punctured them and he didnt care. he had to find you.

The hallways looked haunting, the portraits on the walls taunting him and he swore he was going lose it if he hadnt found you sooner, every room was achingly vacant and it felt like a dream. He calls for your name again in a frenzy as he rushes through the place, had the mansion been this big? he thinks as he runs down the stairs.

There in the fireplace, the dying embers of fire lit from the night before, wood giving away and turning into coal as the burning smell mingled with similar stench that engulfed the bedroom, the same dark liquid on the sheets was present as well, only that it was painted into the wall and bled down creating a cascading waterfall.

Because there you were, with arms spread out as if welcoming each and every sinner for solace and blessing them with forgiveness, the drying mortal ichor behind you creating a halo. Your lips upturned into something soft as if you'd do anything disgraceful to keep the effeminacy on a soul lost to ruin.

an angel crucified.

that oh so heavenly face of yours could rival anything beautiful, even statues would crumble under you, nations would go to war for you and bodies of those who want you would turn into a throne built for you and you only. You were immortally ethereal even in death.

Ajax, dear sweet Ajax felt his legs give away, energy having siphoned from him as he trembled so much that it could rival the mountains when they shook. Thalassic eyes, wide blown into grief, anguish and all other emotions crashed against him like strong waves that could drown anyone caught up in it. He knelt as pain spread through him like wildfire, burning, scorching and killing. Agonized cries filled the room and if someone were to pass by, they couldve mistaken it for a dying animal. He gasped and choked on his own breath as he dared to look at you, the tears freely flowing from his eyes, down to his pale cheek and finally falling off his trembling chin to be hungrily absorbed by the carpeted floor that was also tarnished by ichor.

He felt crazed as he wept and in that moment of insanity, he remembered. That most disgusting sin he's ever committed that he should never be pardoned for in the life he has right now and the next ones he will be in. Through the blur of tears, he saw his hands and he wished he didnt.

Sullied hands befitting a murderer.

He screams into the ground, doubling over as his hands find their way into his hair, gripping it and ripping out those jacinthe locks of his. He could never forgive himself now and he never will. He wails out loud until his own throat collapsed into a croaking mess.

and then he couldnt find himself no longer.

The sand of time seemed to trickle down slowly. His eldest siblings came looking for him, to continue the hunt. A once peaceful encounter turned into a nightmarish reality as they witnessed their brother rocking back and forth with you gingerly wrapped in his arms, mumbling your name. Lips pressed to your forehead as he prayed and begged for forgiveness over and over in hushed torn whispers as if it were enough to bring you back and cover that gaping hole in your abdomen.

"What did you do?"

...

"Brother, when are they coming back?"

Oh darling Teucer, innocence reflecting off his eyes as he tugged on his brother's sleeve. The toy you gifted him clutched tightly at his side.

"I dont know kid, their mission was sudden so its best to wait. Can you do that Teuc?" the truth about you was kept behind closed doors, only adults can speak of and if they did, it took time to keep the conversation smooth and off of any grief nor sadness when your name reached their tongue. The younger ones would never know until the time is right. When everything was taken care of and hearts moved on.

Your funeral was held in secrecy yet was it was grand. Something that would hold the significance of your memories with them. It was beautiful, your favorite flowers lined along your coffin, and you. Looking ever so ethereal even when death has kissed you, clad in that dress Childe bought for you.

"uh huh!" the youngest ginger nodded eagerly and skipped away as the eldest sighed into his hands, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders as he worried more and more about his younger sibling. Another memory, a mind broken and a his soul withering. was there any way to save him?

Days seemed to go by as any glimpse of the man was scarce. Until one day they ceased to see him altogether. It started at lunch, a week after the funeral when it took everyone to coax him into eating more as he lost weight and trickled down to a whole day. Cooped up in his room, clinging to a pillow with the fading scent of you. and then he was gone, like a snowflake melting upon ones forehead. They grew anxious and thought of the worse until they caught wind that he was back in Liyue from one of the agents only then were they allowed to breathe a little better.

"Childe, what finds you here?" the calm tone of the geo archon's voice broke him out of his trance

"Have you seen my fiance?" Zhongli blinks at the question of the harbinger, he knew what befell you and yet this man before him seemed clueless enough as to what he committed. How Childe did what he did, he seemed to sympathize with in a way that would make him understand his behavior.

" I have not." he couldnt bring himself to tell this man the truth. Perhaps he was sparing him, spearing that mind of his into spiraling down into nothingness and a heart that was held by a thin piece of thread. "Perhaps it is better to enjoy yourself while you wait for them."

To deviate oneself from the loss might be the best way Childe right now until his mind is ready to accept the torment of the heavy truth that would slew this man.

"I see. " he smiles and yet it feels so empty to Childe, the reason? He wouldnt know or atleast his mind wouldnt allow him to know

"Ill see you around then Xiansheng."

Everything that he portrayed lacked and all he could do as he's always did.

...........

i had to.

I hope yall would get Childe :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabbles #childe #childe angst #childe one shot #childe imagine #childe drabble #ajax #tartaglia

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windows98whore · 4 years ago

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Welcome home

An: You’re tired and stressed from a shite day at work. Your husband is more than happy to release that tension for you. Just a short Drabble to cope with a bad day.

Warnings: Vaginal sex, comfort after a bad day. Cumming inside?

Word Count:

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

All characters are aged up. Divider credits are at the bottom of the post.

Just imagine coming home, dog ass tired. It’s cold out, and you bundled up for the bus ride to and from work, then the grocery store. You drop the bag of groceries you’d forced yourself to get for dinner and kick off your shoes at the door before you start peeling off a fleece and a big coat to hang on the hooks by the door. Your hat and scarf come next, and you shake out your curls, rubbing a hand down your neck. Despite the cold, the way your hair had been pressed against your skin had left you damp with sweat. You didn’t bother calling out that you were home, Katsuki was used to you coming home around this hour, and if he wasn’t on a patrol or mission, he was almost always in one spot.

From the doorway you could see Katsuki planted in that familiar recliner in front of the tv, watching the news of course, a cup in his hands. He looks up when you saunter in and plop yourself on top of his spread thighs with a tired sigh. He sets his cup on the end table and scans your back, noting the visible tension in your muscles.

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he runs warmed fingers up and down your arms, helping you shed your blazer, leaving you in a simple button up. He takes his time, unbuttoning each button and pressing warm, soothing kisses down your neck and back, his lips soft against your shoulders.

You catch a glimpse of his silver wedding band glinting in the lamp light and thread the fingers of one of your hands into his. Palm to palm, the only sounds between you for a moment, is the droning on of newscaster on the tv. You enjoy the roughness on his skin, the calloused fingers once used for fighting, ever so gentle and sweet with you, when you need it.

He knew work was stressful. Knew you wanted to quit too, and go into another field or just work anywhere else. He didn’t prod, no use in having you repeat your usual rants about paperwork and bitching supervisors and never getting anything the way they liked it. He rubs a thumb on your palm and presses his lips against your back.

“Let me make you feel good.” He mumbles against your skin. He releases your smaller hand and sets his hands gently on your hips to lift you off of his lap. The two of you walk slowly, to the bedroom, and not long after you flop down onto your plush bed with a huff, Katsuki’s body follows right behind, moving to push your pencil skirt and panties down your hips in one easy sweep, until the expensive fabric gathers around your ankles. You kick them off, not caring where they end up right now.

Katsuki resumes his lazy kisses, alternating between kitten licks and gentle suckles. He expertly undoes the clasp of your bra and takes both breasts into his hands to massage at the supple skin with a soft groan.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs against your neck. He relishes the way your back arches and the sighs that tumble from your supple lips as he rolls your pert nipples between his fingers. He pinches ever so slightly, smirking when you gasp. Katsuki releases your right breast and flips you over to trail a hand down your stomach, rough fingers ghosting over your belly to your thighs.

He pulls you in by your hip, and ruts into your shapely ass, groaning at the way your ass feels against his hardening cock. He wants to give it to you, fuck you until you’re relaxed and cuddly and sleepy, but he takes his time. This is about your pleasure and he wants you to know that. His fingers dip towards you heat, and he parts your lips to rub a warm finger over your clit.

The pressure sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. You mewl his name quietly, which only spurs him on. “Good girl...” he’s whispering, voice deep from arousal. “Like that? Like how I touch you?” His words just add to your growing pleasure as he thumbs your clit, circling it expertly in just the right way. He runs his fingers down to your entrance, collecting slick between his pointer and middle finger.

As much as he’s aching to be inside you, he’s gentle, slow even, as he slides his dampened fingers inside of you. You part your legs instinctively, mouth open as you groan. He massages your velveteen walls, enjoying the way you roll your hips to try and bury the two fingers further inside of you. He pulls his hand back, twirling your clit with his thumb, before he slides back in enjoying the wet squelch of your juices against his fingers.

“That wet already?” He sucks his teeth, feigning surprise. He knew what he did to you, and just how to get you worked up. “I’ll make you cum, and then I’ll fuck you so good you won’t even remember your day. Deal?” His voice is like liquid pleasure and it shoots straight to your brain. Your clit twitches against his thumb and all you can make out is a quick nod. “Good.” He speeds up his wrist flicks, and changes his angle so that he each time his fingers disappear inside you, the palm of his hand kisses your clit. You’re a mess, moaning and turning into jelly right in front of you. “Why don’t you cum for me sugar. Cream all over my fingers.” He husks, curling said fingers against your g spot and making you see stars. You tumble over the edge into ecstasy, panting and shaking while your husband praises you softly, tells you how he loves how you cum with that pretty pussy of yours, how sexy your o face is, how he can’t wait to bury himself inside and fuck you dumb.

Katsuki always licks his fingers after he’s helped you ride out your orgasm. He sucks each digit into his mouth, staring you directly in the face with that cocky look in his lust darker irises. When he turns your head in his cum and saliva slick fingers, and presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, you shudder, able to taste your own cum in his mouth.

The blond normally likes to tease. Likes to have you at your breaking point before he gives in and fucks you so deeply tears spring into your eyes.

But tonight, he doesn’t. He turns you so he can be the big spoon, pushes his orange boxers down just enough to get his erecting free and slides into you, groaning at how your walls are already fluttering around him as he slowly buries himself to the hilt.

“Oh fuck...” you groan, which puts a cocky smirk on his face. Katsuki takes his time. He’s not fucking tonight, he’s making love to you. Making you feel loose and well loved and appreciated. He presses his lips to the shell or your ear to whisper just how tight you feel, and how good it all is, and how no one else gets him this hard and horny but you and your amazing body and mind god he loves how sharp you are. It had been your quick wit that had drawn him in. He rolls his hips, dragging his cock against your walls in a way that makes you twist free hands in the plush sheets beneath you.

Katsuki is a lot of things, but patient isn’t one of them. You’re more than aware of that, though, and when you feel him start to tremble from holding back, you quietly beg him to take you rough and quick, the way he’s dying to. The sounds of damp skin slapping fill the room. You’re moaning and groaning and keening for him, and that just sets him off more. He’s curses up a storm, and pulling you by the hips into him so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises to match the hickies he’s sucking into the copper skin of your neck.

“Fuck, babe I’m close. Where do you...Shit...where do you want it?” He asks breathlessly, voice raising so you can hear him over your own sounds of pleasure.

“Inside Suki. Cum inside me. Fucking cum inside, please.” You plead between deep suckles of air. Katsuki nods against your neck, mumbling that he’d do anything you ask, anything for you. He slips his hands between your legs and thumbs your clit, quickly sending you into your second orgasm of the night. The way you tighten around him has Katsuki following not long after, hips jerking wildly, only to stop and stutter, as he pumps you full of his cum. He lets out a breathy shudder, sliding his slowly softening dick in and out of you with a very satisfied groan.

Your head spins. There are goosebumps and bruises and hickies dotting your skin now. Katsuki presses his lips to each dark mark in a silent apology as he pulls out with a hiss.

He was right. You don’t remember much of your day anymore. All you can focus on is the familiar ache between your thighs and the way cum slowly drools from inside you, dribbling down your legs.

Katsuki takes care of you, silently. He gets a damp rag from the adjourning bathroom, and delicately wipes you down. Your eyes meet, and he looks like he’s considering something. You tilt your head in a silent question.

“I don’t like telling you what to do.” He hums, looking up at you through foggy eyes. “You should quit. Take some time to just lounge around. I’m sure we can find you a less shit job.” You smile fondly down at him.

“Actually I’m determined to make them regret treating me like shit.” Your determined look makes Katsuki smirk. He pats your thigh, a loving glint in his eyes. “Be the best employee they’ve ever had, so when I quit, they beg me to stay. Make them wish they’d never been rude to me.”

“That’s my fuckin girl.”

Requests are open! Shoot me an ask~

Divders are from @/firefly-graphics

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neonponders · 4 years ago

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Surprise! Here’s a part 2 for my fic, Deeper Than Skin ~ read on ao3 •

Thank you SO MUCH @edith-moonshadow for donating to Harringrove for Palestine, AND letting me indulge in my fic some more.

👠 👠 👠 👠 👠 👠

Billy’s thumb pressed along Steve’s arch, holding the pressure for a few seconds as he went along . . .

He peeked up at the sound of ocean-swaying breaths at the head of the bed. As if he could hear the exact moment Steve fell into REM sleep, clutching Billy’s latest gift to his chest.

An elephant ear leaf plushie. It was half the size of Steve, and it’s heart-shape tucked under his chin to pillow his cheek perfectly. The soft micro-fleece behaved like crushed velvet, the light absorbing inside the dark, unsettled fibers where Steve touched it.

Billy had gotten very good at choosing gifts for him.

Steve’s apartment was slowly filling up with Billy’s tokens of affection. The window seat had become a shelf for Steve’s shoe boxes; only three so far, but Billy intended to get him a proper shoe rack, or renovate his closet

Or have Steve move into his place. Billy wanted nothing more in the world. To get home to Steve slumped on the couch, immediately complaining of incongruent television plots as if Billy had never left the room. To see Steve’s shirts and clutter in their closet despite Steve being gone for work. To put his shoe collection on display in any room Steve wanted, so he could live in the open with his interests, instead of walking laps in their closet.

Not all of his gifts were expensive. That proved the trick. The key to Steve’s locked tight heart. Most were certainly pricey, but once Billy knew what he liked, what he constituted as worth it, then he couldn’t help himself.

A coffee table book of The New Yorker’s covers, spreads, and topmost articles throughout the 20th century. Steve stared at that thing for hours.

The elephant ear pillow clutched to Steve’s chest now, among other plant cushions. Steve claimed he couldn’t keep anything alive, so Billy gave him a pink and blue sedum succulent, a purple and green echeveria, and a monstera leaf. He now lay in his garden, sound asleep despite Billy’s rolling a cold tennis ball around his heel.

It was dangerous, this bruised ache in his chest.

Even with Steve right here, Billy felt sore with affection. The desire to wrap an arm around Steve’s waist was ever present, to pull their bodies flush together, or to tuck himself into Steve’s chest and never leave.

This ravenous greed dulled with Steve nearby, soothed with Steve happy and content, but Billy knew he had to be patient. Steve sometimes retreated inside himself, behaving as if Billy were already one step out the door. He had no idea what power he wielded over Billy.

He eased Steve’s slippers onto his feet and returned the tennis ball to the freezer. He put some of the dishes and pans from the drying rack back in the cabinets. He straightened the rug underneath the coffee table. Tidying. As self-sufficient as Steve lived, Billy had picked up quickly enough that his outward affections were done through actions.

He liked making dinner with Billy at home. He even coerced Billy into the first grocery store he’d stepped into in years.

Steve enjoyed pulling Billy onto his chest to watch a movie. Billy liked that too, even though he wished Steve didn’t stuff his utility invoices into the kitchen utensil drawer before Billy arrived.

They were both strong personalities who valued control, but Billy had learned such a thing came in different mediums. Steve didn’t like the leash of money. “Don’t collar me in diamonds. I’m not a poodle,” he’d once said.

Billy did not take kindly to commands. To exist like a bull guided by the ring in his nose.

Yet here they both were, Steve slowly allowing Billy to furnish his interests, and kissing Billy’s cheek when he reluctantly accepted the task of chopping onions.

Billy sat on the bed and rubbed his arm. If anything, Steve only fell deeper inside his slumber. Slowly, Billy lifted him out by planting kisses along his hairline. All at once, Steve emerged with a shake of his head, as if to swat Billy off before the chuckle in his chest made Steve moan, “Bhh…lly?”

He slanted his arm across Steve’s body, pressing his hand into the bed. “Hi, baby. I’m heading out. I should be back next Friday.”

Steve’s full, parted lips twitched with a puzzled grimace. “Huh?”

“I’m going out of town.”

One of Steve’s eyelids hung lower over his groggy eyes. Billy thought it looked cute. “You wait till I’m half-asleep to tell me?”

Billy huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly. “I told you during dinner. I asked you to come, but you said you couldn’t get the vacation days.”

Steve’s eyes sagged closed in a long blink. He sniffed loudly and rubbed a palm over his nose while he shifted for better attentiveness. “I can’t get vacation days with only a twenty-four hour notice.”

“There was something about sick days from two jobs not aligning for an extended vacation,” Billy recalled stiffly.

Steve did not respond well to the bitterness. “I’m not my own boss. If I’d had more time, I could’ve done a long weekend—”

“I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

That left Steve’s mouth open while he shifted to sit up more on the pillows. “You didn’t say that during dinner.”

It should’ve been some consolation, Steve’s being upset at such a time frame. Two weeks apart was hardly unbearable. For regular people. For Billy, it only confirmed his distaste for Steve’s unrelenting schedule.

“Now you want to go?”

Steve’s eyes hardened as much as they could for being freshly disturbed from sleep. “It was never about not wanting to go. I literally can’t without being thrown off the payroll.”

“You work two jobs.”

Steve’s eyes wandered, as if searching for his meaning. “Yeah?”

Billy didn’t want to talk about this the night before he left but his frustration won out. “You don’t have to work two jobs. You know that, don’t you?”

He could see something wilt behind Steve’s face. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Steve,” he sighed, lifting off his hand to sit on his own. “You know I don’t mind paying for things.”

“You’ve made that clear,” Steve returned stiffly.

Billy pointed turquoise eyes at him. “Money is meant to be spent. Why won’t you let me spend it on you?”

Those eyes locked on the muscles in Steve’s jaw clenching. Steve could feel those irises on him, dissecting him. He wondered if Billy saw his mother’s closet. More like a bank vault. Full of insurances for the day she finally saw fit to drop her husband and all of his betrayals, all of his business blunders that she was tired of dishing a sapphire out for to cover the losses.

An ironic thing, Mr. Harrington’s greatest business scheme: apologizing with luxurious things. Marrying a woman smarter than himself. Maybe that’s why Steve had sought out Nancy all those years ago. Why he loved Robin’s company and conversation. He did feel safe in strong women’s company. But their safety was hard earned and shrewdly won.

Respect how a woman spends her money, Stevie. Even if you don’t know where it comes from.

Sweetheart, you’ll never understand what it is to be a woman in a man’s world.

I love your daddy as much as he infuriates me beyond belief. But where I come from, nobody is handsome enough. Nobody is wealthy enough. A Rolex is a man’s prideful status symbol. A woman’s bags are her divorce lawyer’s payments. A man’s car is the steed to a shining knight. A woman’s diamond necklace is her first apartment out of an unsafe home.

Am I really just a trust fund kid? Steve had been brazen enough to ask. Another diamond in his mother’s closet.

She had stroked his cheek, raked her fingers through his hair and around his ear before pinching his earlobe in that way she did. Like she wanted him to keep looking right at her. Don’t turn your head.

Anyone who treats you like a trust fund for money or a good time is plastic, baby.

She hadn’t taught him how to navigate this, though. Maybe if he’d been a daughter, he’d have gotten that lesson. How to not be ensnared by money. How to keep wealth as a key to a cage.

But Steve only knew the cage. Had grown up in it. Had to face heartbreak and loneliness to break out of his gilded bars.

He did not judge his mother for relying on his father. As she’d said, she came from a different world with a different mentality. But Steve couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t meet all of his father’s caveats. Had too much fun being broke with Robin to desire gilded masks and grey grey grey grey grey suits.

A warm hand touched his arm. “I don’t like it when you do that,” Billy said. “Go somewhere I can’t reach.”

Steve’s hand overlapped his. He hoped it came across as encouraging instead of farewell. “Get your work done. There’s no point in me taking a vacation if you’re working the whole time.”

It didn’t work. Billy’s features stiffened, far from pleased.

And when he left the apartment, Steve felt his path like a negative space dug out of his home. Billy Hargrove had always dominated a room, but Steve was afraid of being wrung out before he left with permanence. Steve didn’t think Billy was a cage at all.

But he didn’t think he was strong enough to be a diamond in Billy’s closet.

#harringrove #harringrove for palestine #neonponders #pondermoniums #edith-moonshadow #ficlet #mafia au #sugarbaby!steve #sugardaddy!steve #asexual!steve #grey ace steve

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Note

Cliche prompt 48 or grumpy-affection 13 for Barba x reader? Plz. I need him.

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompts Nonny. I hope you enjoy the result! Word Count: 1785 Content Warnings: Panic attack/anxiety attack described in detail

Your hands trembled as you fumbled for your phone, tears blurring your vision and making it difficult to find his number. You felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest as you finally managed to make it to the right place in your contact list and click to dial. You pressed the cool glass of the screen to the side of your face and listened to it ring once, twice, three times.

“Come on, pick up,” you whispered desperately. “Please, please pick up.”

“Y/N?” he asked, voice distorted as it passed over the speakers but still undeniably, comfortingly him. “I did pick up.”

He sounded sleepy and with a glance over at the clock on your nightstand, you realized why. It was two in the morning, and he worked such late nights and long hours that he was probably just able to fall asleep before you disrupted him. Guilt twisted your aching stomach.

“Rafi!” you gasped, the thudding of your heart slowing minutely just hearing him. “Oh thank god.”

“What’s wrong?” there was a spike of panic in his voice and you could picture him as he sat up swiftly, sheets tossed aside and boxer-clad legs swinging down over the side of the mattress.

“I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I shouldn’t have woken you up. It’s just...I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just talk to me.”

“I have no right to ask, but could you...would you come over? I just really need somebody right now.” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “No, not somebody. I need you.”

There was a long pause. The world seemed to be spinning and you could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, crashing like the ocean but louder. The muscles in your neck clenched, practically screaming under their own tension.

“Rafael?”

“I’m on my way,” he assured. “It’ll take time for me to get there, though. Will you be okay until then? Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“No, I’ll be alright. Just focusing on getting here, okay?”

“Of course.”

About half an hour later, there was a knock on your apartment door and you forced yourself to stand on legs like over-cooked pasta to answer it.

“I got here as fast as I could. I even offered to use the tip feature to bribe the driver to ignore the one-way signs so I could get here faster, but he wouldn’t do it. Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What’s wrong? What can I do?” he asked.

His statements and questions were more rapid-fire even than the worst grilling you’d ever seen him give the team, all of it spilling from his lips barely as soon as he had passed the door, a door which you clung to for support. He carefully hung his coat and scarf on the hook, knowing how particular you were about such things and turned to face you.

“Y/N? Please talk to me.” His hands reached out, hovering, waiting for you to speak, to consent, to tell him something before he dared to actually touch you. “Whatever it is, whatever happened, we’ll get through it. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“You’re talking too much,” you sighed, biting your lip. “Just shut up and hold me.”

Taken aback, he gaped momentarily at you before doing as you asked. Still a little hesitant, he placed his hands on your shoulders before rethinking it and sliding his arms further around you, pulling you close against his chest. You breathed in his sharp, clean scent and let it break down the last of your walls. Like cutting strings of a tangled marionette, all of the tension leached out of you and you all but collapsed, his strong arms and firm grip the only things keeping you off the floor. A soft sob wrenched from your lips and you clung to the soft fabric of his sweater, balling the no-doubt expensive fabric in your fingers tight enough to leave an impression.

Moving awkwardly, he guided you to your couch, never letting the space between you grow wider than an inch. You shifted to sit beside him and felt him tsk with a shake of his head, the only warning you had before you were pulled into his lap and your head was tucked beneath his chin. You felt yourself being gently rocked as he hummed a simple melody, running soothing strokes up and down your spine and for the first time in hours, you felt like the blackness might leave and things might be okay.

There was a click, somewhere in the background, and it startled you, making you jump.

“Oh! I forgot,” you said, pulling away slightly to look toward the kitchen. “I made a pot of coffee, since you were coming over and it’s so late...early…”

You moved to stand and go make him a cup when he stopped you with a hand on your arm. His eyes were crinkled with barely restrained laughter.

“You know me too well. But you stay here, I’ll get it myself. Do you want a cup?”

You nodded. Now that the panic part of your night was over, you were feeling completely drained and the little jolt of warmth and caffeine sounded perfect, just to keep you human until you could sleep. He shifted you gently off his lap and stood, leaning back over to place a kiss to your forehead and then headed into your kitchen.

You twisted, leaning your chin on the back of your couch to watch him as he expertly navigated your apartment, smiling at the implication held in his familiarity and comfort there. He was wearing jeans and a soft fleece pull-over. His hair was uncombed and stuck up at amusing angles, tales of his own restless sleeping before you called and his rush to come to your side. It took a rare person to be allowed to see Rafael Barba anything less than put together, and yet here he was, letting you see it all in high definition.

“At least you’re smiling now,” he observed as he set two large mugs on your coffee table and resumed his seat beside you. “Smiling is a lot better than crying.”

You felt a blush heat your cheeks and you bit your lip as you turned back to him, tucking your knees up to your chest as you faced him. You hadn’t realized you were staring, or smiling, until he pointed it out, but of course you were. Rafael was your rock, your anchor, your life raft, whatever metaphor you needed at any given time to say that he was the best thing in your life and the thing that made you feel grounded and whole and okay no matter what, and you loved him.

“Now that you’re feeling a little better,” he said, hesitating, taking a sip and then a second of his coffee to stall and work up the courage to ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, sipping your own drink — perfectly made to your preferences of course — while you gathered your thoughts, and then cradling the mug in your hands.

“It was just...I get anxiety attacks sometimes,” you explained hesitantly. “Especially when the cases are really hard. But it’s never been this bad before. I felt like I was actually dying and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You thought you were dying and your first thought was to call me?” he asked, softly tilting his head and looking at you, with that gentle, comforting warmth in his green eyes that you knew he only reserved for you.

“Well...yeah. I lo...I mean you’re you. It just made sense in my head.”

You wanted to tell him the real reason you had thought first to call him. You wanted so badly to say those words that were poised on the tip of your tongue every time you looked into his eyes or saw his face or heard his voice. Instead, they died on your lips and you made do with what you could get out.

“I’ve never had them, so you’ll have to walk me through what I need to do,” he offered, “but I’ll help however I can. This time and any other time they come up.”

“They come and go so irregularly, and each one is a little different. I don’t know if I can teach you or explain it right.”

“Then start with right now. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Better now. A little nauseous, and exhausted, but that happens a lot. I think the worst of it is behind me.” You felt guilty again and frowned. “It might have been ending on its own before you got here. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out of bed.”

You didn’t admit that it was the knowledge he was coming that helped you calm down. You had already come too close tonight to saying something that it wasn’t the right moment for, you didn’t need to risk it again.

“Y/N, shh,” he soothed, plucking the mug from your hands and setting both aside to hug you tightly again. “There is nothing to apologize for. I don’t care what time it is, or what I’m doing. I want you to call me when you need me. For anything.”

“Rafi, I...thank you.”

“So, the acute attack is over. What do you need? What happens next?”

“I should set up a heat pack for my neck, since I tend to get stiff muscles after and don’t want to be sore in the morning. Then I should try to sleep.”

He nodded, committing the information to memory for the future. “Where do you keep the heat pack? I’ll get it for you and then leave you to rest.”

“It’s in the bottom drawer of my night stand. But...you don’t have to go.”

He paused, halfway out of his seat and nearly fell back to the couch cushions.

“I mean, you came all this way, and it’s late. We both have to get up in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll have a second wave. It’ll be better for everyone if you just stay, right?” you smiled sheepishly and he answered with a soft grin of his own.

“If that’s what you want, I would be happy to spend the night.”

“Good,” you smiled, standing and taking his hand. “I could use a cuddle after that. And Rafael?”

He hummed in question, prompting you wordlessly.

“Really. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming. For being here. For being you.”

#the two prompts worked perfectly together #good choices #panic attack tw #anxiety attack tw #Rafael Barba x Reader #Law and Order: SVU fic #I hope this is in character. I really really tried

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katalyna-rose · 4 years ago

Text

Kat’s Rat Shopping List

I’ve gotten a few requests for a shopping list of my rat setup (tagging @collapseofthesky because they requested this, specifically, but I’ve had a few others message me), so I thought I’d give it a try and also add a few explanations for why I do some things the way I do. As such, this is going to be a very long post and is therefore under a cut. There will be a basic shopping list without all the explanations at the very end of the post under TL;DR if you don’t care about the rest or whatever.

I had a lot of fun with this and spent way more time on it than I meant to, and might be open to doing more of this kind of thing in the future.

Cage

First up, the cage. Obviously. I’ve said it before but it’s a Double Critter Nation and a Single Critter Nation with the side panels removed and zip tied together. These are sometimes sold in pet stores (the locally owned pet store I prefer has them in stock). I bought mine online because of a really good sale, but you can sometimes get really lucky and find them for resale on Facebook Marketplace or Craigslist for super cheap. I love this cage because the whole front opens up and that makes it super accessible and easy to clean, decorate, and get to my pets wherever they may be. It’s also huge!

US minimum for rat cages is 2 cubic feet per rat, with a minimum of two rats because rats cannot be housed alone as they are extremely social animals. No, human companionship is not enough, rats need same-age, same-species companionship at all times. Please be aware, as well, that minimums are not the ideal to strive for. Whatever space you intend to dedicate to your rats, fill it! Fill it all up! And if you don’t have enough space for a large cage, don’t get rats. My setup, with the Home Depot/Lowe’s large cement mixing tubs in the bottom, is roughly 45 cubic feet of space. If we’re looking at minimums, this means I could house 22 rats! There’s no way that 22 rats could ever actually be comfortable in my setup. It would be insane, chaotic, and extremely messy. So why would 2 rats be comfortable in 4 cubic feet? They wouldn’t. More space is always better, hard stop.

Also remember that wire cages with bar spacing of no more than an inch for adult rats and no more than half an inch for small or young rats is a must. Tanks are absolutely not recommended for rats due to poor ventilation, which will cause respiratory issues and allow ammonia to build up much faster.

Bedding

This is different from nesting. Yes, it is. Bedding is the substrate used at the bottom of the cage or on shelves to catch errant droppings and urine, and is generally left where it is by the rats because they have no interest in it.

My main bedding is pine wood horse stall pellets. They are as dust free as the alternatives like shavings or paper pellets, and combine the best aspects of both those types of bedding with the ammonia-neutralizing effects of wood shavings and the compact, easy-to-clean nature of pellets. I love them. I also get them super hilariously cheap from Tractor Supply Co, so despite it being a little bit of a drive for me (about an hour round trip) the fact that it’s half the price of the next cheapest option more than makes up for it. I buy a bunch all at once and currently have a few bags left in my trunk because I didn’t have enough closet space for them. It’s great stuff. It crumbles when wet so it helps me keep track of how much and where they’re urinating, and it’s easy to spot clean those areas in between deep cleans.

When choosing a wood, if that’s the route you want to go, remember to check what is safe to use. Pine is only safe when it’s kiln-dried, since it contains fragrant oils that can cause respiratory issues in rats, mice, and hamsters. Some people will advise you to stay away from it entirely, and that’s fine, but since pine is often the cheapest option it’s not always viable. Aspen is a safe wood, but harder to find in pellet form and slightly more expensive as shavings. I use aspen shavings in my litter trays. Cedar wood is NEVER safe, no matter how it’s treated. I don’t think cedar is ever safe no matter what for any animal it’s marketed to, actually. It’ll cause respiratory distress in rats, mice, and hamsters, and guinea pigs and rabbits should never be on shavings regardless though I’m pretty sure they’ll still experience respiratory distress. The oils naturally in the wood are not safe, do not use cedar. Also make sure your bedding is as dust-free as possible, also for respiratory reasons. If you have a small animal, their respiratory system is extremely delicate, and that’s just a fact of pet ownership that you should have learned before getting a pet when you were researching how to care for it.

Since I have two shelves in my cage and they are both shallow to the point of not even having a lip (Critter Nation’s only flaw is the trays that come with the cage), I line my shelves with fleece over an appropriately sized bath mat. Fleece makes a great shelf liner, but I don’t recommend using it in the entire cage because it gets dirty really fast and most rats will chew it up, so you’ll both be changing it every other day and going through it super fast as it is destroyed. However, it makes great shelf liners, especially when very little of the shelf is actually available to the rats like in my setup, where the shelves are mostly covered in other things. Remember that fleece must always be lined with an absorbent layer underneath because the fleece itself allows liquid to pass right through it. That’s the point: the fleece stays relatively clean and dry while the absorbent layer takes all the gross stuff away. Towels are generally not recommended for this because rats can get their nails stuck in the fabric and rip them out, which is painful and distressing for the rat and also you. Anything super absorbent with a really tight weave will do lovely here, hence the low pile bath mats I use. I get them for one or two dollars at Ikea and wash them every week. I keep several around to rotate through. The fleece I use is also a fleece blanket from Ikea for a couple bucks that I cut into four sections because that rendered it the perfect size to tuck around the shelves. This makes my bedding extremely cheap, and that makes me happy because I can spend that money on enrichment instead.

Nesting

This is the material that the rats like to push around, dig in, and sleep in. It’s important to provide soft but preferably absorbent materials for the rats to nest in because it’s enriching, comfortable, and helps them regulate body temperature. Multiple types of nesting are recommended for enrichment purposes. Rats like texture! I use unscented, unlotioned tissues as a main nesting material for within their hides because they’re cheap, safe, absorbent, and soft. I bought 30 boxes of 100 tissues each for super cheap online, but you can also buy dollar store tissues or whatever you have access to. Just make sure they don’t have scents or lotions, because those are not safe for your rats’ delicate respiratory systems. The empty boxes (plastic removed) can also be given for the rats to chew up and play in, or you can save them up to DIY some fun toys later, which is what I’m doing.

I also have two dig boxes, which will also go under the enrichment section. The bins I got for cheap from Target, but obviously you can get bins wherever you want to get bins. Just measure to make sure they fit in your cage properly. The only dig box I want to talk about in this section is the hay box, because the dirt is not actually a nesting material but rather an enriching one. So, hay. My girls love this stuff so much that they drag it all over the cage to shove it into all their sleeping areas. They build actual rat nests in the box, tunnel through it, stash food in it, shred it for fun, and generally spend as much time as possible with the hay. I use oat hay for the seed heads that provide additional enrichment and snacks because the rats have to get to the seeds in order to eat them. If you are feeding a low-quality diet to your rats, do not use oat hay because they’ll fill up on seeds instead of eating their nutritionally-balanced food and that is not good. My rats love their food so much that the seeds are a sometimes snack that I don’t need to regulate because they do it themselves. Any good quality hay will do for a hay box, however, and timothy hay tends to be the cheapest option. Just make sure it’s not super low quality, because low quality hay tends to be dusty. As mentioned previously several times, rats have delicate respiratory systems and dust is bad for them. I buy my hay from Small Pet Select because I like supporting small business, ethical business, and businesses that provide excellent products. They are, however, primarily a rabbit site. I keep hoping they’ll expand the other sections of their shop. Also, make sure your rats aren’t trying to eat the hay. This is highly unlikely because rats are smart and know what’s edible and what isn’t, and hay is not edible for rats. If for some reason your rats are eating hay, do not give them a hay box.

Other nesting options I’ve used in the past include cut up bits of fleece, cut up old clothes you might have lying around, and generally just bits of fabric. Just remember to change out/wash them regularly. Ammonia will build up, and once again that’s bad for your rats’ respiratory systems.

Hides and Hammocks

Rats are prey animals. Surprise! As such, they need plenty of places to hide and feel safe. Rats love small, dark places to rest in. Much like many introverted humans, myself included! Make sure to include plenty of hides all over the cage. Variety is excellent here for enrichment reasons. My rats absolutely love Space Pods! Lixit makes the ones I use, but there’s also a brand called Sputnik that’s basically the same thing. I’ve never seen them in stores, but they’re all over the internet. For rats, make sure you get the large size. Honestly I wish it was larger than it is, but oh well. The girls love it anyway. I kept getting sent only the bottom halves, which is why I have two half space pods in my cage. I got a refund or replacement on both because it’s not what I paid for, but, like… I received the usable half, so I’m gonna use it. The girls don’t like to sleep in them without the covers, but they’ll hang out in there and clean themselves, and they climb through them to get from one spot to another.

In addition to the space pods, I also have various other hides. Lixit also makes a pill-shaped plastic hide that I keep on the shelf over the dirt box. They used to use it a lot more than they do now, and I’m not entirely sure why. Even so, they still use it! I also have a woven grass tent that they enjoy, and a cork log. Neither of those are really for sleeping, but they do hide in them sometimes and generally like to hang out there.

Hammocks are great, and also available in wide variety all over the internet and in stores. My favorite banana hammock was just retired, but I intend to get another. The girls loved it and so did I! Hammocks come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and can pull double duty as both a place to sleep and a way to break up the cage so there aren’t any dead drops where your rats can fall from a height and hurt themselves. Fill your cage with hammocks! All the hammocks! Support small creators by buying homemade hammocks! Learn to make them yourself! They’re cheap and easy! Hammocks are great.

Enrichment Part 1: Levels

Rats are climbers. Rats need vertical space as well as horizontal space. Rats are sometimes clumsy idiots who fall off of things. As such, all vertical space must be filled with all kinds of fall breakers. As mentioned before, hammocks are great for this. So are ladders, bridges, ropes, and that Ikea tie hanger I have strung across the back of my cage. If your rat falls from anywhere in the cage, make sure there’s something to catch them!

Also make sure there’s something to do on all the levels of the cage, even if that thing to do is just get from one level to the next. Rats are dexterous and adventurous. Ramps are boring because they’re easy. If you have sick or injured rats, absolutely use ramps! Accessibility matters! If your rats are of sound body, however, make them work for it. Lava ledges and bird perches make great alternatives to ramps. Screw them into the cage walls and watch your rats hop around! They love it. Ladders are also fun, especially if they’re not used the way ladders are meant to be used. Suspend them from things, put them at weird angles, just make sure they’re secure. I get a lot of my levels from the bird aisle at the pet store (or virtual pet store). Be aware that sometimes your rats are going to prefer to climb directly on the bars of the cage. That’s normal! The bars are there, so the rats will climb them. That’s all there is to it!

Climbing frames like the wooden wine rack from Ikea that I have in the bottom of my cage are also good to have. My girls love it, and it does double duty as a chew toy.

Enrichment Part 2: Chewing

Contrary to popular belief and old science, rats do not actually require chews to keep their teeth trimmed. Rats trim their own teeth by bruxing, or grinding their teeth together. This does not, however, negate the need for chews. Rats like to chew! What your rat likes to chew best is entirely subjective. Some rats love wood and sticks, some rats will always chew fabric over anything else, some rats will never chew fabric. Every rat is different! Try as much variety as you can and keep stocked up on the things your rats like best. My rats really like woven grass, and I try to keep at least a couple different kinds around for them. I keep a grass mat on a shelf that they like to pull apart, and the woven grass tent will likely have a short lifespan, as well. There’s a woven grass tunnel thing that they’ve put into the dirt box and are slowly but systematically shredding. My girls also like willow sticks, so I’ve got a couple hanging toys of willow that are very slowly being chewed because there’s so much else to chew. The wooden bridges see a fair bit of chewing, and even the lava ledges get chewed on the edges. My girls also love destroying rattan and wicker balls. I bought a bunch of them for cheap and toss a new one in there about every week or so. They love them. I also got a couple things from Small Pet Select like a pine cone, a bit of natural loofah, and a dried okra pod. So far the okra pod has seen the most action and is shredded halfway to infinity. I think they like that it has seeds inside, but the others get chewed sometimes, too. There’s enough variety in my setup that everything lasts a decently long time. Except the rattan balls.

Enrichment Part 3: Digging

As much as rats like to climb, they also like to dig. That’s why it’s highly recommended to have a dig box. Safe substrate is important here. If you’re going with potting soil, make sure it’s just dirt and doesn’t contain any fertilizer. Personally, I found potting soil to be kind of annoying a little expensive. I prefer coconut soil. I use Exo Terra terrarium soil, which is sold in compacted blocks that you have to hydrate. I use two thirds of the recommended water because my rats don’t need humidity. I use three blocks per dig box, and replace the soil every month because the girls will do their business in it sometimes, leave food in it, leave bits of tissue or hay or various shredded chews. Basically, the dirt gets dirty in bad ways and needs to be replaced sometimes. It can also grow things if left too long because of the humidity (which will be a problem regardless of the type of substrate being used). So every deep clean, both dig boxes get emptied, wiped out, and refilled.

The hay box gets an honorable mention here, since it pulls double duty as both nesting and digging. Triple duty, really, since it’s also a forage toy.

Enrichment Part 4: Misc

Yeah, I didn’t know what category to put this under, so here we are. Litter boxes! No, seriously, this counts as enrichment. Training your rats, whether it’s to do tricks or just poop where you want them to, counts as enrichment. Rats are incredibly smart! They’re at least as trainable as the average dog, especially if they come from an ethical breeder who breeds for health and temperament (let me just slide a reminder not to buy live animals from pet stores that source from highly unethical breeding mills in right here; please support ethical breeders and rescues), and will happily take to any training. Remember that positive reinforcement is the only ethical way to train an animal. Treats are great for this, and your pet will love you even more because every living thing loves food. My rats actually didn’t require much training for their litter trays. Make sure that whatever you’re lining the litter trays with is not the same as their normal bedding. If you’re using aspen shavings in the main cage, use pine in the litter trays, or literally any distinct safe bedding. I use shavings in my litter trays and pellets in my main cage. This helps the rats distinguish the litter trays from the rest of the cage and makes it easier to identify where to do their business versus where not to do so. When you first put the litter trays in, just go in at least once a day and toss any poops you see into the tray. If you see your rats using the litter tray, offer a treat while they’re doing so. Rats are extremely clean animals and they like their mess contained as much as you do. It would not be possible for me to only deep clean once a month if I didn’t have litter trays that I clean out about twice a week (or more, if necessary) to get rid of the majority of the mess and smell. I’d be deep cleaning every two weeks at least without them, so the litter trays are a great investment overall. Your rats will never be perfect about using them, because they’re still rats, but they’ll help a great deal.

Also under this section are forage toys! Do not feed your rats from a simple bowl, it’s boring and encourages stashing, which means you’ll never know when they’ve actually run out of food because they’re just going to pick it up and take it somewhere else and have a great big hoard that you’ll find on deep clean day. You can definitely scatter feed, that’s enriching as well because it makes the rats go looking for their food, but forage toys are the ultimate way to feed your rats, I think. I mostly don’t get my forage toys from the small animal aisle. I do have one that’s small animal specific, a little ball that they roll around the get the food out. I also have some marketed for cats, and some marketed for birds. Having multiple kinds is really helpful. I’ve also noticed that while some stashing still occurs, it’s greatly reduced. I refill the toys as they empty and everyone’s happy.

Food/Water

What you feed your rats is extremely important, obviously. Many commercially available pellet foods marketed for rats are actually extremely not good for rats. The same is true cat and dog food. It is a sad fact that the companies that make these foods tend to be far more interested in their bottom line than the health of your pet. As such, do your research! Always do your research! Know what’s in the food and what your animal should be eating, and try to match those two things up as closely as possible. In the UK rat owners typically will avoid pellet foods and prefer homemade mixes for these reasons, but making your own mix is not always feasible and can be tricky if you don’t know what you’re doing. Most US rat owners tend toward pellets because it’s a lot harder to mess up the balance of nutrients when it’s done for you. Also, the UK does not have Oxbow, which is one of the most popular brands of healthy rat food. It’s the brand that I use, and my rats adore it. Mazuri is another popular and healthy option, but my rats prefer Oxbow over anything else. I kind of want to try making my own mix at some point, but I’m not sure I ever will. Like with most of my rat supplies, I buy food in bulk because it’s cheaper. A 20 lb bag of Oxbow Essentials Adult Rat food runs me about 40 bucks. Be careful to buy adult rat food, even for baby rats, because any food that says Young Rat and Mouse is not going to have the appropriate balance of fat and protein even for young rats. Adult food will do just fine for babies, too. If you want to add some extra protein to their diet, try a boiled egg or bits of meat every now and then, but it’s probably not necessary as long as they’re getting enough food and some extra fruits and veggies now and then. If you want to try making a mix, do so much research before you try it, and make sure your ingredients are good quality.

Rats should also receive other foods in addition to their pellet or main food. Rats are omnivores and love fresh veggies, fruits, milk, eggs, and meat! Make sure you research safe foods before giving them to your rats, as not everything is safe. If you adopt your rats from an ethical breeder, they should have resources available to you on what’s safe and healthy. If you rescue, you can still reach out to established ethical breeders for tips and tricks, or find lists online as you do your research. Some veggies are only safe cooked, some parts of certain plants are unsafe while others are safe, and some foods are only safe for males or females but not the other sex (citrus and mango are the ones I remember that fall into that category). Just do your research and try to keep processed foods away from your rats. Sodium is also not good for them. Any raw meat or fish should be frozen and then thawed before being fed to your rats to kill any potential contaminants. Like always, do your research first!

Rats obviously require water, as well. Water bottles tend to be the most widely accepted way to give rats water, because they don’t evaporate and are easy to keep clean. I, however, have a terrible time with bottles, and they always leak or break. Thus, I have opted for water bowls instead. The girls love them more than the bottles I’ve used in the past, and they’re a little more enriching, as well. The only downside is that I have to wash them out daily. But since I spot clean daily anyway, I don’t mind at all.

First Aid Kit

Any responsible pet owner should always keep a first aid kit around, no matter what kind of pet they have. Pet owners who have particularly vulnerable pets should especially be careful to make sure they have a well-stocked first aid kit. This should include single-use sterile syringes without needles, gauze pads, vet wrap, infant/toddler ibuprofen or acetaminophen, medical tape, cat nail trimmers, and probiotic powder like Benebac. But most importantly, it should include the phone number and location of a vet that will see and treat rats. Have a vet picked out that you have confirmed will see and treat your pets BEFORE getting pets. If an emergency arises and you’re suddenly scrambling for a vet last second, not only do you waste precious time getting your pet the help they need but you may find out too late that the nearest rat-friendly vet is too far away. That means your pet will suffer unnecessarily and you are an irresponsible pet owner. Hard stop. If there is no vet within reach that will see rats, do not get rats. Rats will require a vet trip at least once in their lives, since all rats are extremely prone to respiratory illness. Sometimes this happens for no reason at all, because all rats possess a bacteria in their respiratory systems called mycoplasma. There’s no way to get rid of it and nothing you can do about it except make sure your rats live in a clean, well-ventilated environment with safe bedding and materials. Even with all this, sometimes your rats will get sick. That’s normal! Just make sure you can take care of them when it happens. As such, make sure you have a vet fund at all times of at least a couple hundred dollars, in addition to a well-stocked first aid kit and the name and location of an appropriate vet.

It’s also beneficial and enriching to syringe train your rats. What this means is putting a liquid treat like baby food, yogurt, or apple sauce into a syringe and giving it to your rats. This teaches the rats that the syringe is a good thing so that if you ever need to give them medicine from the syringe (rat medicine tends to be oral and dissolved in a liquid solution, so those needle-less syringes will be necessary) they’re more likely to take the medicine with minimum complaints.

Storage

Maybe it goes without saying, but you also need places to put all of the things for your rats. Keep your first aid kit in a box to itself so you always know where it is, and organize your supplies appropriately. I really like Ikea bins for my bedding and food and other dry bulk items, and I keep a lot of my smaller stuff on a shelf at the foot of my bed. Work with the space you have, and plan appropriately.

And thus concludes this extremely long explanation of the bare basics of healthy rat living. Really, this is the bare basics and not even remotely comprehensive of the options available. Be creative when shopping, and definitely look outside of the small animal aisle at your local pet store because it will not contain anywhere near all of what you need.

TL;DR: A Basic Shopping List of My Specific Setup

-Double Critter Nation

-Single Critter Nation

-Zip ties

-2 Large sized cement mixing tubs from Home Depot/Lowe’s

-Pine wood horse stall pellets

-Low pile bath mats, enough to rotate while washing

-Fleece blanket, cut in quarters to fit shelves, enough to rotate while washing

-Bins to hold digging substrate

-Oat hay from Small Pet Select or Oxbow

-Exo Terra coconut fiber terrarium soil

-Lixit Critter Space Pods, large

-Lixit Small Animal Hideout

-Woven grass mat

-Woven grass tent

-Woven grass tube

-Rattan/wicker balls, lots

-Willow stick hanging toys

-Natural loofah

-Sanitized (and therefore safe) pine cone

-Dried okra pod

-Dog ropes

-Wooden bendy bridges

-C-clips, both the kind meant for shower curtains and smaller ones marketed for kids, for hanging things

-Hammocks. All the hammocks. From everywhere hammocks are sold.

-3 (sometimes 4) Ware Scatterless Lock-n-Litter Small Animal Litter Pan, Regular

-Ikea tie hanger

-Ikea wine rack

-Ikea storage bins

-Forage toys

-Oxbow Essentials Adult Rat food

-Ceramic (and therefore tip-proof) water bowls, and/or bowls that can be attached to the cage

-Sterile single-use syringes without needles

-Gauze

-Vet wrap

-Medical tape

-Infant/toddler ibuprofen/acetaminophen

-Cat nail trimmer

-Probiotic powder like Benebac

-The phone number and location of a rat-friendly vet

-A vet fund of at least a couple hundred dollars

A final note before the end: Always remember to do your research before getting pets, do not get pets if you cannot provide a good life for them with MORE THAN the bare minimum requirements for safe and healthy pets, do not buy live animals from pet stores unless it’s part of a rescue program, don’t take the word of just one person as law, don’t be afraid to ask questions respectfully, and always seek new ways to improve your pet care. This has been a PSA from your friendly small animal enthusiast.

#fancy rats #pet rats #my rat setup #rat care #rat care advice #pet care #long post

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moonflowerlesbians · 4 years ago

Note

6. with dani and jamie would be so cute 🥺 like a lil vermont winter fic

for you, anon! I altered the wording ever so slightly, but the concept is identical. I hope you enjoy :)

you can also read on AO3

~~~

Their flat is located a few streets off from the center of town, close enough to walk but far enough to provide a sense of distance from the bustle of the main drag. Tonight, they set out just after sundown to ensure good seats to what Dani has affectionately dubbed, “the greatest holiday spectacular to ever grace the streets of Bennington,” and what Jamie has deemed, “an entirely American embarrassment.”

It’s their third winter in Vermont, and this year, The Leafling has generously sponsored half of Bennington High School’s Marching Seahorses’ winter uniforms in exchange for a full page ad in their concert programmes for a year and a sign carried at the front of the annual holiday parade. Or, rather, the kids had come to the shop with instruments, a flyer, and an unrehearsed elevator pitch, and Dani had been utterly charmed.

“It’s good to see them so passionate about something,” Dani had said.

Jamie had hummed and had continued tending to her sprouts.

“It would be good publicity,” Dani’d argued.

“Most expensive advertisement of my life.”

“Come on, they’re cute.”

“‘Cute’ doesn’t keep the lights on, Poppins.”

Unfortunately for Jamie, Dani has an irritating way of getting what she wants. And that’s how their small business ended up shelling out an ungodly amount of cash for an extracurricular named after the least fearsome sea creature Jamie can think of.

They don’t even have legs for Christsake.

But, the sheer delight on Dani’s face upon Jamie’s concession softened her heart. In any case, Dani made certain to thank her thoroughly and, ah, enthusiastically, that evening.

Jamie begins to regret her decision, now, as she’s dragged from her cozy flat into the absolutely frigid night air. She’s bundled in her warmest coat, a toque tucked over her ears to stave off the cold, but she swears she’s still going to catch frostbite.

Dani, meanwhile, wears a fleece-lined denim jacket over top one of her many cable-knit jumpers and insists she’s overheating. She carries a blanket under her arm, the other linked with Jamie’s, as she all but skips down the street.

“The English couldn’t handle a Midwestern winter. This is nothing,” she had said.

She’s always loved Christmastime, Jamie has come to learn. Dani has regaled her with seemingly endless stories about stringing popcorn and cranberry garlands, baking biscuits with Judy O’Mara, and breaking the occasional ornament decorating the tree. She’d felt awful about that last one, terrified to tell Mrs. O’Mara. She went on to explain in touching detail how Mrs. O’Mara had taken her hand and reminded her that it was just a bauble.

It made Jamie wonder how often Dani got into trouble for accidents in her home. A question for a later date.

As they near Main Street, the sound of jovial chatter and the unmistakable carolers grows louder. The shops they pass have festive window displays, elves in stockings of red and green reading storybooks or sledding down white fabric hills. Dani blows right past, determined to reach her carefully preselected place on the sidewalk. In what Jamie is convinced must be sub-zero temperatures, she can’t imagine the winter festival will be a popular destination.

She soon finds she is mistaken, however, when they round the corner and encounter a throng of people. The road has been blocked off at either end, and families drift in and out of the shops. Some skate on the temporary ice rink set up to the side. The lights lining the trees reflect prettily off the storefronts, the branches arching up and over the street. It would be like something out of a fairytale had the weather not been turning Jamie’s hands to icicles.

Dani is very proudly pointing to a square on the sidewalk out in front of the coffeehouse, and before Jamie is entirely sure what’s happened, she’s sitting on their too-small tartan picnic blanket over pavement that is far too cold on her arse. Dani is warm at her side, and they’re pressed close, using the size of their blanket as an excuse to disregard social acceptability.

“How long until this thing starts?”

Dani checks her wristwatch. “Thirty minutes, I think?”

“Fuckin’ freezing.”

The apparent mother of three standing nearby shoots them a glare.

“Jamie…” Dani gives an apologetic look, but the woman is already herding her children off in the direction of an arts and crafts booth.

“You know, if we were home, I’d wager we’d find a proper way to warm up.” She gets a sharp elbow to the ribs for that one and lets out a muffled oomph, though she wryly notes the new flush to Dani’s cheeks.

“Hot chocolate? I’ll go find us hot chocolate. I’m pretty sure there was a table supporting the junior high theatre department.”

“S’long as you’re not making it.” But Dani is already halfway down the block.

Then, Jamie is alone, freezing her arse off while waiting to see a mediocre high school marching band play in ungodly weather to make her partner happy. It’s the kind of domesticity she could never quite envision for herself. She’s come to find she’s, somewhat begrudgingly, fond of it.

Bells jingle, the sound echoing off of low brick buildings. Red ribbon bows hang from lamp posts and doorknobs and rubbish bins, with tails that swing in the breeze. The air is crisp; it blows down from the mountains and feels like a fresh start.

Dani returns with two styrofoam cups, passing one off to Jamie, and sits with her knees to her chest.

Jamie eyes the pale brown liquid skeptically before taking a cautious sip.

“Dani,” she says, “why have you handed me cocoa-flavoured water?”

Dani grins sheepishly. “The kids may have made it.”

“I should applaud you, really. You’ve managed to find the one demographic worse at brewing than you.”

“Rude.”

Jamie receives another jab to the side, nearly sending her drink sloshing onto her lap.

“Hey, now, keep that up, and we’ll end the night in the emergency ward.”

“Oh, please, you’ve got enough layers on to stop a bullet.”

“You laugh now, but just wait ‘till we’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“Shh,” Dani interrupts, “it’s starting!”

A dozen or so children in leotards and tight buns dance down the street, followed by a horse-drawn vehicle painted cherry red, in which a larger man dressed as Saint Nicholas stands, waving at the assembled crowds.

Dani’s excited grip on Jamie’s bicep silences any snide remarks she might have made about the quality of performance. Dani’s eyes shine with glee, and it’s so lovely, the few silver strands of her hair capturing the twinkling holiday lights, that the words die in Jamie’s throat. She allows herself to fall into the spirit of the thing, content to sit beside Dani in the corner of life they’ve carved out for themselves. Even if that means listening to a rather shoddy trombone rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

Sure enough, though, heading off the band, a handful of students bear a banner proclaiming the high school’s name and the season’s sponsors. There, listed below the bakery, is The Leafling. Jamie feels a flash of pride. Somehow, seeing their little shop represented for the town to see feels real, grounding, in a way she can’t explain. They’ve found a place, a rhythm, to settle. They’ve left their mark on this town tradition and become a part of something. It feels like home.

So, perhaps she cheers a bit louder when the musicians pass them. This earns her an amused smile from Dani, at which she rolls her eyes.

It’s a relatively short parade. There are only so many volunteer organizations, churches, and youth groups in the town, after all. Jamie’s legs are stiff when she finally stands and offers a hand to help Dani up. Her arms are wrapped around herself.

“Cold?”

“No,” Dani says, “Come on, we should look at booths before we head home. Support the other local businesses.”

They wander the various tables, some offering wares, some business cards, some consultations, dipping in and out of shops until a sniffling noise catches Jamie’s attention. Dani not-so-subtly swipes at her nose.

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just-- fine.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, trying to catch Dani’s eye, but she seems determined to look everywhere except Jamie. “You want my jacket?”

“I told you I’m not cold.”

“Right, ‘course not. Just positively shivering from excitement, then, are you?”

“Mhm.”

“No need to be brave on my account, Poppins, I won’t tell the world your secret.”

“And what secret is that?” Dani’s hands are tucked into her sides.

“That Dani Clayton, certified Midwesterner, can’t hash a brisk Vermont evening.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “Isn’t even snowing.”

“Hey,” Dani protests.

“Just take my jacket.”

“I’m fine.”

“Poppins.” Her tone is playful, a warning disguised as a tease.

Dani’s sighs. “Fine.”

“Ah, that’s a girl.” Jamie shrugs out of her top layer, draping it delicately over Dani’s shoulders. “Come on, then, can’t have you turning to ice on my watch.”

“You said something earlier about the proper way to warm up at home…”

“Was talking ‘bout a good cuppa,” Jamie smirks, “Why? D’you think of something else?”

Dani grumbles. “Tease.”

“Mhm,” Jamie murmurs, pressing her cold nose to Dani’s neck the instant they were out of sight, causing a squeal. “You like it.”

“Shut up.”

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im-not-shouting-im-projecting · 5 years ago

Text

Some Seamster!Quinn Cooper HCs

I didnt intend for this to be this long, but my seamstress heart was inspired. I got kind of carried away, and had to refocus, so I'm going to do another post soon with some advice and anecdotes for wrighting costumers.

For the last couple of months I have been absolutely Obsessed with @poindextears 's Crickets, her SMH post-Waffle Frog OCs, and I have had a lot of headcannons about Quinn Cooper: a theatre kid extrordanare and Hoh icon who talks like he's from 50s and is the boyfreind of Nando (Cricket dman) as we have quite a bit in common. All of Mel's fics are amazing, and I would highly recommend! Give them a read on tumblr or AO3

I know Mel has said that Quinn's favorite place is Joanne's, which is completely understandable for someone who doesn't live near actual textile markets... but Joanne's (and similar chain craft/fiberarts supply stores) suck.

Like first of all, on a monetary level... I'm going to start with the assumption that high school Quinn didn't have a large project budget (reasoning: 1. his family is already tight with money, 2. I can't imagine his not-particularly-supportive guardians gave him lots of spending money (esp with theatre fees and materials) 3. I can't imagine he brought in tons of money on the side with a theatre schedule + grades good enough to go to med school + time with his old lady freind + time for sewing)

With that being said: Fabric is expensive. Way more expensive than people expect. Especially if you don't have expensive machinery (like overlock machines) that make cheap synthetic fabrics usable. Also I like to imagine Quinn is in the "fabrics made of plastic are itchy and bad for the enviornment" club like me.

All that is to say: Joanne's is absolutely the worst place that isn't actively upscale to buy fabric (or materials) on a budget.

- The shop's target demographic is stay-at-home white suburban moms who have the time to clip coupons, buy materials on a "when it's on sale" basis as opposed to a "my sister didn't notice the four seperate places I marked my shears 'fabric only' so now I physically cannot continue this project without buying new extra-sharp fabric scissors'" basis, and importantly: can stop by the store every day for a month because discounted items change on a day to day basis, all of which is not particularly conducive to someone a high school kids on a budget.

- Even with all the discounts in existance, the fabrics there are still super expensive and especially for the often lackluster quality (like... they are fine but if I'm paying literally $40/y for enough faux fur to make a big enough "mane" to cover the gap between the cowardly lion's padding and the actor's neck, we shouldnt have to sweep the fur bits off the stage at intermission)

- Additionally if you need a lot of fabric, say enough 7ft squares of heavy mustard yellow fabric for 30 lioness cape/pants? You might just need to run 4 seperate Joanne's out of two different fabrics that were close enough to each other to work

If you are putting in the time and effort to make something complicated,

- Also, and this is probably the most obvious: there just aren't that many options. If you want anything other than a cotton or fleece, than you better hope the single shade they have in the right color works

So I have established: Joanne's = Bad

So how does Quinn factor into all this?

Well first of all I would like to imagine that at some point Quinn helped out in SMH costuming, where they teach him the magic of using something that already exists. Samwell being as liberal as it is, I would like to think that the costuming people are aware of how awful the current state of fabric waste is, and, how his sewing skills are so much better used altering things at thrift shops beginning his journey twords my completeley basess headcannon that he one day adopts some vintage looks

While I think he would be down to adopt some of these practices in his costuming (a la my personal anectode below), I have a feeling that Quinn is one of those people who just likes to make things from scratch. (reasoning: 1 his general personality, but far more importantly, 2 THIS BOY WANTED TO MAKE EVAN HANSEN'S POLO BY HAND, WHY??? WHAT IS THE PURPOSE??? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TIME THAT TAKES???????? YOU ARE WILLING TO SPEND UPWORDS OF TEN HOURS OF YOUR LIFE ON A MODERN STYLE SHIRT THATS GOING TO BE SEEN 4 TIMES???)

I get it, especially for historical reconstructions, there are people who genuinely love sewing by hand, I love Bernadette Banner as much as the next seamstress, but I honestly don't know how they do it.

I like to think that Quinn would be wandering around some thrift store and out of the corner of his eye notice some curtains and have a vision of frolicking through a meadow like Julie Andrews in cloths made out of a curtain... metaphorically. But he def gets "Do a Dear" stuck in his head every time he wears it

Of course the SMH Costuming crew introduce him to some better places to at least get draping and mock up fabrics, but I think they would also introduce him to an actual fabric store.

Samwell is close enough to Boston that I'm sure there's an actual fabric warehouse within driving distance, so when Quinn can't find a suitable material at his beloved Joanne's, and is understandably skeptical about ordering fabric online, Ford is just like dude, go to the fabric warehouse, so he gives it a try.

Ok his fist thought when he gets there is omg everything is so big. Ok, that's his second thought, his first thought is ugh this smells like the SMH locker room, bc a giant block of concrete with no internal climate control in the New England humidity stuffed to the brim with moisture-holding fabric is def gonna make some kind of funk.

But after that like...

Ok, on the left is your average Joanne's while on the right is your average fabric warehouse

I can totally imagine him physically getting lost. He is tiny, and those places are total mazes, absolutely ginormus, they are all stacked literally 8 feet tall, and all the rows look the same.

Fabric in warehouses is stored for maximum capacity as opposed to places like Joanne's where it is purposely stored in ways that display the whole selection at once. Additionally, while hobbyist bolts face out as much as possible so you can see it at a glance, professional grade bolts face in for protection

...If it's on the shelves at all, the hallmark of a textile warehouse is just dozens of bolts leaning haphazardly in precarious places

This tiny boy is just absolutely surrounded by rows upon rows of fabric, stored in ways that are absolutely not conducive to being looked at easily, and is incredibly frusturated bc Aggghhh I can't look at any of this without moving all of it around, and I can't reach any of it!!!

BUT!

Guess what he has?

Nando to the rescue!

Quinn's big strong dman boyfriend is more than willing to move around and carry the bolts for him and when need be he'll just straight up plop Quinn on his shoulders so he can see the stuff at the top :)

Ok, that's the gist of what I had to say, some other little seamster!Quinn hcs:

his old lady friend taught him the absolute basics, and his wedding gift from her is her 70 year old sewing machine that he first learned to sew on and he treasures that thing FOREVER

bc of his apparent love of hand sewing he is one of those people that swears by genuine leather thimbles, idk why it just feels like him

whenever people compliment his outfit he is just casually like "Oh thanks, I made it" (bc non sewers are always astounded by that and we get to gloat) because I said so

he makes Nando cute crop tops

#quinn cooper #the crickets #Poindexters #alannah talks about sewing #oh look i said something #sewing #costuming #quindo

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aroworlds · 5 years ago

Text

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part One

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

Length: 4, 914 words (part one of two).

Note: You'll need to have read The Vampire Conundrum for many references to make sense.

Rowan should be assumed an Australian character in an Australian city. Our Christmas, therefore, involves hot weather, short sleeves, barbecues and confusion at certain holiday traditions common in the Northern Hemisphere.

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible?

“It’s Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange!” Damien emerges from the meeting room, shaking a paper-scrap-filled jar with the gleeful attitude of a toddler attacking a pile of presents. In order to give the occasion suitable gravitas, he draped a rope of red tinsel over his shoulders, the fronds glittering in the flicker-prone lighting. “Come gather!”

Rowan looks up from his computer, biting back a groan. This isn’t a surprise, given that Shelby answered his interview questions about “workplace culture” with descriptions of their celebrating capitalist-infused Christian holidays, and the office more than lives up to that promise. A tree sits on the front counter, its branches crammed with baubles. Tinsel hangs on everything from which tinsel can be hung and rests in snake-like coils over the computer towers, screens, desk partitions and the large corkboard. Ribbon-wrapped pencils topped with felt trees, stars and stockings flowered, overnight, from everyone’s pen mugs; Melanie gave Rowan three of them for his frayro mug. Every desk features a red bowl of tree-shaped marshmallows, candy canes or that weird Christmas lolly mix common in dollar shops.

Only the lack of music renders bearable this explosion of festivity. Damien said he drew that line last year after Melanie and Shelby alternated between Michael Bublé and Josh Groban’s Christmas CDs.

Rowan doesn’t want to think about that sublime horror.

Christmas to him means slipping a few TSO tracks into his melodic metal playlists and gritting his teeth until the new year.

“O come all ye faithful,” Melanie sings, spinning her chair around. Every day this week she’s donned a different Christmas-themed T-shirt; today’s features a screen-printed Rudolph head with an apple-sized nose made from red minky fleece. Rowan doesn’t understand the American “ugly Christmas jumper” thing—why?—but Melanie appears to be replicating the trend via short sleeves and jersey knits.

Damien jerks his elbow at the largest whiteboard, half filled with the Banned Holiday Decorations List—items including “music, carols, hymns and singing”, “all types of fake snow” and “Cadbury Crème Eggs”. “Didn’t we talk about carols?”

Rowan doesn’t want to be accused of being a dreadful, fun-loathing millennial about which too many articles have been written on dislike of office gift exchanges … but he doesn’t know how not to be one, either. Why do people like this? Buying presents for people who aren’t strangers but aren’t friends, hoping that his attempt isn’t too generic only to open something tailored to feminine cliché ... followed by the apologetic explanation or justification that Rowan isn’t easy to shop for.

Can’t he save himself fifteen bucks and skip the disaster?

He’s never understood how he presents a difficulty that isn’t cissexism and a lack of imagination: buy him good thread, expensive coffee, dress socks, a nice mug, food storage containers or fancy kitchenware. He’ll even take a cheap box of chocolates, since his housemates will eat anything should they believe it food. Just get him something that isn’t a floral-patterned bath set followed by the hand-wringing apology that the giver just doesn’t know what to get someone as confusing as Rowan!

Why don’t they ask him what he wants?

He’s over spending money and time on gift exchanges only to receive cissexism, dysphoria or stereotype wrapped in paper and tied with a bow.

Rowan draws a breath and slips his fingers under his thighs. He should have sent Damien an email when Melanie started decorating, but Rowan was thinking about pushing their print date back two weeks and not thinking about Mum’s out-of-nowhere request that Rowan attend the family Christmas. “Uh … Damien? Can I … quick word?”

Why did he get himself a new psychologist? One who says terrible words like assertiveness?

“Give us a minute.” Tinsel rustling, Damien crouches beside Rowan’s chair. “Will here do?”

If everyone overhears, Rowan can pretend he’s talking to one person while knowing they all benefit from his explanation. Besides, going into the meeting room makes this a thing. “Yeah. Um. I … I don’t usually get the right presents from people in gift exchanges. By which I mean ... presents that aren’t a reminder that they think me female, and if they give me enough nail polish and heart-shaped jewellery and glittery handbags, I’ll admit it. I don’t want that? Really don’t want that?”

Why do his parents want to play at being a happy family? Does Mum want to show off to Uncle Keith and his new wife? Have they forgotten how badly last Christmas went? Or is this just more cissexist assumption that Rowan will discard his masculinity when needed? If they behave as though Rowan should fit their expectations, will he—eventually—surrender to them?

I’m not being difficult because I want my masculinity and transness respected. I’m not...

Melanie leans over to poke Shelby’s shoulder, her bright red lips forming a ring.

Damien blinks, hesitating as if he doesn’t know how best to respond. “That ... sounds like my niece’s favourite birthday. Although she took the bag, put one of my sister’s dumbbells inside and swung it at the boy over the road who wouldn't stop calling her pretty. And then made an army of neighbourhood girls wielding heavy unicorn bags.” He shakes his head. “I mean that … you obviously aren’t a certain kind of eight-year-old or into glitter, so...”

If only Rowan had the nerve to do that to Aunt Laura! “I bet he never did that again.”

“No. I’ll make sure … that the person who has you gets you something appropriate.”

Inappropriately-feminine gifts aren’t his only difficulty. Rowan doesn’t how to voice something so complex (to cis, gender-conforming people) about gender and gift-giving without sounding like he’s complaining for the sake of complaining—the demanding, difficult trans man of his parents’ accusations. Most often he endures a cis female celebrity’s latest perfume, but well-intended “accepting” people give him an Old Spice gift set—acknowledging his masculinity at the cost of his personality. How do cis people not chafe at gift-giving traditions that assume people can be reduced down to one of two categories with narrow behaviours and interests ascribed to each?

It’s easier to draw the line at gifts that only avoid being the embodiment of the giver’s cissexism and donate everything else, as much as Rowan yearns for one year with a good present he doesn’t buy himself.

Will cis people ever understand that being trans means holding back on responding to cis nonsense?

“Thanks. Yeah, thanks.”

“Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange rules!” Damien straightens, shaking the jar; paper rattles against glass. “Twenty-dollar limit, keep it fun, don’t give anything inappropriate for a professional environment. I want to be eating mince pies, not taking people into the meeting room for discussions on adulthood. We exchange on the last day, December 20.” He reaches into the jar, the neck a tight fit for his hands, and tweezers out a folded piece of paper before handing it to Rowan.

Damien shakes the jar again before offering another slip to Melanie and then Shelby.

Don’t people draw names themselves from the bowl or jar? Nobody else seems concerned by this lapse—Melanie starts laughing when she sees her name—so Rowan shrugs and opens his, deciding it must be normal enough.

The Aro Gods must be inclined to a little seasonal kindness, for he sees “Melanie” written in Damien’s handwriting.

No need to struggle through generic alternatives like food or wine; pride pins will make her happy enough. A pen? A mini aro flag? Choosing may be Rowan’s worst problem, but he can get her a few things and give her whatever’s over the limit after the exchange.

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible?

“Rowan!” Melanie bustles over; he quickly slides his paper up his sleeve. She makes metallic jangling noises—words like “ringing” or “pealing” don’t apply—as she moves, thanks to a gold chain bracelet decorated with small bells at each link. Matching earrings dangle from her ears, clinking out of tune with the ones at her wrist. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, hoping she’ll let pass unremarked his description of holiday cissexism.

“Where did you buy your flag patches? I want one. Well, maybe more than one, because there’s the aro flag, and the ace flag, and maybe one of the aro-ace flags, but I haven’t decided which one I like best since there’s several that are nice, and...”

Once-in-a-lifetime inspiration hits Rowan with finger-twitching force. “I don’t know,” he lies once Melanie runs out of steam. “Uh … a friend gave them to me and ... I don’t know where they bought them. Online, probably?” He swallows and tries for distraction, gambling his poor ability for falsehood against Melanie’s likely ignorance. “Maybe look on Etsy? I’d look on Etsy.”

“Etsy? What’s that?”

“Handcraft eBay,” he says in relief, thinking through his thread stash. “Where people sell handmade things. I don’t know when I’m seeing my friend next, but I can ask...?”

He’ll need purples, greens, greys, black, white—oh, and blues! A little orange, a little yellow. Has he enough fabric? What about time? Should he do the main ones first and then others as he can squeeze them in?

On the way home tonight, he’ll start by stopping at his local sewing store.

***

Rowan hits “send” on an email to Damien, ignoring Mum’s latest text, as Shelby bounds up to his desk. Like Melanie, she’s added Christmas T-shirts to her daily ensemble; unlike Melanie, Shelby’s T-shirts appear to come from a department store’s children’s section. Today’s shirt shows a cute-but-scientifically-inaccurate dinosaur in a Santa hat holding a red box. Also unlike Melanie, Shelby hasn’t added earrings, pins, necklaces, bangles or socks in honour of the season. “Yeah?”

Damien added “battery and USB-powered light-up objects” to the List after an office vote provoked by a flashing necklace that resembled miniature string lights.

Shelby whispers, meaning that she speaks in a raspier tone with volume enough that her standing on the other side of a crowded football oval needn’t impede one’s hearing. In fairness, Rowan has heard her speak over a hundred gossiping Year 7 students until they surrendered to the stubbornness of an older woman who doesn’t go to bed caring what they think of her. “Can you go through all the … the identities? Can you show them to me and tell me what colours go with them? Do they all have their own colours?”

Rowan can only sit and gape.

“Please? I need someone to go through them all.”

He lunges for his half-filled mug, hoping his perpetual need for coffee conceals his surprise. “You mean pride flags? Queer pride flags?”

“Please.” Shelby nods, grips his arm and gives a meant-as-comforting nutcracker-like squeeze before lowering her hand to fidget with her phone—a device likely dug up with the fossils from the dinosaur on her shirt. It doesn’t have a cover; he guesses she covered the back with multiple layers of washi tape coated in (yellowing) clear nail polish. He doesn’t ask why. “Maybe you can start with the ones you use, and that one Melanie has, and then tell me the other ones? There aren’t that many, are there?”

Rowan, lukewarm coffee in his mouth and heading down his gullet, chokes.

Several moments of spluttering and coughing, aided by Shelby’s enthusiastic back-pounding, pass before he can answer. “Uh … there’s lots, actually. Lots.” He considers explaining about Tumblr before deciding on the appropriate answer: a thousand kinds of nope. “Do you want gender ones, or sexuality ones, or aromantic ones, or...?”

Shelby’s blank, brow-creased expression shows that, if she read Rowan’s leaflet, his emails and the hand-outs provided by Damien’s trainers, the knowledge hasn’t stuck with her.

(They weren’t better than Rowan’s own and only mentioned aromanticism as a way of being asexual.)

“The ones you and Melanie use...?” She lowers her voice to a point where someone may, in theory, be unable to hear her from the other side of the room. “I want to get Melanie a little extra … something, this year. With a flag, maybe?” She jerks her elbow in the direction of Melanie’s mug, currently filled with something smelling of camomile and dish-water. “But I should know more about the other ones, too. Like yours. Can you show them all to me?”

There’s no way in this tinselled hell that Melanie can’t hear Shelby, yet Melanie appears engrossed in deleting emails.

Last week, Rowan said “aromantic” once to their newest volunteer in a conversation about the pride flags on their website. Seconds later, Melanie materialised from the hallway, passed over one of Rowan’s leaflets and introduced herself as aro-ace before giving a five-point rundown on ways to avoid casual amatonormativity—not that she’s yet comfortable saying the word—in the workplace. There’s no way she’s contemplating the mysteries of her trash folder while Rowan talks to Shelby about aromantic pride flags! Breathing “aro” aloud is now akin to summoning a demon—one revelling in the discovery of the identity that makes belated sense of her life.

“You want me to show you aromantic flags?” Rowan asks to clarify, baffled.

Shelby beams at him. “Yes, please.”

Melanie, frowning, deletes an email.

Did Damien have a word with her? Did the volunteer complain?

Rowan can’t say that he wants to play tour guide through the world of queer vexillology, but Shelby has gone five weeks without saying the phrase “you trans people” and two months without reassuring Rowan on the subject of pronoun-correction. He also knows Melanie and Shelby are friends outside of work, bonding over stage shows and music. If Shelby wants to support Melanie in her aromanticism, how can Rowan refuse?

While Rowan sat there planning the politest way to navigate the glaring error in the trainers’ leaflets, Melanie stood up, exclaimed that aromanticism isn’t the same thing as asexuality and demanded that they do some reading before engaging in “obvious aro denial”. He owes her. She scares him a little, but he owes her.

(Should Rowan master the ability to handle conversations and presentations, he may consider becoming a sensitivity trainer. That two-day workshop, while decent enough on gender and sexuality, left him again concluding that most queer alloros have no idea how to reference and include aromanticism in their conversations about queerness.)

Another Mum-authored text flashes up on his phone, displaying the words “Christmas”, “clothing” and “appropriately”.

No, no and hell no.

“Yeah, okay.” He bends down to grab his satchel, tucked against the left-hand side of his desk. A decent collection of patches and badges now covers the front flap, including his cursed-but-memorable “aro” patch. “That’s the trans pride flag, with the blue, pink and white, and beside it is the bisexual flag. The flag with the greens and black is the aromantic flag, and the allo-aro flag has the greens and gold. It’s pretty much the same as the aro flag, except with yellow and gold instead of grey and black.” He points at each patch as he moves through his explanation. “Allo—allosexual—aromantics are aros who experience sexual attraction.”

He’ll stick to simple definitions with Shelby, even if they lack ideal expansiveness.

Shelby nods, smiling.

“For me, it means I’m aromantic and bisexual. Aro-aces, like Melanie, are aromantic and asexual, meaning she doesn’t experience sexual attraction.” He almost asks her if she remembers what “aromanticism” means before realising that he’ll sound like a condescending primary-school teacher. “This flag with the blues, white and grey is the frayromantic flag, which designates the specific way I’m aro. The flag on Melanie’s mug—”

Shelby leans against his desk, her grey braid trailing over one arm. “So you have an aromantic flag and an allosexual aromantic flag? A special aromantic flag?”

Are they heading towards the sort of conversation that involves anger over “making up” identities outside the speaker’s reckoning of acceptable? Or does she mean “distinct”? “Ah … kind of? The green and black flag represents all aros—Melanie and me. The green and gold one’s just for me, and I don’t use her blue and orange one.”

For the first time in living memory, Melanie pays Rowan and Shelby no attention.

“I see! You want to reflect different types of aro.” Shelby almost says the word without unusual stress; Rowan considers applauding her but decides he won’t risk undermining his point on avoiding excessive overreaction to queer terminology. “Do you ever put the flags together? Like if you want to be both things at once?”

When isn’t he the state of multiple identities at once? Rowan decides she means “represent” instead of “be” and nods. “Yeah? Some people put a heart with the stripes of the aro flag in the middle of the trans or bi flags, but I don’t like that because using a heart to represent us all is a bit … eh. You know, heart, love, love hearts? Lots of people don’t care, though. I’ve also seen folks split them in an image, or have the stripes fade into each other. Like trans stripes fading into aro stripes.”

“And you like that better?” Shelby blinks, her blunt nails tracing the edge of the case. “Would Melanie like that? The aromantic flag fading into another one?”

There’s no way Melanie didn’t hear that—and no reason for her to say silent! Last month she told Rowan and Shelby to get mint chocolate cake for her birthday after walking in on them debating sponge versus cheesecake in the meeting room!

(Sponge, in Rowan’s opinion, is the classic cake format.)

“Yeah. It shows my identities together without using symbolism I find awkward.” Rowan lowers his voice, leaning closer to Shelby. “Melanie will probably go for the aromantic flag fading into or combined with the asexual flag, if you’re doing something with two flags. I don’t think she’d be into hearts, but a split image or fading? That’d work.”

Shelby straightens, beaming, and gives Rowan another firm arm-squeeze. “That’s great! Thank you so much for helping, Rowan!”

“Don’t you want to know more about aro-ace flags...?”

“No, that’s great!” Shelby, heading towards her own desk, no longer attempts to speak at anything not normal volume. “Aromantic into asexual! I’ll remember that!”

As Shelby turns, he catches a glimpse of the cracked screen on her phone—or, more specifically, the movement of her hand as she presses stop on her recording app.

Is that legal? It surely isn’t normal? Or is she an auditory learner, meaning she’ll learn best by playing the recording over … but in that case, why not say so? He could have directed her to YouTube videos and podcasts! Perhaps, though, she only shows her ignorance in digital etiquette, in the same way Rowan took Melanie aside to explain that the use of caps lock for the body of a promotional email violates good manners as much as—more than!—she thinks signing a form in red ballpoint? Should he complain about something suggestive of her willingness to understand him?

Rowan stares, shrugs and shakes his head as a third text pops up.

Sometimes it’s easier to just not ask.

Too bad that can’t apply as easily to family.

***

Rowan stands, yawns and stretches. His lunch half-hour beckons: sunshine spent with food, cross-stitch and a flock of pigeons tame enough to perch on the far end of his bench. Since today involved apologetic emails followed by a contrite phone call to his goddess amongst printers, time free of people feels like looming perfection. Just him, the pigeons, a sewing needle and the homemade pasty he hid from Matt inside a bag of frozen peas.

Any day in which he gets to enjoy his own cooking can’t be too terrible.

Perhaps he should do as his psychologist says: put a chest freezer in his bedroom and a lock on his door.

“Rowan!” Damien, his hair tousled enough to make Rowan think of a woolly mammoth in a sharp suit, carries a plate of something smelling like honey and chicken into the office. “While Melanie’s out, can you show me your mug shop? You said there’s a lot of aro-ace flags, right? Or would she want one like yours, the green one? I don’t get her something like your blue and green shield one, though?” He shrugs and sets the plate down on Rowan’s desk. “My wife’s friends with her sister and we got invited out, but there’s another swap. I don’t want to get her the wrong thing. Do you mind?”

At least Damien does the sensible thing of asking while Melanie’s out on lunch. Maybe this won’t take too long: Damien’s a terrible photographer with unreasonable expectations of Photoshop, but he does know how to buy things online.

“Yeah. Hold on.” Rowan opens up his browser just as his phone beeps. Nope, ignoring that. “I’ll show you what mugs I think she’d want.”

He hadn’t realised how many people here are friends with Melanie outside of work. It must be nice to have a regular social life that isn’t “being at work” and “sighing at housemates”, but there’s advantages in possessing the short holiday shopping list of family, a work gift exchange and a couple of friends. Besides, does anyone want one’s co-workers to know what happens at an outside party?

“Don’t ignore your phone because of me.”

“It’s Dad.” Since Rowan can’t find a pithy or amusing way to explain that Dad’s text message will be a guilt-trip ordering Rowan to come to Christmas for the sake of the family’s happiness followed by a second guilt-trip explaining how much his refusal to confirm has upset Mum, he just shakes his head.

You talked about this with the psychologist. Guilt. Trip.

He made an appointment for the second week of January; he should have made one in December as well.

“That bad?”

He can’t remember the specifics of his rant that day atop the desk, but he must have suggested at an interesting relationship with his parents. “Yeah.”

Did they forget telling Rowan that if he doesn’t like how they treat him, he can leave? They told Rowan that he isn’t welcome while he remains intolerant of them—while I expect them to treat me as I deserve. He left. Now they want him back to smile for the family photos?

What’s worse? Enduring a day of misgendering, deadnaming and cissexism, which shouldn’t result in unknown voyages of horror if he bites his tongue? Or avoiding short-term discomfort while gaining the long-term torment of the family’s schooling Rowan in appropriate Ross respect for blood and holidays? What chance is there of avoiding harassment if he doesn’t go?

Maybe he can leave off shaving for a week before Christmas and turn up with his new, albeit patchy, facial hair while wearing an op-shop debutante gown, so he “dresses appropriately” and “doesn’t confuse the relatives” as requested.

How many truckloads of Valium will he need for that?

“Rowan? Are you okay?” Damien, now sitting on an office chair, peers at him as though waiting for Rowan to do anything more than stare at the computer screen.

“Ugh. Sorry. Just thinking.” Rowan sighs and types in the shop’s name, bringing up their website, and then opens a second tab to another archiving different pride flags.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damien asks in that gruffly-gentle voice, one that makes Rowan want to smash his fist through a window.

“Yeah, no.” Rowan draws a breath and points at the screen with a hand a too trembly for his liking. “So you’re going to want to know what flags represent what, because there’s a drop-down menu where you can choose from different flags...”

It’s easier to talk, easier to run through all the different flags in a depth of explanation Damien doesn’t request, easier to think about something that isn’t family—a subject with complexity enough to distract but without provocation enough to distress.

He doesn’t know if Damien asks questions from curiosity or kindness, but Rowan’s pasty becomes pastry crumbs scattered over his desk and keyboard; Damien’s chicken, half-eaten, sits cooling on its plate.

“So cupioromantic is the one where you want the relationship but you don’t feel romance?” Damien frowns and runs both oversized hands through his hair, now resembling a befuddled bear emerging after a long hibernation. “Why have a word for that? I mean, everyone feels like it isn’t one of those movies and dates anyway, so why specify that?”

“Where you don’t feel romantic attraction but desire a romantic relationship,” Rowan says, telling himself that Damien unknowingly regurgitates the tired “demiromanticism is normal” argument. Isn’t this better than looking at the fifth text message? “Some people need it to be a word. Movies aren’t that divorced from reality. They’re … too easy, too glossy, too perfect, too unrealistic, but...”

He sighs. Not dating brings many benefits, but Rowan has to admit that he misses the fun of falling in love, even if trouble always follows. Misses the fun of dreaming, hoping and fantasising; misses the bright, happy glow of being caught up in someone else. At risk of being considered a bad aro, he likes that glorious limerence pushing him to navigate people despite his gibbering anxiety! In some ways, knowing he’s capable of falling in love over and over feels heady and powerful; amatonormativity more than the nature of Rowan’s frayromanticism bestows difficulty on its aftermath.

I want to fall in love with you ... and after getting to know you, do it again with someone else, all the best bits of romance’s beginning on eternal repeat.

Instead, he avoids dating and the inevitable development of his partner’s hurt, surrendering to a world where his shape of attraction isn’t acceptable or reasonable. Albeit with a trace of bitterness that frayromanticism will be easier to navigate should Rowan not be an anxiety-plagued, bisexual trans man!

Of course, discarding romance makes pursuing his shape of sexual attraction unacceptable and unreasonable...

“How are they real? Nobody just sees someone and falls in love like that—”

“Dude, dude, I’ve fallen in love like that.” Rowan shakes his head and launches into the speech that’s the spiritual duty of any card-carrying aromantic: “Do you fall in love after you get to know someone? After they love you back? Do you know what ‘fall in love’ means to you? Because it’s easy to name all sorts of feelings ‘love’ and think they’re romantic when the world says you have to be alloromantic. It’s even easier to not be romantically attracted and not know! Have you thought about it?”

Damien, his eyes so wide that he reminds Rowan of a zebrafish with a brown wig, shakes his head.

“I swear, alloros like romance movies because while they’re a … a simplified, idealistic version of romance, they’re close enough to what people feel—or think they’re supposed to feel—that they … ring, resonate. They wouldn’t do that if it were complete invention. Just like science fiction isn’t real but talks enough about human experiences to have meaning to human audiences. Unreal, in so many ways, but just real enough. So—”

Damien holds up both hands, palms facing Rowan. “Stop. Stop.”

Now the anxious part of Rowan’s brain realises he’s lecturing at his supervisor in a way no need to avoid thinking of his family justifies; he gulps, fingers trembling. While the office code of conduct doesn’t specify things like unwanted speeches questioning another person’s belief in their romantic attraction, he doubts this acceptable behaviour. “I … shit. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I just...”

Will he ever stop causing a mess at work?

“You’re talking so fast,” Damien says, slow and careful in the way of a man talking to a panicked horse, “that I can’t keep up.” He sighs and runs one hand through his hair. “This isn’t something I thought we’d be talking about! I just wanted to check that everything was right...” He shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound annoyed or outraged. Just bewildered. “Okay. Right. What about all those sorts of things that we think are love? What do you mean by that?”

At some point during the resulting afternoon, Rowan sends an email thanking his printer for her willingness to amend the job queue, ignores his brother’s entry in the competition to provoke the most seasonally-appropriate guilt, and scribbles a note to ask the higher-ups if they’ll spring for a basket of expensive coffee and chocolates sent to said printer.

Damien nods several times, takes dot points on a flyer print-out and the back of the report draft for last week’s holiday event, asks more questions and promises that he’ll remind the higher-ups of their involvement in submitting January’s flyers two weeks late. After eating the rest of his re-heated honey chicken at Rowan’s desk and narrating the story of how his future wife followed him from pub to pub during a crawl for his brother’s buck’s night, Damien concludes that he only experiences attraction for someone after they express attraction for him.

Melanie, having rested her arms on the back of Damien’s chair to overhear the last half of the conversation, gives him a smothering hug and welcomes him to “the quiver” before cackling at Damien’s blank look.

Find a recipro mug, Rowan later scribbles on the bottom of his to-do-list.

At least that job doesn’t involve relatives.

51 notes · View notes

whatshockey · 6 years ago

Text

slow dancing in the dark - k.k.

A KASPERI KAPANEN IMAGINE.

in which what was supposed to be a goodbye declared in the dead of night ended up being stretched into the following morning

song used for inspiration: “SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK” by Joji

word count: 3,909

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some smut and cursing, and breaking off things for good type of thing. overall just really angsty i’m sorry lol

a/n: i promise that i won’t only do song fics but this song grew on me late one night and this is my first time attempting anything raunchier than kissing lmao

Her eyes bled sorrow and throat swelled in heartbreak. Another sob shook through her frame, leaving her knees quivering on the porcelain tile of the bathroom floor, bending further into his lap with every chill down her spine. Her lips cracked and knuckles dampened from attempting to keep her tears hidden, palms heavy as she gripped his shirt collar with the feeling of regret already beginning to creep in. “Stop it,” her mind scolded, and she really did want to. But her voice was drowned out by his dangerously reassuring whispers of, “Shh, it’s okay” and “I’ve got you, baby.”

Only four hours ago, she’d been camouflaged in the buzzing streets of Toronto, forcing her lips together in attempts to form something that resembled a smile. The large jacket hung off of her back, and months ago a last name could’ve been found blanketing his shoulder blades, one that did not match the man’s whose hand held her’s. She could still faintly smell his scent lodged in between the pairing of the worn out fleece and denim, but at times wondered if she had imagined it all, cursing herself for thinking about the same scent lingering on her pillowcase when she was in the company of another man.

Scotiabank Area couldn’t feel more cold, despite the thousands packed and seated dressed in variations of blue. It had only been their third date and somehow her heart had managed to wedge another blade in between her breaths, slowly digging further into her chest as the minutes ran by. Her eyes flickered to the suite that was surely full of the women that, at one point in her life, she could’ve considered sisters. She allowed her mind to wander back to the nights she’d spend in there cheering on her favorite person in the world, whereas now the new couple, although she avoided referring to it as such, sat uncomfortably close to the ice. The sounds of blades carving the sheets of ice echoed before her, and her pulse heightened at the mere glimpse of his jersey, one she’d worn many times before. Before he’d claim that he’d always be able to spot her even if she was in the midst of millions, and she’d wondered if he still looked for her in the crowd, or if he simply stopped caring to do so at all. What would he think if he saw her, at his own game, wrapped in the arms of a stranger who probably couldn’t keep up with the sport himself if he tried.

Her lips curled, finding the irony of the situation amusing. Karma was certainly a bitch, and she almost wanted to laugh at her own stupidity. She had allowed her date to drag her into a bar later that night. The same one where she had shared a heated kiss pressed up against a bathroom stall, a vein-covered hand moving to unbutton her jeans. She felt her cheeks burn as she was ushered into the club with a far less calloused and muscular arm against her back, and internally blamed the contrast of the temperature outside rather than the memory of another doing the same. Her date’s arm never left her waist, even as the two sat down on the stools and he’d pulled his close enough so that their entire sides were squeezed together, lips ghosting over her ear as he made a mediocre joke in which she forced herself to laugh to.

Her date attempted to gain the bartender’s attention, but he had noticed them immediately, recognizing the shine of her hair even in the dimmed lights of the club. He’d addressed her by her first name, earning a confused look from her date. However, she managed to ignore his stare as she ordered two of her regulars, and refrained from referring to it as such. Explaining to her date how much she’d frequented this bar with a man he could never compare to was not on her agenda for the evening. And neither was gossiping about their colleagues from work, which he had turned the conversation to and she had no interest in amusing as their drinks were placed before them. The two had met a company party, never interacting before as they worked in separate departments. She particularly avoided her male colleagues, knowing to never make her professional life messy if she could. However, he’d been the most attractive one there, and perhaps the most attractive man she’d seen in a while, and as much as she’d preferred a certain edge she was used to on a man, her would-be date was now her ex. And her coworker’s dress pants seemed to fit particularly tight at his groin in a way that she couldn’t help but admire.

“Uh,” he cut in, looking over her shoulder as she attempted to navigate the conversation onto the latest project she’d been working on, her eyes narrowing at his interruption. “Sorry, but are those the leafs?”

It had been surprising he even spotted them, seeing as the club had been packed with sweaty bodies in short dresses and ripped jeans grinding against each other or stumbling to down two more shots of vodka. It had been even more surprising that they had even attended such a place post their big win for the night. The city’s heroes usually opted for a far more elite establishment even on their off days, taking over the VIP section with expensive liquor at their lips and beautiful women at their sides.

What hadn’t been surprising, however, was finding her ex boyfriend and a girl with a siren-like gaze hanging off of him, dressed in a deep red dress that made her skin glow gold. She could tell that even with heels, the woman would tower over her frame, offering a much envied advantage when bruising his neck with her full lips, painted so that they’d match the fabric stretched across her breasts and hips.

They had all already been facing her as she turned around. She’d avoided looking at his face, knowing very well that it would only take one second under his eyes to have her coming undone, but whether she’d run into his arms or out of the door, she did not know. Will had been the first to acknowledge her with something other than a blank stare, grinning almost instantly as their eyes briefly met, and he’d already been at his feet approaching her. She wondered why others hadn’t protested against it, and what had been going through her date’s mind as she could feel his arm freeze in place along her hips. She wasn’t sure if she really cared about what exactly he thought of her in the moment as he watched her with a shocked stare, but she shook away from his grip and leaned out to greet her old friend who’d outstretched his arms. The two had grown awfully close over the last year, which only made her hurt more while he helped her as she packed up her things from his teammate’s apartment.

Freddie had been next, sending her a small smile and quick kiss on the cheek. He’d become quite a comforting presence to be around, always available for a good conversation or comfort when her boyfriend was injured. She hadn’t noticed him following, instead catching eyes with Auston, who sent her a tight-lipped smile and casual nod, and continued to hold onto the girl on his lap who was just as attractive as the other. She wish she could bring herself to fearlessly stare down the last leaf, but instead opted to turn her focus back onto the two towering over her. She could still picture the countless messages he’d received from other girls during their run, her own mind replaying the images of their bodies twisted in flattering angles and perfectly lined eyes. He’d never reply, but she almost wished he did so she could prepare for this moment, because he was undoubtedly talking to one of them now. Hadn’t any of the other inhabitants of the bar noticed them yet? It felt as if they were the only ones in there.

The same arm from before wrapped itself around her frame and she fought the urge to roll her eyes, refusing to introduce the two to her plus one. The more time she spent around him, the more he clinged on, and she was left missing the large hand that would cup the flesh of her thighs under the table at team dinners, the same would that would wrap around her throat in their bedroom afterwards. Despite how delicious the man from work looked with his sleeves rolled up, his arms were left bare, and no art could be used as stencils for her love bites to trail her tongue across.

Her thighs clenched at the thought, but the feeling quickly left as she felt the vibrations from the voice next to her speaking, congratulating the two men on the game.

“We were at the game,” he’d mentioned, her stomach lurching as he squeezed her side tighter. “It was, like, really crazy.”

She secretly thanked Freddie, who’d been eyeing her for enough time to know she was growing uncomfortable, quickly thanking her date and steered the conversation away. Will, on the other hand, looked at her expectantly, as if she’d introduce them at a shudder from his hard glare. She shook her head, knowing very well the boy would prounce back to his former roommate and share every detail of their encounter with him. And she was unfortunately very aware what the outcome would be upon the announcement of the fact that she still attended their games.

The players eventually bid a goodbye, final hugs exchanged, and made her promise to catch up over a lunch with them soon. Her date practically reeked of curiosity, and laid out a simple answer to his question before he could ask.

“We met through a mutual friend.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she hadn’t wasted time to feel guilty. She’d begun pouring more alcohol into her system, mind buzzing from everything that had taken place over the past five minutes. She felt as if she had just ran a marathon, and didn’t know if she’d ever see the finish line. But more than anything, she didn’t want to feel like looking on the opposite end of the bar any longer.

Within the next hour, her vision clouded and the four men were long forgotten, making her question whether they were imagined in the first place. The date’s hand now resting lower, lips stretching to fill the space between them as he leaned down to capture her ear with compliments on her outfit tonight. He’d been used to seeing her in pencil skirts and cigarette pants, the recent college grad being the hottest topic amongst the male employees. However, the dip of the neckline and hug of her jeans left her drowning in praises with eyes trailing over every inch of visible skin.

She didn’t complain. Perhaps it was due to alcohol replacing the blood in her veins, or solely due to the fact that it had been some time that she’d been laid. Nonetheless, she excused his blatant advances, entertaining the possibility of sleeping with the same man who’d made his first move through buying her a coffee during his lunch hour that at the time she’d thought was lame. Maybe it was time she lowered her expectations.

It hadn’t been her fault, that she’d known clear as day. With how close she had been sitting to her date, the two barely took up space for one person. However, she suddenly felt a harsh nudge at her back, lunging her forward to collide with her date’s chest, which caused her to reach out and push away to see who her attacker was.

She began apologizing out of instinct, until her eyes focused and ears curled at the sound of a silky, dangerously low voice that nearly sent her flying over the bar counter itself.

“My bad,” his voice rang arrogantly, licking his full lips perfectly pink. “Didn’t see you there.”

Her eyes locked onto hazel eyes, ones that felt so familiar as they enveloped her, to his pouted lips in a cocky smirk, and finally to the tattooed arm that grasped her forearm as if he was steadying her, completely aware of the fire that shot up her arm as he held her in a firm grip.

A choked noise erupted from her chest, and the man leaned back to size up her own date as well.

“Pretty girl you got here.”

And with his kind, yet backhanded remark, he turned his back and left, palm lingering on her wrist a bit longer than the rest of his body had.

With a pale face and spine on the verge of shaking, she felt as if she had just seen a ghost. The entire unexpected encounter left her in chills, yet her skin still burned where he had touched her. It couldn’t be home, no way. She definitely had too much to drink.

Until her date spoke up in a much less shocked tone than he had before, voicing her thoughts all while confirming her fears.

“Okay,” he started chuckling lightly, then took a deep breathe nearly as big as her’s. “Was that Kappy or am I just going crazy?”

Maybe it was just a guy who looked like him, she thought. Surely, he’d left with his conquer of the night, or perhaps even with Auston and the two would switch off after a few rounds. He’d do anything before speaking to her, wouldn’t he?

It wasn’t until she looked over her date’s shoulder, who sat sipping on only his second drink (he wanted to drive her home, after all) and yet once again, connected eyes with the devil himself. He held her there, frozen, with such a challenging stare that her heartbeat replaced the bass of the speakers. He allowed one eye to drop down in a sly wink, tongue darting to the corners of his mouth as he drank in her silhouette for a final time, and turned his back once again, finally out of the club with no other girl in sight.

The two left not too long after that. She’d mentioned she suddenly felt sick, thinking that the alcohol had gotten to her and apologized for wanting to go home, although she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. His cologne began to invade her senses and his hold on her made her feel trapped, causing her to grow nauseous and wish she’d been pressing her face into the firm chest of another man. One who had held her hair back the first time she was this drunk in his presence, and the same one who told her he’d fight for her regardless of the competition.

The thing is, he loved to play games. And never though to play fair. Sure, on the ice he followed the rules and earned his spot as a crowd favorite. However, anywhere else, he was in control, and she scolded herself for being so naive. She debated with herself while her date helped her into his front seat, pulling her seat belt over her lap and buckled her in, making sure she was comfortable before jogging over to the driver’s side. Had it been any other day, she’d thank him, maybe even swooned. However, her head throbbed saying one name over and over, and it wasn’t his.

She gave him directions, ignoring the way his palm crept up her knee, knowing that the other man she kept thinking about would’ve rubbed small loving circles with his thumb on the inside of her thighs. It wasn’t long before she found themselves driving along a familiar street, lights glaring on the sidewalk she spent many nights on, hand in hand with someone who at the time she considered, above all, her best friend. Although she hadn’t realized until that exact moment, she wondered if it had been unintentional at all, as she lived on the other side of the city yet automatically told him to go this way. And even went as far as telling him to pull up to a luxury apartment building she no longer could call her’s, never thinking once to stop herself before she made a stupid decision.

She leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, waving off his pleas to “make sure she got up safely” thinking this is where she lived. As sweet as he was, it wasn’t what she craved, and she wish she’d lost her appetite by the time she was knocking on the man’s door.

He’d welcomely opened it, almost as if he’d been waiting for her, and was conveniently shirtless with sweatpants hanging low. He met her lips expectantly as she threw herself on him, arms wrapping around his shoulder and fingers raking through his hair, holding on as if he would be stripped away from her in a heartbeat. She didn’t care that his pretentious neighbors could pass by any minute, because all she wanted to see, feel and hear was him. He groaned into her mouth, teeth clashing as he grabbed onto everything that he could with her chest pressed up against him. First her hips, then ass, and finally the back of her thighs as he carried her from the doorway, kicking it closed with his heel and moved them further into the apartment.

He pushed her against a wall, hands moving under his shirt to cup her breasts and bite at her neck, everywhere his lips fell left her scorching and writhing under him, merciless to his touch. She’d been moved and backed up again, this time with no clothes remaining and lips replacing where her’s had been. He mirrored her, grinding his naked body against her before reaching over and turning on the shower over their heads, water racing down the valley in between her breasts as he leaned down to lick it away. She knew he could still smell her coworker’s cologne on her, and wanted to tell him that his own musk was indescribably intoxicating, but could only manage a strangled moan as her trailed his lips farther down her body.

“You looked so good out there tonight,” she gasped as she felt him move his hand down to cup her heat, to which he replied by thrusting two fingers into her.

“I know.”

She had so much to say to him. She’d been rehearsing on her way up in the elevator. Yet as his fingers curled, she found herself shaking in seconds, begging him to continue as he teased her.

“Always such a fucking good girl for me,” he growled into her neck, sucking onto a particularly soft spot that she assumed no other man would ever be able find. His teeth scraped against her pulse, and she shook, unraveling and shaking, knowing she’d have fallen over if it wasn’t for him holding her up.

As she came down from her high, she could feel her chest tighten, making her collapse against him in exhaustion and full realization of what she was doing. He’d been so nonchalant during their encounter beforehand, and she questioned whether she’d known him at all. She’d ran back like a sick puppy, asking for attention and celebrating in it as if he didn’t plan to put her up for adoption the next day. And yet, she didn’t want to stop, nor could if she even wanted to.

Her sobs were muffled by his chest, as he quickly turned off the tap and moved to encompass her in his arms, wrapping her in a towel and sitting her on his lap as she shook in despair, coughing on her own cries and shifting to stop her from aggressively rubbing her eyes from stripping her vision away.

“Kas,” she weeped, clutching onto him, knowing that she’d leave before the day breaks and the two continue to pretend that they don’t know each other, and that they don’t care about each other in the slightest.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth, and she knew this as he carried her to the bed, moving her so that she rested on the plush pillows and rubbed her thighs in the most soothing manner. She didn’t know how many more apologies and promises she needed to hear before she could breathe again, but her chest tightened at the sight of him gently kissing the small ink on her ankle, one she’d spontaneously gotten with him only after knowing each other for six weeks.

He continued to move up her legs, and the rest of the night went on as the two continued to re-learn and memorize every inch of each other’s bodies, spending extra time fawning over the way each other’s lips molded together and their bodies fit like puzzle pieces. He eventually collapsed on her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she swallowed the tears that threatened to pool over again.

“Please stay.”

He had whispered it into her hair, and it had been so soft, she wondered if he’d even said anything at all.

Yet she did, and didn’t want to think about why as wrapped a leg over his and he pulled her even closer than before.

The two never slept that night, instead choosing to bask in each other’s warmth and mixed scent sticking and coating their skins. No more words were exchanged, and she held her breath, slowing her heartbeat down to match his. And even after climaxing more times than she ever had before, she craved for him to be closer in every way possible. And for once, she finally knew he felt the same.

The sun began to peak out from his curtains, ones that she’d picked out when they first moved in together. Slow sliding down his frame, she once again attempted to leave the bed, cringing at the cold air as she lifted the blanket just enough to stretch a leg out to the floor. Before she could place a foot down, an arm reached out to grab her waist, pulling her back into the bed as the sheets twisted at their connected hips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he grumbled, pressing his face into her neck as the raspiness scratched at her ears.

She combed her fingers through his hair, sighing as she looked at the time on the clock already quickly approaching noon. Her head pounded and his weight crushed her, yet she felt far more comfortable than she had in awhile.

“Home,” she shrugged, only to be met with a confused daze, eyebrows furrowed as he moved to sit on his elbows, pushing her hair behind her ears.

He hadn’t said anything in response, moving to lift the blanket and settle in between her thighs again, reminding her of the times she’d wake up beside him every day and what they had entailed, and she wondered if he was just mocking her all along.

It was clear that neither wanted another friend in the lives, knowing very well that the two of them could never stay as such. Instead, they waited, and waited, and continued to wait until the day that their “just one more night” finally turned into their final night. And oh, what a tragedy that was.

#kasperi kapanen #kasperi kapanen imagine #kasperi kapanen imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl smut #toronto maple leafs #maple leafs #smut #auston matthews #william nylander #freddie anderson #kappy

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fledermausforstrauss · 5 years ago

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Day 11 - Snow

An argument about wine. 1369 words.

Hoping this will cheer up a friend.

-----

Crowley had every imaginable article of clothing on.

Two pairs of socks, a pair of real, physical boots, long johns, thick pants, an undershirt, a tee shirt, a jumper, wooly gloves, a scarf, and finally, a blue knit toque a certain angel had given him decades before, all wrapped up under a down jacket with the hood pulled tight.

He looked out the corner of his eye at the angel walking next to him, tucking his nose into his scarf to hide a smile as they walked down a tree-lined snowy path. Aziraphale was wearing a scarf and a heavy coat, but Crowley knew both were only for show.

Crowley huffed a laugh behind his several layers of fleece, wool, and down, jealous of the angel’s natural warmth.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, smiling at Crowley.

“Nothing.” Crowley laughed again, his voice muffled by the fabric over his mouth. He pulled his hood back and tugged his scarf down to talk. “What did you think?”

“Of the wine? It was wonderful.” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t been to a proper wine tasting in nearly a decade, and I haven’t been to the Alps in almost a millennium. This trip was a brilliant idea, dear.”

"Figured it was about one we swung through here, and what better way to check on things than to take a wine tour?" Crowley asked. “So, where do Switzerland’s wines end up on your list? Are they a new favourite? You really seemed to like that rosé.”

“Oh, yes, the rosé was good, but…” Aziraphale hummed, looking thoughtful. “...I think France is still my favourite.”

“France? Your favourite is--?” Crowley scoffed. “Tch. Why am I not surprised.”

“Why would you be surprised?” Aziraphale asked. “You’ve seen my wine collection? It’s nearly two-thirds French.”

“I thought maybe they paired well with those crêpes you like so much. Didn’t realize they were actually your favourite.”

“Just what is wrong with French wines?” Aziraphale asked, offended.

“They’re not Italian, for starters.”

“Italian?”

“What’s wrong with Italian wines?” Crowley echoed Aziraphale’s question.

“France has a long history of wine, unlike Italy. They have higher standards, unlike Italy. And they follow strict traditions that keep their wine consistent-- Unlike Italy!”

“Consistent--? I think you mean boring.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “France knows how to make, like, three wines, and they make them well, don’t get me wrong, but Italy know how to have fun.”

“Three--.” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s words, falling behind as his steps faltered.

“Italian wine may not be the fanciest, but it is the best. Less restrictions means more room for experimentation. They have a higher alcohol content.” Crowley started to count on his gloved fingers. “More varieties of grapes, including some exclusive to Italy’s climate. The wine is bolder, brighter, and on all levels, just plain better. And I think you’re forgetting Italy’s history with wine predates France’s by a long shot.”

“Oh, please.” Aziraphale shook his head. “What Italy was making back then could hardly be called wine.”

“How dare you--.”

“Besides, France has Italy beat with sheer quality.” Aziraphale said, a smug look on his face. “Fancy or not, you can’t argue the complexity of a Bordeaux.”

“Can too. Watch me.” Crowley said. “Complexity means absolutely nothing if that's all a wine is. A complex wine is not inherently a quality wine. It could have all the hints of that and notes of this, but if it's bland, its bland! And Bordeauxs are so bland--.”

A shock of snow collided with the back of Crowley’s head making him yelp, flakes falling down the back of his neck, trapped by the folds of his scarf. He turned on his heel to find Aziraphale standing with another snowball already in his hand.

“Bordeauxs. Are not. Bland.” Aziraphale frowned, but Crowley could see a smile tugging the corners of his lips. He wound his arm back as a threat. “You take that back.”

“Only if you take back what you said about Italy's first wines not being wine.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale chucked the snowball right for Crowley, but he jumped the snowbank that lined the walkway, ducking behind the wall of ice.

“Ohoho.” Crowley laughed, gathering fistfuls of snow in his hands.

Crowley stood and threw his snowball at the angel, missing him by mere inches when Aziraphale dodged expertly. The angel threw one back without missing a beat, aiming right for his face, but Crowley ducked at the last second. The snowball skimmed the top of his hat, pulling it crooked.

“Alright, angel. You wanna play?” Crowley growled, gathering a large armful of snow. “We can play.”

He stood and raised his arm back with a snowball bigger than his head balanced in his hand, stepping backwards into a lunge, ready to chuck it with all of his strength.

“You’re going to regret starting this.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale looked unfazed. The angel lifted his hand, a smirk curling his own lips slowly. He snapped his fingers.

There was a loud crack above Crowley, but before he could look up, he was buried beneath a mountain of snow.

-----

Aziraphale’s smirk gave way to a laugh as Crowley laid buried beneath the snow that had been sitting along the branches of the tree the demon had unwittingly backed himself against.

“Oh-- My dear.” Aziraphale said between laughter. “The look on your face was priceless.”

There was no response. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop your pouting.” He approached the pile of snow and started brushing away the layers. “Just admit you lost and we can get back to the cabin for some Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”

Aziraphale was quick to find the blue knitted hat he had given Crowley, and beneath it, a shock of red hair. He pulled the snow away from the demon’s face to find a shivering form and chattering teeth. The force of the snow had knocked his tinted glasses off, letting Aziraphale see just how tight Crowley's eyes were squeezed shut.

“Oh.” Aziraphale siad, a sudden realization hitting him. "Oh, my dear, I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry."

Aziraphale pulled the shivering demon out of the snow, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him close.

"Let's get you warmed up."

-----

Crowley hummed in contentment, wriggling deeper into thick blankets. A hand was playing with his hair as the crackle of a fire pulled him from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find his head resting in Aziraphales lap. The angel smiled down at him, a hint of guilt in his eyes. He brushed Crowley’s hair from his forehead and sighed.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Aziraphale said softly. “I got a little carried away. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Ss’alright.” Crowley mumbled. “I’m warm now, that's all that matters.”

Aziraphale’s smile twitched and he ruffled his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire.

“...I got you something.” Aziraphale said, reaching over the arm of the chair and lifting a wine bottle up, holding it out over Crowley’s face and turning it to show the label.

“Masseto?” Crowley sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders with one hand and taking the bottle with the other, inspecting the label. “Is this your apology? I accept.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, popping the cork on the bottle and materializing two glasses in his hands. He held them out for Crowley to pour into and traded him a glass for the bottle to put it on the side table.

Crowley swirled the wine around like the sommeliers had at the wine tasting that morning, watching the way the dark liquid splashed against the sides.

“Do you know why Masseto is the most expensive Italian wine?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley quirked his brow at the angel.

“French grapes, French techniques, and French oak-barrels.” Aziraphale said, trying to keep a straight face and only slightly failing. “It's also a Bordeaux.”

“Shut up.” Crowley muttered, but his scowl was quick to disappear after the first sip. “Oh, that’s actually not bad.”

“Shall we call it a draw then?” Aziraphale smiled.

“Alright fine.” Crowley huffed a laugh, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s a draw.”

#good omens fic #good omens #aziraphale #Crowley

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cherishedcavies · 5 years ago

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It’s been a little while since we have done an update on Bumble.

For this of you who don’t know her story, she was born with only one fully functioning leg. She had three legs with club foot. As a baby her option was to be euthanized, that is when we were asked if we could help her.

So Bumble came to live with us. As a baby she got a round very well in her own way. She kind of waddled around on her elbows. Our fear was as she matured and carried more weight! Things may change for her.

Two and a half years later, Bumble is still doing well. Those of you who have met her, know what a tubby little piggy she is. She lives a good piggy life with her bestie, Selah, another special needs girl.

In recent weeks we have noticed Bumble slowing down a little. She lays around more than she did previously. We have started her on CBD oil a few days a week, and it does help her. The LA Guinea Pig Rescue has done their own research into the benefits of this oil in pigs with arthritic type problems , and the results look promising. It is expensive, but if it works, well then, it is totally worth it. We will keep you posted.

Bumble lives on fleece with Selah. The softness helps with her joints. She can get into her hay tray and spends a lot of her day in their lounging and munching. She is actually a very quiet and content girl, who loves her humans and other piggies.

The one thing that is not pleasant for Bumble is nail trimming. Because her feet and legs are all wrong, her nails can quickly curl and head to the pads of her feet. It is hard to trim them the way I do for every one else as her feet are so curled and tight. We recently invested in some new clippers, in the hopes I can slide them in and clip with less discomfort.

Some people say to me, Why? Why do you keep her in this world. The answer is very simple. All life is precious, no matter how small. Bumble has a great life so far. She does not know she is different. She is happy, has not been suffering at all. Now, if that changed for her at anytime, we would of course, do what was best for her.

Right now life is good. She loves her bestie, Selah , and everyday is worth living...She is not just a permanent resident. Bumble is family. 🐾🌸🐾

#bumble #special needs animal #forever family #iowa #guinea pig

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boymeetsweevil · 5 years ago

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hi! i asked for a continuation of sleeping bags like weeks ago but tbh i don't care what you write i just need more of their differences and the comfort they give each other it;s so sweet i'm fucking crying, i'm praying for a second part

I’m sorry this took so long! I’ve been getting wrapped up with other non-tumblr things. It’s not a full blown sequel but maybe one day there could be 😰 hope this is okay for now:

After the cabin, Hob starts showing up everywhere

At OCs work studyjob

Her reserved corner of the library (with a million snacks and some energy shots for the all nighters—though he is trying to discourage her from doing those)

Her shitty off campus dorm (with packages from Pottery Barn Kids because he’s decided if he’s going to start inviting himself over, things should be more comfortable and he really can’t live without a portable kettle)

OCs reluctant at first because her goal is still to be number one in all her classes and steal the spot from Hob but eventually she just starts putting him to work

Sending him to the wholesale store to buy flash cards and highlighters in bulk (he comes back with that and also a box of 130 frozen mini quiche because “there was a lady with a sample and the box was so big :0 also I got a membership because the lady—”). She never sends him to Costco by himself again.

Letting him quiz her before tests instead of having to just use an app

Talking through her study guides with him since he’s “always right there”

Hob was totally serious about the getting dinner thing, but OC didn’t get that so one day he has to literally ask her

They’ll be eating at the dining commons (much to his rich kid chagrin) and he’ll be like “u know when I said we should get dinner at the cabin this isn’t what I meant”

And OCs like lmao u weren’t kidding? And he’s like why?? Would I be kidding?

Cue OC getting flustered when she realizes he’s serious

They go out to a restaurant that has prices that make her eyes water

He pays for it with his dad’s credit card obvi but she vows to pay the amount back to him

Also when she does end up scoring like .3 points more than him on a class exam, it’s not at all like a sore winner floating situation

OCs ecstatic of course, but so is hobi tbh

The sight of her huge smile when she reads her name at the top of the list for class ranking makes him spin her around in a tight hug

And he’ll use it as an excuse to buy her that expensive water color set she’d been eyeing at the school COOP

Hob tries to buy the things OCs expresses interest in but she will snap at him if he buys it for her and she was already saving up for it herself

Which he gets when she explains how small it makes her feel. He never thought he was “one of those rich people” but he realizes that maybe he still didn’t realize just how he was wielding his money and the effects

But sometimes it takes her too long to save up enough for small pleasures with her meager work study and it pains him to see the disappointment on her face when she comes back from the store and mumbles “apparently they sold out weeks ago”

So sometimes, he’ll secretly pay shop owners a nice “premium” if they keep something on hold. He’s not sure if it’s legal, but they usually do it. Plus it’s good to see her come out triumphantly with her porcelain elephant wrapped in a gift bag so she can send it to her grandma as a present

When XMAS rolls around, he receives a batch of homemade cookies and some sweats with the school logo that are from the COOP. But they’re the expensive ones that have fleece on the inside, the ones the student athletes get for free, and they’re his exact size and he realizes where her most recent paychecks must have gone and he cries in front of her lmao

OC is honestly really glad Hob didn’t write her off after the cabin incident tho. Like she didn’t realize how lonely her student life was until she started having someone force her to go on late night convenience store breaks so she wouldn’t spend the whole Friday locked in the library

Like yeah that’s time she could spend studying but she feels more like her age now

And with Hob insisting that if he’s going to quiz her late into the night he gets to stay over, she finds herself studying in bed (and falling asleep next to him :’( which is honestly way better than never sleeping like before)

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intheyear39 · 6 years ago

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Rainy Days and Wednesdays (Gwilym Lee x Reader)

Genre: Romance / Fluff

Rating: PG-13 for swearing

Length: 2637 words

Summary: Gwilym takes you for a drive.

Author’s Note: This was harder to write than Fleece Blanket for some reason despite having a clear prompt in mind—I’ll get to that in a sec—but thanks to the moral and creative support of my Discord, I was able to get over my first writer’s block since I started writing again (like, three weeks ago).

Shameless promotion but the prompt is from a Japanese song by a group called V6, 「意味のないドライブ」imi no nai doraibu lit. translation, “Meaningless Drive”. If you want to listen to it and/or read the unofficial translation, you can find it here. ANYWAY! I hope you enjoy it and I’d love to know your thoughts! <3

Special thanks to Ella @39-volunteers-to-space for making a moodboard for this huhu you didn’t have to and it’s already a great pleasure to proofread Kairos (GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T BTW) ILY <3

Taglist: @39-volunteers-to-space @moonvinyls @grooveei @theoddowldoodle @bburellina @im-happy-at-home @dorkydeaky @seven-seas-0f-bri and one of my bestest friends Sera who knows both the song and Gwilym (and WHO HASN’T USED HER TUMBLR YET BUT TAGGING HER ANYWAY) @a--kind--of--magic

—

“I’ll pick you up at six, yeah?”

You read Gwilym’s message to you over and over. He didn’t always pick you up from work, but when he did, you were always excited to see him. That’s no surprise of course—the two of you had been dating for a while now—but for some reason, it just always felt new.

At this point, you were just waiting for time to pass. He had texted over an hour ago, but all you had done was look at that message and not work. Not that your boss minded; he wasn’t here today anyway.

Yet you were still having a terrible day, and you couldn’t tell anyone about it because, you sighed, you didn’t know why.

And that’s the worst because how would you cure that?

How would you make that go away?

It’s just one of those days, a gloomy Wednesday, and so you were more than delighted that Gwilym would pick you up tonight.

Your phone buzzed one more time. Another message.

“You okay?”

It’s as if Gwilym was reading your mind at that exact moment.

You took a long second to reply, mainly because you didn’t know what to type, so your mobile buzzed again, this time continuously. He was phoning you.

“Uh, hello?” you quietly answered so that no one else in the office would hear.

“You okay, love?” his voice sounded worried, but also rather sexy. It distracted you for a second.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.”

You didn’t know why you lied, because he could always tell when you did.

“Well, you don’t sound like it to me,” he said matter-of-factly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I-I...” you started, but words just wouldn’t come out. It was hard to explain without sounding foolish.

You heard him sigh at the end of the other line. “You don’t need to worry about anything,” he said finally. “Also, I’m pulling in at the car park now.”

You let out a tiny squeal, which made him laugh—and you always wanted to make him laugh—and hastily grabbed your things, pulled out your thumb drive from your office computer without safely removing it (you knew you’d regret doing that later but who gives a shit, Gwil’s here), and dashed through the halls yelling, “See you all later!” to no one in particular as you exited your office building, dashing like mad.

At the car park, you suddenly realised that it was raining. Being confined in those tight, monochromatic spaces didn’t let you see much of the outside for most of the day. Despite that, you forgot how that made you usually feel because, standing outside the car, leaning against it, waiting for you, in his dark brown jumper with his glasses on, was Gwilym. He looked delighted to see you. You didn’t hesitate to run towards him and embrace him. He just felt so warm and nice and stable.

“Hey, bad day at work?” He asked in his signature dulcet tone, touching your hair gently, playing with it almost.

“Bad day in general,” you muttered as you instinctively bury your head in his chest. He held you closer for a few seconds in silence. You were beginning to feel better about things.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he whispered unto your forehead, his lips touching it ever so subtly.

You groaned, slightly muffled by your head being on his chest.

“But I like it here.”

He chuckled. “I know you fancy this, but we have to leave at some point. Parking rates are expensive. Come on now.”

You decided to pull away finally. “You’re wrong, you know,” you said, and you saw his eyebrows raise in faint surprise. You placed your index finger on his chest. “I love it there.”

He gave you a kiss on the lips because, at least based on his reactions in previous situations, it was a quick way to shut you up and at the same time, he would usually find you too cute not to do it (his words).

You two finally entered the car. He started the car and drove out of the car park; the rain seemed to only become stronger, and while you thought it was peak cuddling ambiance, it also made you feel a little somber. Even though you loved the rain, sometimes the darkness reminded you of your own, and you didn’t like that. Nobody liked knowing their own darkness. You continued to muse for about five minutes more, but then, you heard him mutter ‘Damn’ to himself, taking you out of your wretched thoughts.

“What is it?” You calmly asked.

“I think I forgot my car charger at home,” he said, also trying to be calm. “Do you have a phone charger with you by any chance?”

You also left your power bank at your office in your haste, as you discovered while rummaging through your handbag. “Erm, I’m sorry babe, I left it at work.”

He clicked his tongue, “That’s all right.” He seemed in deep thought.

“Was there anything important in your phone?”

“Well, your new address, for instance.”

Right. You recently moved into a new flat two days ago, and this was actually the first time Gwil would take you there from your office. The both of you hadn’t completely memorised the route yet.

“That’s okay,” you brought out your own phone. “We can use my—“

He looked at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Shit.”

“You’re joking, right?”

As if on cue, your phone drained its power as you checked it. You were hoping to rely on your power bank too, but that option was obviously moot now. You were hitting yourself on the head mentally; after all, you didn’t even hang up after that call with Gwil.

“No, sadly,” you answer rather hesitantly with the softest voice you could. “Sorry.”

He sighed and let out a small chuckle. “Don’t apologise. These things happen. Tell you what, it’s not that I don’t remember where your residence is—I do, mostly—but why don’t we just take this time to drive around the city for a while? No phones mean,” he waited a beat, “no distractions.”

He had the naughtiest smile on his face which you rarely saw, but when you did, you felt like you were falling in love with the man all over again. This time was no different.

“So, is that a yes, or...?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I get to spend more time with my fucking boyfriend? Fuck yeah I want to!”

He laughed, a little more loudly this time. “Let’s take a drive then. I reckon you need it.”

He reached out with his right hand and held your left hand. His touch was tender but firm, warm enough to send shivers down your spine. You then snuggled up to him, placing your head on his shoulder, your eyes closing. Now, with the rain, gloomy or not, this was definitely peak cuddling ambiance.

“You’re really loving this,” he said rather cheekily.

“Shut up and drive,” was your retort and he laughed again.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded in a cheerful tone.

You enjoyed the blissful silence that came after. Gwil seemed to enjoy it too, and sometimes, silence between you two was a comforting thing; no words needed. After a few more moments, you opened your eyes again. You went out of the city, it seemed like—cars and tall buildings were replaced by grasslands and cattle. It was getting darker, the city lights getting fewer. Where was he going to take you?

“Are you awake?” He took a quick glance down to you.

“Hmm, yeah. Where are we?”

“We’re not far off from where your flat is,” he said, as if trying to assure you. He probably heard the sudden panic in your voice. “About fifteen minutes? We’ll be back just in time.”

“No...” was your immediate response. You didn’t want this to end, because it meant that you would have to go home—it meant you had the rest of the week to face, two more fucking days, and you abhorred that feeling of absolute dread more than anything else right now.

“Oh, but you have work tomorrow, we both do.”

You groaned a little more loudly than intended, “I know, but…I don’t want to hear the truth right now. I only want to hear the good things.”

You didn’t want to get angry, not right now, especially not at him. He’s the only one you have.

“Right, I apologise.”

This time, an odd silence ensued. You both could feel it, but you thought it was better to let it go. You did say you only wanted to hear good things today.

“Erm,” he broke the silence, a bit hesitant, “you know what, you never told me what your favourite colour was.”

“What?” you were surprised to hear that question at this moment. Although, it was true—you had never told him what your favourite colour was, because, you never thought he would be interested in things like that. Gwilym was more of a conceptual thinker, an introspective kind of guy, so anything of this sort was too trivial to him. Honestly, it was cute that he’s bringing it up now. He’s trying.

“Uh, blue, I think,” you lifted your head to meet his gaze. Like his eyes. “Like your eyes.”

He blushed, but attempted to cover it up by saying, “You’re only saying that because you’re grateful that I’m spending my petrol on you.”

You giggled, “That is the least sexy thing you’ve ever said tonight.”

“Hey, you laughed! That’s my girl!”

And that’s when you realised: He was trying to take your mind off of things, distract you. He knew you were having a bad day, and he knew you didn’t want to talk about it. If you were honest, you wouldn’t know what to talk about with yourself either. He’s trying. You thought it’s the cutest thing.

And most importantly, this reminded you that he’s there to take care of you when you needed him most. Always.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you gave him a smirk.

He chuckled, “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Besides, I do enjoy spending time with you. It doesn’t matter what we are doing. I don’t care if it’s stupid or pointless, as long as we’re both having fun, yeah?”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” you nodded and laid your head back on his shoulder.

“Oh, you know I’m right.” You laughed. He then squeezed your hand before kissing it, smiling as he did so.

You closed your eyes again. You hadn’t noticed all this time, but there had been music playing on the radio; it was turned down, but not all the way. You’d really love some music right now.

“Gwil, could you turn the volume up on the radio?”

“Of course.”

The radio DJ began, “Next up, a song from the hit movie Music and Lyrics, ‘Pop! Goes My Heart’ by Hugh Grant.”

“What in the fuck,” Gwilym was appalled, clearly, and you never usually heard him swear that aggressively.

It made you smile.

And of course, he noticed. “What’s that smile for?”

“Nothing—it’s a cute song. It’s fun!” Then, it reminded you of something that had been on your mind for a while now. “You know, you should do romcoms more.”

“What?” he was more confused than angry. “I’m bad at those.”

“No, you’re not.” you bit your lip—you wanted to say he was great at romance based on your experience, but you knew he would say that it’s different, that because it’s you. The song was fun anyway, so you decided to focus on that.

“I can imagine you dressed up as a pop star in the 80’s, wearing a white studded polo, a black scarf that can engulf you whole, studded bracelets, that checkered belt around white trousers! I mean, you pulled off Brian May’s hair; I’m pretty sure you can pull off a mullet.” You put your tongue out just to annoy him.

He scoffed, but he was smirking. “No more costumes and wigs for me for the moment, thanks.”

“But you would be so cute though!” your voice went a pitch higher as you lifted your head up to face him. “You playing the piano, singing, dancing—!"

“You like my little hip shakes, huh,” he demonstrated (but still focused on his driving). “I said I wasn’t gonna lose my head, but then, pop! goes my heart~”

“Careful with that—you’re driving! You’re mental!”

Though, you had to admit, he looked good doing it. He sounded good, too. He’s perfect.

He laughed, “Perhaps you’re right. If they decide to do a remake of Music and Lyrics in another 10 years, maybe I’ll say yes. I’ll probably be Hugh Grant’s age when he did it.”

“I’d watch a remake now, to be honest,” you linked your arm with his one more time and held it really closely. You looked ahead to watch the road; you noticed he was driving back into the city again. Your heart sank—the reality started to set in again, that you had to go back to your regular life, to the routine. You wished this could last forever. If only.

“You’re living that romcom now though, don’t you agree?” he whispered, breaking your train of thought. Without warning too, so it gave you goosebumps. The good kind.

“Not if it has to end soon,” you sighed. You were completely aware that this fun little ride had to end at some point. You knew you would face the reality of life again, that you’re not always going to be happy. But then, you also realised: You had Gwil. And that’s enough.

He made a melancholic face too. “You know what love, I’ll promise you something if you promise me that you’ll stop gloating about it. Deal?”

You hummed an answer. You were sceptical, but oddly excited about it.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up from work every day from now—"

You screamed in glee. He covered his left ear almost immediately.

“I wasn’t done yet, love!” he had to exclaim over your excitement.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll pick you up from work every day from now on, unless I have work or I’m out of town or for some reason I can’t make it to you in time. Okay? That’s a promise.”

Just in time, he parked the car outside your building. The heavy rain seemed to have turned into just a drizzle—enough not to need an umbrella—and it’s like a metaphor for your mood tonight. Before seeing Gwil, it had been sour, somber, melancholic, but now, it had become more optimistic, kind, merry. His promise was just cherry on top.

Sure, it wasn’t anything significant, but it made you excited, for the first time in a long while. That was rare.

Grateful, your eyes were twinkling. “You fucking promise?”

“I fucking promise,” his were too.

You reached out for an embrace, and he held you so tightly that you almost couldn’t breathe. It was still a good feeling. As he let go, he held your face delicately with his warm hands, his elongated fingers almost covering the sides of your face. He kissed you tenderly, and your noses touched afterwards, feeling the breath of each other in this cold, damp winter night.

“I love you,” he said, almost shyly.

“I love you too,” you said back, “and thank you for spending your petrol on me in this pointless fucking trip.”

He cracked up, “Good callback.”

“I do my best,” you bragged, shrugging.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah of course!” you answered as you opened the car door and got out. “And Gwil?”

“Yeah?”

“Tomorrow I’ll drive. I know where we can take a detour.”

END.

A/N: A sequel may be possible? IDK. Let me know if you want one.

#fanfiction #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee

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