#dominic looks so tiny next to that pumpkin :')
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rosie and dominic picked up their costumes early in the morning for spooky day! 👻 the adults kept it lowkey this year, but the cousins got together and went trick or treating. after they were done, austin took them to the park so they could watch a midnight movie :)
#simblr#ts4#ts4 edit#ts4 gameplay#ts4 legacy#sosagen2#dominic looks so tiny next to that pumpkin :')#x#rosalie#dominic#austin#gideon#orla#lucas#sheila
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A big thank you and a glimpse
Hi, I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who was so kind about the Iris hiatus and writer’s block I’ve been struggling with. It really means so much that people want to see the story continue. I’ll do my best to keep it going. I’ve been home sick all week and your heartfelt support was a good push to open one of the drafts I have and slowly work on some of the word vomit I'd written down weeks before. I’ve cleaned up a chunk of it and thought I would share here.
Some of this is subject to change as it’s still very much a draft and has not been edited so keep that in mind!
As always thank you, thank you, thank you for caring about this story. I hope you enjoy. ❤️
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(Background: two days after the events of 26, setting is Luna’s magical tree house near Wales)
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They emerged from the cramped stairs into a large airy room, much larger than it appeared on the outside. Hermione could barely keep her jaw from hanging open.
Luna’s home was the antithesis of Harry’s.
She felt his magic like a comforting presence but visually his flat had a distinctly Muggle feel. Nothing like this space which would never pass for anything except blatantly magical.
Every inch of wall space was covered in moving portraits and landscapes, photographs and several maps. There was a built-in bookshelf near the back and another wall to the right was dominated by a large aquarium that was taller than Iris. Something that distinctly resembled a Grindylow peeked out from some seaweed before it vanished in a spray of bubbles.
A large golden bird cage hung from the ceiling and Hermione recognized the blue creature within as a pixie that sat on a perch shooting them a disgruntled look. Though what had drawn her daughter’s attention more than anything was the giant kneazle, nearly twice the size of Crookshanks and whiter than snow. It stretched lazily from the window seat opposite, looking quite like a tiny polar bear as it hopped down and sauntered out the glass doors that were opened to the large balcony they’d observed from below.
Hermione glanced to the other side of the room and noted the door frames. One with stairs, the other that led to what appeared to be a corridor that wrapped around the large tree trunk and appeared to lead to more rooms.
A caramel antique leather sofa sat in the middle of the room, with several mismatched chairs in bright colours opposite it. Luna led them in that direction and Hermione sat down on the sofa, unable to stop taking everything in, each time her eyes alighted on something new that stood out.
Harry settled next to her with Iris still in his arms but their daughter was clearly soaking in every bit of what she was seeing, head swivelling each way seemingly unsure where to settle her gaze.
It wasn’t just the one sense that the space engaged, a cacophony of different sounds hummed throughout. The rattle of the bird cage, squeaks and squawks coming from somewhere in the distance. Wind chimes made of exotic seashells tinkled musically in the breeze. A large grandfather clock ticked away and the fire crackled, a boiling pot sat on the hearth and smelled of some kind of herbal concoction.
There was also the faint sound of Luna humming contentedly as she began moving around an ancient looking tea cart, arranging mismatched china cups and with the flick of her wand, a bronze kettle began to boil.
“I think pumpkin juice suits you more doesn’t it?”
Iris pulled her eyes away from where the fluffy kneazle was sunning himself outside and nodded politely.
With another wave, a full glass jar whizzed into Luna’s outstretched arm. Her dangly thin silver bracelets rattled as she poured it into a teacup and served Iris first. Harry moved her between them and Hermione placed a hand on her daughter’s back, whispering a quick reminder.
“Thank you,” Iris said shyly.
Luna smiled and continued serving the tea before settling in an armchair across from them.
“Rolf will be back soon, he’s just checking the pen enclosure for the nifflers. The others will arrive, though late I sense.”
“How are things?” Harry asked, sipping the floral scented green tea that she’d poured them.
“Blissful. We just returned from South Asia. So many lovely people… and more creatures than we ever could have imagined.”
“Sounds fantastic,” Harry replied genuinely.
Luna tilted her head. “Have you been?”
“No,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Haven’t travelled much…only with work and never further than the continent.”
A memory pressed in. A seaside in Scotland, promises to see the world.
“You haven’t either?” Luna asked. Her words pulled her back to the present.
“Erm. No,” she replied, smoothing a hand down Iris’s spine who leaned into her.
“You’ve had other priorities,” Luna said simply.
Hermione managed to nod.
“This one will travel widely.” Luna said easily with a knowing smile. “If you could go anywhere in the world Iris, where would you go?”
Iris straightened, growing taller at being addressed like a grown up. “Australia,” she replied. “To a big beach. Or Neverland!”
“Hmm. We did visit Australia but not Neverland,” Luna said. “What’s it like?”
Harry and Hermione exchanged uncertain looks over their daughters' heads.
“There’s a mermaid lagoon!” Iris told her eagerly before she stopped, a forlorn expression passing over her face. “But it’s not for real live life.”
“Well that’s a shame. Though I’ve been to a mermaid lagoon.”
Iris sat back, eyes impossibly wide. “You have?”
Luna nodded. “We visited two colonies of mermaids while in Asia actually.”
“Did they have red hair?” she asked.
“Not where we were visiting but I know some do, around Orkney.”
“Hildaland?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her disbelief.
Luna turned towards her. “Yes, though we visited them in the winter months. We stayed in Finfolkaheem for three days.”
“You’ve been?” she asked, her mind still reeling, she knew that many of the legends were real. Still, there was shock that the stories she’d studied all term, tales of far off kingdoms, mysterious places in the depths. Part of her had felt so removed from it all, that like the stories she’d told Iris about Diagon Alley or Hogwarts they actually existed, just out of sight.
Luna nodded.“Rolf’s grandfather was the first to document many of the colonies. There’s still likely more to be discovered.”
Hermione had about a thousand more questions but Luna paused, humming as she poured a bit more tea in her pearl coloured cup. “Muggle stories…or folklore is often the key to finding them. At least that’s what Rolf believes.”
“Hermione studied that. Folklore and mermaids, right?” Harry added, his eyes sliding over to her.
Warmth crept up her cheeks. She nodded, taking a sip of the floral tasting tea. “In one class.”
“Rolf will want to talk to you all about it. He’s curious to learn more about the Muggle perspective,” Luna said, her head tilted towards the front of the house and stiling. “I believe that’s him now.”
A minute later footsteps made their way up the spiral stairs. A tall gangly man emerged with pale skin freckled enough to pass for a tan, hair a dark russet colour threaded through with red and gold from the sun.
Luna poured him some tea. “We were just talking about you, you must have sensed it. Hermione has studied Mermaid folklore.”
“Oh,” Rolf said as he approached. “Nice to meet you by the way, I’m Rolf,” he said politely, thrusting out a long arm to shake.
She took his large calloused and scarred hand in hers. “Hermione. Pleasure.”
“Likewise. I’ve heard loads about you, Luna speaks highly of you.” His voice was soft and calm, and in that moment she saw the commonality between him and his partner.
“This is Iris,” she said, coming to her senses.
He shook her hand too and Iris stared up at him, like Luna and the house he had a distinct Magical presence about him. Or perhaps it was the moving dragon tattoo encircling his forearm.
He then circled around nodding a greeting to Harry who smiled, and exchanged a few familiar pleasantries as they all settled.
“We were just discussing mermaids,” Luna told him, passing him his tea.
“Ah.”
“You should show her the map.”
“Mermaids?” he asked, after a sip, his faint brows furrowing. Luna nodded. “Sure, if you’d like.”
Harry and Hermione looked at one another over Iris, sandwiched between them and nodded their agreement.
They all put down their drinks and filed past what she presumed were some bedrooms, to the highest level, another twisty staircase that was embedded into the wood of the tree trunk.
The highest room was clearly a study. Crammed with books like the downstairs had been crammed with art and creatures. A few stuffed chairs were in one corner and a large desk was tucked into the back, but it was the view that made Hermione gasp. Large picture windows showcased the tops of the emerald trees that stretched for miles in every direction.
A large telescope, similar to the ones they’d used in Astronomy, sat idly in front of it. Iris’s sound of wonder made her finally look up as she followed her daughter’s gaze. The entire ceiling was painted like the night sky, depicting constellations and longitudes of a map.
Iris was also enchanted by the painting of several mermaids, sunning themselves on a rock. Then equally by the green parrot sleeping up on a perch near where Cassiopeia was painted.
“Are there pirates too?” she asked, her earlier shyness having now melted away as she moved through the eclectic room.
Rolf chuckled. “They are associated in stories. But no, I haven’t dealt with any pirates myself.” He looked up at the parrot with a grin. “Kenneth up there does however speak three languages.”
“He’s a tad rude in all three,” Luna noted. “But we like him just the same.”
Rolf went over to the large desk where he dug around and pulled out a map that he spread across it. He beckoned her over and Hermione approached, eyes widening at the sight. The paper was thin showing its age but in fine ink, a map of the world was spread before showing the seven seas and other bodies of water that the merfolk colonies called home.
==
Regardless of the story finishing I will post whatever I do manage to finish!
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( credit for the template ofc goes to @unfinished-projects-galore <3)
Revamped Bio so some info might be different!
“If you ever need something fixed, Just come to me! I have a knack for tinkering, heh!”
Name : Tinsley Labelle
Nicknames : Tin, Tinsel, Belle, Mademoiselle Fée(Rook), Sis(Gwen @starry-night-rose ), Tiny Tin(Porter @rosietrace ), Fairy Wrasse(Floyd), Miss Belle(Knights at the Draconia Castle)
Jp Va : Suzuko Mimori
En Va : Risa Mei
Age : ???
Height : 152 cm (4’11)
Homeland : Briar Valley
Birthday : 12/27 December 27th
Zodiac sign : Capricorn
Species : Tinker Fae
Hair Color : Honey Blonde
Eye Color : Tiffany Blue
Gender : Female
Sexuality : Unlabled
Family : Gwendolyn Schnee(Biological Sister), Maleficia Draconia(Adoptive Guardian), Malleus Draconia(Adoptive Cousin)
Occupation : Student at NRC, Former Knight
Twisted From : Tinkerbell from Disney Fairies
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School Information
Dorm : Diasomnia
School Year : 3rd (Junior)
Class : 3-D
Best Subject : Flight
Worst Class : Potionology
Club : Mountain Lovers Club
Dominant Hand : Ambidextrous
Favorite Food : Pumpkin Muffins, Hot Chamomile Tea
Least Favorite Food : Salty things
Likes : Her Hammer, Discovering parts and pieces, Fixing things, Exploring
Dislikes : Being ignored, Restriction, The future, Being teased, Being away from family, Banishment
Hobbies : Tinkering, Sewing
Personality : Tinsley’s super duper kind! She’s friendly to anyone and everyone she meets, sometimes she comes off as a lil too friendly. She’s extremely stubborn, tell her not to do something she wants to and she’ll go kicking and screaming. Tinsley’s also super motherly, considering she’s usually one of the older people here. But be aware, she can fight. She’s a former knight after all,,,,Tinsley’s also easily angered, anger her enough and her face will turn firetruck red and her yelling turns into the sound of bells ringing.
Unique Magic : Tinkering Hollow
“I have faith, trust, and pixie dust to help me!”
She can fix and put together objects she's found into anything she wants, She calls her tinkering hammer towards her with pixie dust but can it only last so long. The hammer begins to fade into pixie dust if used too much and will start to disintegrate into pixie dust. The hammer cannot be used for the next 24 hours.
Backstory : Here!
Random Trivia!
Tinsley SWEARS she hates when Porter teases her, but we all know it’s not true. She’s WEAK against his bloody nose 💔
Tinsley uses her wings to fly around a lot. She tries to not use them too often bcs Pixie dust leaves a mess but man,,,,walking is tiring
She probably very gently threatened anyone who had or has a liking towards Gwen, she just wants the best for her lil sis!!
In all her years of living AND being a knight in war, she’s never been more afraid of someone other than Floyd,,,,
She’s probably somewhere with Lilia in a textbook, u just gotta look hard
She added puffs balls onto the tips of her dorm boots! She thought they added charm
Outside of Diasomnia, She’s particularly close friends with Ortho and Kalim! they all like to fly together!
She joined the Mountain Lovers Club so she’d have more time and access to discovering stuff she could tinker with.
#twisted wonderland#twst#jas drew a thing.jpeg#twst oc#twst ocs#twisted wonderland oc#twisted wonderland ocs#Tinsley🧚🏻♀️#Tinsley Labelle#diasomnia oc
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Smutty halloween Clyde request?? “I know they’re just stuffed animals but doesn’t it feel weird? its like they’re watching us.”/“I’m up for it if you are.”/“Why is arson always your first answer?” All these together make me think of something silly and fun? Hope you’re into them, if not no worries ☺️
I truly have no explanation to why this is being posted now when were technically in the Christmas month but enjoy nevertheless! I went to my first pumpkin patch to do a little research for this but I did have to google what one is like too. This is smutty but has a nice sprinkle of fluff here and there. 💖💖 (I also suck at titles)
Pairing: Clyde Logan x Female Reader
Warnings: Unprotected sex, Oral (M and F receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Smut, Creampie and slight mention of a hand around throat but no chocking! There is also multiple mentions of a spider but it’s stuffed. Still not sure what I’m suppose to put here so let me know if I need to add anything!
Word count: 2.9k
Stuffed Spiders and Smiles
You and Clyde had just spent a wonderful afternoon together, he had taken you to your first pumpkin patch. You had grabbed Clyde’s hand with excitement not knowing what you wanted to do first with him repeatedly having to tell you to slow down and that there was plenty of time to do everything. Eventually having decided to go to the haunted house, which was a lot of fun due to the variety of masked people that jumped out at you both. Clyde made sure to hold onto you just in case you got scared but secretly you knew it was because he wasn’t a fan of things like this but you humoured him by clinging to his arm to comfort him. You don’t know how you did it but you managed to convince Clyde to have a little pumpkin painted on his face to match yours, nodding when they asked if he wanted any glitter added to it. Finally, you got some hot apple cider to sip while you walked along the array of pumpkins, trying to decide which one or five you wanted to take home. You both had picked out big pumpkins, which you had enthusiastically told Clyde you could carve together with a huge grin on your face which made one break out on his face in return.
Before heading home, you asked Clyde if he didn’t mind coming to the store with you so you could pick up a few extra decorations for your house. “Can we go to the store before we go back to my place? I just need a couple more things for the house” Clyde didn’t even need to look at your face to know you were pouting at him, like he could say no to you anyway. “I’ll come in with ya but ya know ya don’t be needin’ no more stuff, the store will have nothin’ left ta sell ya” He sighed before turning to see you smiling at him, he knew he’d do anything to see that smile even if it meant facilitating your addiction to Halloween décor. You park up at the store and hurry to grab Clyde’s hand, lacing your fingers between his and dragging him in. Looking around at all the different items before settling to look at some string lights to hang outside, Clyde loves the way your eyes shine just like the lights you were looking at, he admired the way you looked at everything like you’d never seen it before even when he knew for a fact you would have been in here the other day and a millions other times before that. He was brought out of his thoughts when you decided to throw a stuffed spider at him, laughing as he scrambled to make out what it was and whether or not he wanted to catch it. “Christ (Y/N)!”. Holding the spider in his large paw. “If I found a spider this big in the trailer, hell anywhere, I’d burn the whole thing down!” Clyde huffed. “Why is arson always your first answer? I thought ya life of crime was over” you teased, lowering your voice to try and mimic his. Dodging quickly as he threw the spider right back at you, picking it up and putting it in your cart, Clyde giving you a look. “What? It’s kinda cute, it will go perfect with the others I have” You giggled as you walked away swaying your hips, continuing to look at a few more things before heading to pay. Clyde helps put the bags in his car before getting your door.
Once you got back to your place Clyde again helps bring the bags in, setting them down on the countertop while you searched through a couple to find your new spider. “I’m going to go and put this in my room, want to see how I’ve decorated it?” Flashing Clyde, a smile, the smile that made him weak at the knees. He follows you down the hall to your room, watching as you open the door. He was taken aback by the way you had decorated your room, you’d told him you were going to do it but he thought you may hang a few lights and put up some of those fake spider webs that he’d always walk into when Mellie would decorate the Duck Tape. Taking a quick mental note to ask if you wanted to help her decorate this year and every year after that. He resumes looking around taking in the candles that makes your room smell like spiced apples, the little Jack o’ lantern rug which sat next to your bed, the black bedspread which was littered with tiny ghosts which all had different silly expressions and he notices an orange pillow with spooky wrote in bold, black letters.
Clyde watches as you add your new plush spider to the pile of stuffed toys that lined your windowsill before lying back on your pillows, curling your index finger beckoning him over like a siren. He perched next to you on the bed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Ya look so beautiful Darlin, did ya have a good day?” He asked, a small smile on his lips. “Of course, Big Bear! Thank you for taking me out today” You replied, moving so Clyde could now lie back against your pillows as you straddle his hips. “Anythin’ fer ya” He said before bringing you down for a kiss, licking his bottom lip for access which he gladly grants while groaning as you start to slowly move your hips around grinding into his growing bulge. “Darlin, wait” Clyde breathed out, you quickly pull your mouth from his. “Everything okay?” You question, concern in your voice. “I know they’re just stuffed animals, but doesn’t it feel weird? It’s like they’re watching us.” Clyde’s eyes looking from yours to the windowsill full of toys before looking back to you, you lean forward pressing your face into his neck trying to stifle the giggle that still ends up slipping past your lips. Clyde huffs at your reaction his plump lips forming a pout but his breath hitches as you start to press gentle kisses up his neck and over his jaw, stopping next to his ear. “Maybe they could be our own little audience which I’m up for it if you are.” You whisper before carefully nipping his ear lobe, Clyde couldn’t help but buck his hips up slightly at your response. Pressing kisses along his jaw then reconnecting your lips with his, swiping your tongue along his plump bottom lip again asking for access which he grants. Moaning as he licks into your mouth, both of your tongues fighting for dominance before you give into him.
He reaches for the hem of your top only pulling his mouth from yours for a spilt second so he can pull it over your head before tossing it to a random spot in the room. Carding your fingers through his dark hair before slightly tugging close to the root causing Clyde to grunt into your mouth. Pecking his lips once more before pulling off them as his lips try to follow yours, smirking at his reaction. He sits up to give you better access to his shirt buttons which you begin undoing, desperate to get to what’s underneath, giggling as he tries to pepper your neck with kisses, throwing you slightly off balance.
Once his shirt and top have joined yours on the floor you gently push him back onto the bed while placing kisses over the wide expanse of his chest, feeling his ribs expand under your palms as you glide your warm tongue around his nipple before sucking the skin into your mouth, triggering Clyde to grab your waist with his flesh hand, hissing as you pull off him, the cold air hardening the pink bud further. “Sh-Shit Darlin, that feels so good” He moans, voice slightly strained as he watches you bite and suck the swollen nipple. Wrapping his arms around your waist as he involuntarily grinds his bulge against your clothed core, feeling how wet you were getting from his sounds. Moving your lips over to his other nipple to make sure it didn’t feel left out, wondering if you could make him cum from the stimulation but you’d bring that up to him another time. Once satisfied at how puffy and pinks his nipples are you slowly start to move down his body while making sure to leave a trail of hot, wet kisses in your wake, undoing his belt you suck tiny love bites around his stomach knowing the little red marks would eventually turn into bruises making you even wetter knowing you were marking your territory.
With Clyde’s help you pull off his jeans and socks leaving him perfectly bare in front of you, sitting back on your knees you took a minute to admire your tall mountain man. “You’re so handsome, Baby” You tell him, running your nails along his thick thighs, causing him to shudder and blush all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Thank ya, (Y/N). I love ya so much” He replies running his thumb lovingly along your cheek. “I love you too, Clyde” you reply wrapping your hand around his large cock feeling him twitch as you pump him a couple of times before lowering you mouth to his pink, swollen head, poking your tongue out to swipe up the precum that had gathered at the tip. His hand reaches out to hold the back of your head before letting go with an apology. “It’s okay, you can grab me. I’m a big girl, I can take it” You reassure him as you lower your mouth onto him, taking him inch by inch until you couldn’t fit anymore, using your tongue to caress the underside of his cock while your hand strokes what you couldn’t fit. Massaging his balls gently in the palm of your hand while continuing this pattern, looking up at him through your lashes until he couldn’t take anymore.
“St-stop! That’s a nough, I’ll be cumin’ down ya throat if ya carry on” Clyde exclaims as he reluctantly pulls your mouth off his cock with an audible pop, lifting you up to kiss him groaning into your mouth which you happily swallow down for him. “Was that okay, baby?” You ask innocently. “That was more than okay, Babygirl. Just want to be buried in this sweet pussy o’ yours when I cum” His reply making you clench your legs together before he flips you both over so you’re underneath his large frame. He hastily removes your yellow lace bra, your nipples instantly hardening in the cool air before Clyde dives straight in to warm them up, his wet tongue coating your left nipple in his saliva. Sucking and biting while he rolls the stiff peak of the right one between his thick fingertips. Swapping over to give the right one the same attention from his mouth. Writhing and moaning non-stop under his caresses, he pulls off once he is satisfied with how stiff they are.
He helps you pull off the rest of your clothes then letting your legs naturally drop open for your man to settle himself between, staring at your glistening slit. “I know I said those candy apples were sweet earlier but this pussy o’ yers will always be sweeter” Clyde said between planting kisses on your inner thighs, the feel of his facial hair tickling and teasing where his lip met your skin were divine. “Clyde, please stop teasing! I can’t take it, I want you” whining loudly as you try to close your legs. “Look at my Babygirl, all needy for me. Huh?” He questions placing his metal arm around your thigh while placing his hand on your stomach to keep you in place. “Tell me what you want darlin” Clyde asks, mouth hovering just over where you want him most. “Y-your mouth, please” you beg, the feeling of the cold metal of his arm against your hot skin sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Clyde places a kiss just above your clit causing you to buck slightly as your hands dive into his thick hair, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the hard nub with the tip of his tongue. Clyde moans and groans into your soaked pussy like it’s his last meal, sucking on your clit as he brings his finger down to your entrance, circling it before pushing the thick digit in. You clench around it, pulling harder at his hair as he slowly grinds his member into your mattress for some relief. “Ya think ya can handle another? He asks cockily. “Yes, I can. Please, please” you babble as Clyde adds a second finger with no resistance. Continuing to suck on your swollen clit as his two fingers pump in and out of you before curling up to find that spot inside of you. Your body squirming in his grip when he does. “I’m so close, ohhhh” You whine. “That’s it Darlin, cum for me” he tells you before diving back in and continuing his ministrations at a quicker pace. “I’m gonna cum, fuck! Clyyyyde” You moan, clenching hard around his fingers while your legs squeeze the sides of his head, back arching and toes curling as the pleasure shoots up your spine. Once your whole body feels like jelly and you fall back breathlessly on to you pillows, smiling blissfully at you boyfriend. “Such a good girl, my beautiful girl” Clyde tells you as he pulls his fingers from your soaked entrance bringing them up to his mouth to clean off your arousal, groaning happily at the taste. “Sweeter than those candies fer sure” You laugh in response as you reach your arms out to pull him down for a kiss, slipping your tongue in his mouth and moaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.
Noticing a smudge on his face you turn it to the side, giggling at the remnants of the glittery orange pumpkin that was once there. Looking down at your thigh that now sparkles in the dim lighting of your room. The pair of you laughing at the mess.
You motion for him to lie on his back straddling his waist before gripping his cock to rub your wetness all over his thick length, Clyde swallowing each moan and whimper you produce for him. “Now whose teasin?” You smirk as you grip his large member and run it along your folds before pressing the blunt head against your entrance, slowly pushing down as you moan at the delicious burn from the stretch. Once fully seated Clyde grabs your hips to stop your movements giving himself a minute, overwhelmed by the feeling of your hot cunt steadily pulsing on his length. Pulling you down for an opened mouthed kiss before giving your ass a quick slap. Placing both your palms one his wide chest as he keeps his on your hips, loving the feeling of both his hand squeezing your soft flesh. You begin to slowly grind your hips in circular motions, lifting and sinking back down, the pleasure carrying tingles up from the base your spine. “That’s it, Darlin. Take what ya need from ya Big Bear” Clyde grunts sitting up, your chests pressing together, feeling the rapid beating of your heart. Picking up the pace he thrusts up into you, grabbing the back of your neck with his metal hand and your ass with his other. You feel your second climax beginning to build quickly still being a little sensitive from your previous, you snake your hand down to your swollen clit, gliding your fingers across it. “Baby, I’m so close” You groan into Clyde’s mouth, as he gently wraps his metal hand around your neck so he can look into your glazed eyes, feeling your cunt fluttering around him. “Cum fer me, cum all over ma cock” He demands watching your eyes roll back into your head, your mouth hanging open letting out a shout of his name. Your hot, wet cunt gushes all over his cock, the rhythmic pulses of your pussy grip his cock like a vice. Clyde intensely throws his head back, shutting his honeyed eyes in pleasure as his orgasm begins to rush through his body. A couple more thrusts and his cock throbs wildly before shooting rope after rope of thick cum inside you. “O-oh fuuucccck, I love you” He moans as his climax hits him. “I love you too” you reply, moaning at the feeling of his warm load filling you to the brim. Taking a minute for the pair of you to get your breathing back to normal you lean your forehead against his, content in each other’s presence. Smiling at him before placing a peck to his plump lips moving your head back to see a wide toothy grin on his face. “Ya know what?” Clyde asks. “What?” You reply, pushing the hair from Clyde’s sweaty forehead before tucking it behind his ears to look at his face, your brows furrowing slightly. “Those stuffed toys are still fuckin’ creepy” He tells you, trying to keep a straight face. You laugh swatting at his chest, shaking your head then leaning back in for another sweet kiss.
Tags: @clydesducktape @contesa-lui-alucard @sacklerscumrag @the-wayward-rose @historyandfandoms50
Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list 💖
#Fuck I'm nervous#I do love a pouty Clyde#clyde logan x reader#clyde logan smut#clyde logan#off to have a cup of tea now
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pabo || c.s (atz)
➵ PAIRING: reader x choi san (ateez)
➵ WORD COUNT: 5778
➵ GENRE: fluff, mildly suggestive if you squint
➵ SYNOPSIS: hongjoong tries his best, but in the end, san’s still a big pabo, and still the man you fell in love with.
>>>
“Is everything ready?”
“Yes, hyung. The ambiance is perfect, Seonghwa-hyung is putting the second batch of popcorn in the microwave, and we have successfully hacked into Mingi’s Netflix account.” Yeosang reports as he steps into his leader’s bedroom, carrying two bowls of popcorn, one salted and one caramel. Hongjoong grabs the two bowls as fast as he can and proceeds to remove every last unpopped kernel from the bowl at the speed of light, determination burning in his eyes; none shall escape him.
“Yah, you didn’t hack it, you and Yunho just tickled me till gave the password to you!” Mingi blusters in protest from the hallway, cheeks tinged red as Hongjoong’s attention continues to be completely riveted on assaulting the popcorn, a small hill of unpopped kernels growing next to him. Yeosang raises an eyebrow at the younger member, thoroughly amused.
“It’s alright, you know we don’t judge what you watch, Mingi.” He says matter of factly, but the way Mingi’s face turns fire engine red in a matter of seconds shows that he doesn’t believe that one bit. Hongjoong pauses in the process of sorting out the popcorn, looking up slowly at his member to quirk an eyebrow. “...What exactly is Mingi watching?”
Yeosang opens his mouth to answer, but Mingi beats him to it, rushing in with a “I am a mature man who can watch anything he wants! I have no shame, but you cannot intrude upon my privacy like this, it is my personal tastes and I can enjoy appropriate and deeply emotional shows for my age-”
“He was binge watching all seven seasons of My Little Pony on Netflix. Completely valid, by the way.” Yeosang cuts in with a shrug, popping a caramel popcorn into his mouth. “Friendship is magic.”
Hongjoong keeps the tiny snicker in his mouth as he sifts through the bowl with his fingertips, checking for anymore miscreants that have managed to escape his eye. The deep voiced rapper groans, buries his face in Hongjoong’s minion plush, ears clearly turning bright pink. “I… I have no shame…"
“Sure, Mingi.”
“Anyways, Yeosang,” Hongjoong turns to the vocalist leaning against the door frame, “have you contacted… you know who yet? Are San and Wooyoung back from snack shopping? How long more do we have left?”
“Daddy’s home!” San’s voice rings out through the dorm and Yeosang barely manages to repress a snort. “Snacks!” Mingi cheers, rushing outside and nearly tripping over the popcorn bowl (“Mingi!” Hongjoong screams in alarm) in his haste. The leader breathes a sigh of relief when the popcorn escapes unscathed, holding it close like it’s his firstborn child, “Ohhh, thank God…”
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Yeosang comments as the noise of Wooyoung and Yunho squabbling over dominance of the remote drifts into the room. Hongjoong lets out a long suffering sigh, eyes closing with all the burdens he has endured.
“The two of them have been dancing around each other for as long as I can remember,” He groans in exasperation, dragging a hand across his face. “At first it was funny watching San-ie being an idiot, but now it’s just sad and depressing.”
Yeosang hides a laugh behind a polite cough as his leader continues to rant so fast he sounds like he’s practicing a new rap. “I swear to god, every time I see the two of in this awkward I clearly like you and am trying to flirt with you but you have the emotional awareness the size of a teaspoon so I think you just see me as a friend nonsense I just... I just feel myself slowly dying on the inside. He comes to me all the time to talk to me about you know who and he practices confessing to me without ever trying it himself in the first place and if I hear one more word about how he thinks they’re just friends I am going to kill him in sleep.” An amused smile grows on one corner of Yeosang’s mouth. “It physically hurts. It takes a mental toll on me. It’s like acid eating away at me. It’s like being struck by lightning repeatedly in the face. And if it goes on for another day I am going to scream.” He finally takes a deep breath, fanning his cheeks when he realises he’s run out of breath. “Wow. That was emotional. I should turn those into some song lyrics for our next comeback.”
The younger vocalist snickers and there’s a crash outside, the sound of the couch falling over, and Seonghwa’s horrified shout of “you pabos!” from the kitchen. “It’ll be fun to see how this turns out, at the very least.” He says as Hongjoong rises to his feet, carrying the bowls of popcorn with him. Before he turns to leave the room, he pauses to tell Hongjoong, “you do know, when you were sorting through the popcorn, you ended up mixing them in the same bowl, right?”
Hongjoong frowns deeply at the bowl for a second as Yeosang heads for the chaos of the living room, studying the contents. Then realisation dawns on his face, and he groans, fighting the urge to smack his forehead into the wall. “I’m such an idiot.”
“I agree!” Yeosang calls from the hallway, and Hongjoong gives a good natured roll of the eyes before moving to join his members outside, salty caramel popcorn and all.
He’s going to make everything perfect down to the last cushion they sit on, play winged cupid for the two of them and hopefully, tonight is the night the torture will end. And maybe at their wedding, he’ll get to be the best man and San will give a long speech about how he everything to Hongjoong for the start of their beautiful love story.
Well, confessing was just the first step.
>>>
The ambiance is not perfect.
Yunho and Mingi are squabbling over the movie choices, Mingi trying to avoid every horror movie on the streaming site (which is impossible, considering that all the movies showing in the month of October are horror movies) while Yunho jumps around dangerously on the sofa with the remote in hand, likely the beginning of their very own Final Destination movie.
“You know,” Hongjoong remarks mildly as he stares at the massive orange thing sitting innocently on the floor of their dorm, “when I said to get a few snacks to get the mood up, I didn’t mean to buy a whole… pumpkin.”
“What other snack is better for the month of Halloween than a pumpkin?” San crows, raising his hand to give Wooyoung a cheeky high-five. Seonghwa stands at the doorway of the kitchen, fingers pressed to his temples in an attempt to face reality, while Hongjoong lets out a pained sigh before he knows what he’s doing. Stumbling to sit at the dining table, he puts his head into his hands with only one very clear thought in mind; San is clearly the villain of his own love story.
“Wooyoung.” Hongjoong says, disappointment dripping from every syllable. “You let San buy a pumpkin.”
“Yep! Oh, come on, it can’t be that terrible. Seonghwa-hyung can always make pumpkin soup or something some other day. It’s not that important.” The energetic dancer waves it off with a mischievous grin, until he sees the desperate, dark glow practically emanating off his leader in waves and a bead of cold sweat runs down his back, survival instinct setting off a thousand screeching sirens in his head.
“Tonight needs to be perfect.” Hongjoong stresses the last syllable with so much emphasis that Wooyoung squeaks, involuntarily moving to take a step behind San (as if he’ll be able to protect Wooyoung from Hongjoong in his demon wrath). Then a switch clicks in his mind, it comes to him and his mouth falls open in horror. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, no.” Hongjoong seethes in reply, inconsolable, Wooyoung shrinking back from his leader’s glare. Yeosang simply sighs and shrugs, disappointed but not exactly surprised, Yunho and Mingi even pausing in their little wrestle match to wince simultaneously.
San glances quizzically between the two of them in confusion when he finally catches on that there are some underlying ideas that aren’t being made privy to him.
“What’s going on-” San begins to say, but suddenly there’s a ring of the doorbell and everyone freezes, the remote dropping from Yunho’s hand to knock painfully into Mingi’s nose.
Hongjoong lets out a little, pained noise and slams his face into the table top.
“Were we expecting anyone? All of us are here, aren’t we?” San asks, doing a headcount and not seeming to notice that everyone is glued to the floor, frozen in place like badly arranged shop window mannequins. “Is it Manager-hyung? I’ll go get the door.”
“It’s ruined.” He hears Hongjoong groan as he steps over to open the door, simply frowns. Their manager won’t scold them for messing up the apartment just a little, will he? There isn’t such a big deal.
He opens the door.
Oh.
Then a few more neurons fire weakly and die. Shit.
“Hi, Hongjoong, I’m sorry I got your message late and was in a little bit of a rush coming here, have you guys started without me already?” You’re standing outside the door rummaging through your bag, looking for something, damp hair tossed back by the cold autumn wind just how he likes it and smelling of the city, dressed in a soft peach sweater that used to be his and earrings that he bought you last Christmas.
“It’s you.” San manages to croak out, he sounds like a dying frog, onstage devil, smooth as butter, offstage idiot, walking disaster, he reprimands himself belatedly, staring at you while his mind screams at him in thirty different languages that include Orcish and Latin and runs in tiny circles around his brain. You aren’t supposed to be here.
You continue to look up at him, smiling warmly, prettily with cheeks flushed peach pink that matches the sweater, his sweater, from the rush to their dorm and he simply gapes back, because his mind is not cooperating, motor functions are shutting down without his permission and he is losing all executive command.
“Uhm…” You begin softly and he snaps to attention, looking around frenziedly while you’ve clearly been standing in front of him the entire time and haven’t moved an inch, he hears Hongjoong let out an agonized groan behind him. “Are you going to let me in, Sanshine?”
It’s that nickname again, and christ, he can’t deal with how cute you are-
“Oh my god, get out of the doorway.” A hand latches hard onto the back of his shirt and drags him away, Hongjoong turning to greet you with a warm, welcoming smile. “Hi! Glad you could make it in time, and I’m sorry for the last minute invite too. Come in! The guys are excited to see you!”
“Thank you!” You chirp, stepping in, and the only thing San can think of is ‘they all knew you were coming except for him?’
“Hey!” There’s a chorus of welcomes as you step into the dorm, waving at all of them merrily until you spot the massive pumpkin just sitting in the middle of the dorm, a little bruised on one side from where Mingi had kicked it accidentally in his battle for the remote. “What is that doing here?”
Hongjoong turns his best smile-glare on Wooyoung and the dancer nearly cowers behind Seonghwa. The eldest shows no sympathy, though, and simply pushes Wooyoung out again to face the full brunt of Hongjoong’s wrath.
“I bought it…” Wooyoung squeaks as Hongjoong’s eyes continue to burn the back of his head to cinders. You pause for a moment, observing the large vegetable, before letting out a sweet laugh and smiling at Wooyoung. “You’re funny. That’s a really cute thing to do during Halloween!”
San sputters something unintelligible and Wooyoung grins bashfully, scratching the back of his head as Hongjoong thanks his lucky stars. Atmosphere, check! Level one, clear! Mission, success! This feels like it’s going to be one of their variety shows at this rate, while San’s secret goal is to sabotage the mission… except that his possible happiness and future is the mission.
“So, let’s start the movie!” Yunho announces and it finally dawns on San what you’re here to do. “Wait… you mean you are joining us for the horror movie marathon?”
Hongjoong’s mind screams in raw, physical pain.
You balk a little at the words that leaves San’s mouth, eyes becoming a little downcast. “Oh… I’m sorry. Do you not want me here? I know it’s been your yearly tradition, but Hongjoong invited me, so I thought…” Your voice trails off, and an awkward silence descends upon the two of you, every other member in the living room either having a heart attack or screaming because is San trying to ruin things for himself?
“Ah, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant!” San’s mind backpedals frantically, he’s not going to be able to concentrate on any movie while you’re there, but he doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t think it’ll be appropriate and oh-my-god you just see him as a friend and that’s inappropriate for friends to say and-
“Ha ha ha!” Seonghwa lets out the fakest, most awkward, high pitched laugh you’ve ever heard from him and drags San away by the ear before he can spew anything more stupid from that mouth. “Just ignore San, he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s a little silly sometimes, you know!”
Both you and San start at the way Seonghwa is practically insulting the man to his face, but Jongho choruses in from where he’s laying out pillows and an air mattress. “Yeah, hyung’s just a big pabo, so don’t listen to him!” “We’re glad to have you here!” Mingi adds, trying to make a swipe for the remote but misses.
“Pabo?” San pipes up indignantly, squaring up and ready to throttle the younger vocalist (which would probably be a big mistake), but Hongjoong clamps a hand around San’s head and suffocates him before he can say another word. Seonghwa gestures you to a seat on the sofa, talking to you about your day at work and you reply brightly. He’s put out more fires than a veteran fireman tonight, Hongjoong pats himself on the back encouragingly as he drags San to the kitchen to help take out the popcorn, and for the next part of the mission to commence.
>>>
San’s still rubbing his ear ruefully when he steps out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand, sending half-hearted glares in Hongjoong’s direction every once in a while. Wooyoung has turned down the living room lights and everyone is gathered in front of the television, Mingi squeaking in fright every time a clown or child’s face looms up on the recommended list Yunho is currently scrolling through.
“Ahh, you guys are back!” Yeosang says cheerfully, much too cheerfully, to San’s suspicion. “Here, we saved seats for you.”
Faster than San can blink, Hongjoong is diving onto the air mattress with a whoop, shouting “I claim dibs!” and effectively drawing a cry of pained protest from Wooyoung who was already lying on the matress. Sighing, San looks around for another available seat and sees only one left.
Next to you, on the couch, with barely enough space left for half of him, let alone all of him. He’ll be all pressed up against you, soft and warm next to him, and no. Running a hand through dark hair as he tries to plot out his next course of action that won’t leave him a bumbling idiot in front of you, he’s resigned to sitting on the floor when Hongjoong pipes up.
“There’s a seat on the couch.”
San frowns. “There is?”
Hongjoong’s eyes are almost luminous in the dark with the intensity of his gaze. “There. Is. Room. On. The. Couch.”
A shiver goes down San’s spine at the uncharacteristically terrifying stare. “Yes sir.” But you wave your hands, clearly apologetic, shaking your head as you rise to stand. “Oh no, it’s alright, I can sit on the floor if there’s no space.”
“No!” Both Hongjoong and San rush to stop you immediately, the latter sliding in next to you on the couch, honestly, it’s too tight of a squeeze and there are a myriad of nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach that feel more like a hive of angry bees. There isn’t enough space for his upper body to fit comfortably, so he raises one arm around your shoulder, not quite touching awkwardly because the two of you are just friends and it’s not appropriate-
Yeosang buries his face in his hands. Part Two of Mission Pabo was not going well.
“Is this okay?” San grunts uncomfortably as he shimmies in next to you, trying to find the most comfortable position he can in the limited space. You look up at him in worry and suddenly your eyes, soft and dark in the faint light of the room. “Yeah, I’m fine, but isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” You shift next to him and San gasps at the feeling of your hand brushing against the bare skin of his torso where his shirt has ridden up just a little, but it’s like a jolt of electricity running through his veins. He jerks away on instinct, but in doing so, the hand around your shoulder smacks into your cheek and you yelp in pain.
San is about ready to jump out of the closest window to save himself the embarassment, but then he remembers that they’re on the first floor and he wishes desperately for the floor to just open up and swallow him whole (swallow him hole, ha).
“Are you alright?” Hongjoong rushes to ask in concern, fingertips gently brushing your cheek as he checks the area and San screams internally. “I’m so sorry, San is a bit of a pabo so please forgive him! He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Yeosang slumps against the wall with a soft cry of secondhand embarrassment and Mingi pats his head comfortingly.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You reassure Hongjoong and turn to beam at San warmly, his heart stops. “Let’s just start the movie, okay?”
“Okay.” He manages to breathe, and wonders how he’s going to continue doing that for the next few hours with you by his side.
>>>
The movie starts off well, or well, at least well as the chaotic eight of them could get. Wooyoung shouts and throws chocolates at the leads of Conjuring for making bad life decisions, while Mingi’s so terrified of every childlike image after Annabelle that he screams when Boss Baby appears in the recommended. San’s so enraptured in watching Final Destination that he doesn’t seem to notice that his arm is slipping down, resting partially on the couch behind you and your shoulder. Content, you simply snuggle quietly into his side, screaming when Mingi screams and looking up at San shyly when he lets out little chuckles, amused at your antics, handsome face illuminated by the light of the next ghost.
When the reindeer monster in The Ritual impales another camper through a tree, you squeak and turn your face away from the movie, but the only thing there is the crook of San’s neck, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the warm skin there. There’s a hitch of breath, a soft gasp drawn through parted lips, and his pulse hammers furiously against the tip of your nose, but that’s because of the movie, right? Not because… not because he thinks that…
A negative little feeling pokes its way into your chest and you find yourself drawing your face from San’s neck, slightly melancholy. As if he’s attuned to your emotions, San frowns, turns to look at you with concerned eyes, but before he can say a word, you rise to your feet.
“I think I’m gonna go get some snacks.” You announce suddenly, stepping over a confused Jongho and Seonghwa to get to the kitchen. Hongjoong is on the verge of tears. “San, what did you do?” He whisper-yells the second you leave the room, and San fumbles to save his ear before Hongjoong can pull it off. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Well, maybe you should have done something, then!”
“Huh?”
“I think I’ll go to the kitchen and get some snacks too, I’m terrified…” Mingi whimpers as shadows move across the tent before hands rip through the cloth and drag a screaming camper out by the ankles. Hongjoong tosses a pillow at Mingi’s face.
“You. Are. Not. Scared.” Hongjoong says so dangerously Mingi ponders which is scarier for a second, then decides it’s obviously his leader. He shrinks back under the blanket, eyes peeking out over the edge and this time Yeosang pats him on the head sympathetically. Then their leader turns to San, eyes burning with intensity. “San, how about you go help get the snacks?”
San’s confused. “But I’m not scared and I want to watch the movie-”
“Go.”
San immediately scrambles off the couch and heads for the kitchen as fast as he can, hightailing out of living room before Hongjoong can strangle him again. Sliding the door open, he steps into the kitchen silently, closing it behind him, wondering why tonight has been such a strange night.
You’re standing with your back to him, sprinkling some icing sugar over a batch of cookies that you’d brought over. Stepping over to you, he glances over your shoulder, trying to calm the heart pounding in his chest - it’s just the two of you, alone in the kitchen. “Those look good.”
“Jesus Christ, Sanshine, you scared me!” You cry out and jump backwards in fright, back pressing against San’s chest and he reaches out to straighten you by the arms. “I’m sorry!” He apologises, looking over at the mess he’s caused, icing sugar all over the counter and your fingers. “Just give me a second, I’ll-” He raises one of your hands to his lips, tongue darting out to lick the sweetness off your hands. Maybe he’s just too absorbed in his task and doesn’t hear the little whimper you let out, but his mouth dips over your fingers, dragging his teeth lightly across the skin there and sucking lightly on the tips before letting you go with a satisfied smile, swiping bubblegum pink over his lips. “There, all clean!”
The two of you stare at each other for approximately another ten seconds, you with your mouth hanging wide open, San still proud of himself for clearing up the mess until his brain catches up with what he’s just done, and how very inappropriate for friends it is.
San barely manages to hold in his scream just as a round of horrified high pitched shouts come from the living room, they reflect the state his mind is in all too well. He’s screwed things up, and now there will be no more relationship, let alone friendship, and-
After several deep breaths and near heart attacks, he manages to breathe, unable to look you in the eye. “Well… how about we just…” He drags a breath in, dragging a hand through his hair harshly, “go back out there and forget this ever happened?” The silence continues, and he holds in a little whimper. “Please?”
His plea hangs in the empty silence that stretches between the two of you, and San is convinced that he’s just made the biggest screw up of his life, this friendship is over, that Jongho was right and he is the biggest pabo-
“I don’t want to.”
Huh?
You raise your hand, and there’s a dangerous, playful glint in your eye that he can’t help but feel like he’s going to get burned by. “This is pretty… inappropriate for friends, wouldn’t you say?”
That’s what I’ve been saying this entire night! His subconscious hollers, but San forcibly wrenches him from the mental steering wheel and throws him into the backseat, mind still completely blank and uncomprehending. Nameless speech organs seemed to have lodged themselves in his mouth and throat, and butchering his attempt of a ‘what do you mean’ into a mangled ‘whu- don’t- huh?’
You laugh, a sweet, dangerous chuckle that sends a shiver down his spine and step forward, San unconsciously taking one back, another, another, and another until the small of his back hits the kitchen island and he has nowhere else to escape, but you’re still closing the distance between the two of you, and his heart leaps into his mouth, pulse thundering haywire - this can’t be good for his cardiac health.
Then your arms are coming up to brace themselves on the kitchen counter and he’s trapped, irises blown wide and cheeks flushed as you lean in close, more close than appropriate, completely inappropriate for friends, and there’s a little voice that keeps screaming in his head, he actually might be on the verge of a heart attack, and-
“How about this?” You whisper, and a shudder wrecks his spine, a coy smile that is, too, entirely inappropriate for this situation playing on your lips, his breaths are coming out in short little pants and he doesn’t know what or how to think. “Is this inappropriate for friends too?”
“Very.” He finds himself replying, voice weak, and instantly finds an urge to cover his face in embarrassment, what on earth is he saying? But before he can, one of your hands pins his wrist to the counter next to him with barely any force and he feels his knees go weak, because that’s sexy as hell, and then you’re leaning in, leaning in closer…
The first slide of your lips against his and he forgets how to breathe.
It’s soft, electric, barely there but sends fire and ice racing over his body and his head spins, a soft whine muffled against your lips, you taste like impulse and desire and cherry sweet not friend appropriate intent, and he nearly collapses against the counter, elbows propped against the cool marble surface barely serving to keep him upright.
You pull away, but not far, still close enough to feel his hitching breath tickling your face in little, breathy puffs, watching as he tries to claw the remains of his self control back together. His head has fallen back to expose the underside of his jaw and the hollow of his throat, and while you feel a near irrepressible urge to kiss and taste the skin there, you stave it off, delayed gratification, you promise yourself. His eyelids flutter dazedly, slivers of dark brown flitting between between glancing at you and flinching away, raw emotion pooling in the corners of his eyes.
Oh, he is so beautiful to watch like this.
Your lips meet again, a little deeper this time, and he whispers your name hot against your mouth. When you part your lips just a little to drag the tip of your tongue across his bruised lower lip, he keens, melting against you and you press him against the kitchen island with your hands on his hipbones, “can’t have you fainting on me now, can I?”
And then you’re pulling away, finally, blessedly, regrettably and he manages to crack one eye open, chest still heaving for breath and wondering how he’s still alive as you smile innocently at him, tongue darting out to flick against the corner of your mouth. “There.” You tell him softly, holding his gaze the entire time with some sort of dark intensity lurking beneath the surface, voice somewhere between a purr and a rasp. “All clean.”
His words? Thrown back at him. His mind? Left in shambles? Hotel? Trivago.
He needs to visit a cardiologist tomorrow.
“Clean.” He manages to repeat, voice hoarse, and then you’re grinning so cheerfully that San has whiplash, you take him by the hand and lead him back outside, where everyone is still watching the movie. You slide back onto your seat and pat the space next to you. San sits, a little gingerly, and you shift, so that you’re almost half in his lap, and tuck his arm around your waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck just like you were earlier. His pulse picks up again, fluttering against your cheek and you smile, letting your eyes squeeze close, feeling happier than you have for the first time in months.
Silently, San draws you in, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulls you closer, plants a soft kiss on your temple and leans his cheek against the top of your head, closing his eyes as the last camper finally escapes the forest.
From the air mattress, Wooyoung and Hongjoong fist bump and do a dab.
>>>
He’s awoken by a clicking sound.
“I’m keeping these forever.”
“I’m never going to let this go down. I’m going to write it down, my kids will know about it, my great great grand kids will know about, then I’m going to sell the USB to his kids as blackmail-”
San grunts, batting against the noise as a sleepy haze tries to pull him back under, there’s an abrupt silence and then furious whispering. Unfortunately, San is far too removed from dreamland to return to sleep now and stretches his back, or rather, attempts to.
He realises he can’t properly feel his legs and blinks his eyes open sleepily, trying to spot the reason for his discomfort and seeing oh-
You’re curled up in his lap and against his chest, each soft breath puffing against his neck and hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Even though he probably really should get you to move before he loses all feeling in his legs, he’s loathe to do so, instead staring down at you with unreadable eyes, chest tightening.
“Rise and shine!” Hongjoong yawns, looking bright and cheery, which is… unsettling to say the least. He taps you on the shoulder and you grumble, still soft and sleepy and so adorable that San swears there are flowers growing in his heart, burying your face in his neck as if that would hide you from the rest of the world.
Rest of the world.
San looks up and sees the rest of his members already wide awake and staring expectantly at him, minus Yunho who is still completely crashed on the air mattress. That doesn’t make things a lot better. He feels his cheeks burning in an instant and Wooyoung lets out a seal like laugh, San picks up a minion plush and tosses it at his best friend while Hongjoong rushes to save it.
“Hey.” He grabs your wrist and tugs gently, and you finally sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. Oh, he thinks. Damn, he adds. He’s whipped.
“We didn’t mean to wake you up, but you should be getting home before peak hour.” Yeosang supplies helpfully, and San can’t help but mourn a little for the loss of your weight on his thigh, even though his legs are crying for joy. You nod, grab your things and head for the door, Hongjoong gives San a stern stare. “San, show her out.”
San doesn’t protest this time, moving over to the door where you’re slipping on your shoes and patting down your hair, he leans against the door frame and simply looks, watches until he can bring the words to pass his lips.
“So…” San begins, and you glance up at him curiously. “I.... I wanted to say that… to ask if… we could be...”
More, his heart and mind chorus. Inappropriate, another part of him adds with a gleeful little chuckle, and he claps that bit into the dustbin and slams the lid on top.
“I’ve had enough of this.” Hongjoong storms over and San glances over in confusion at his tiny leader near bursting with rage, but Hongjoong grabs San by the shoulders, spins him to face you squarely and shakes him a little. “Spit it out, San! I’ve heard it a thousand and one times already, so it should be easy for you to recite by now, shouldn’t it?”
San gapes in horror. “I-”
You laugh. “It’s okay, Hong, I think I already know what he wants to say.” Hongjoong blinks in confusion, but you turn to San, smile radiantly and lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips, they still taste like sugar. San merely stands there, frozen as a petrified tree as you step back and wave, to the rest of the boys in the room. “Bye, guys! Bye, Yunho! Thanks, Seonghwa!” The oldest salutes, his other hand pressed firmly across the maknae’s eyes as he complains and struggles to get out of his grasp.
Then you’re gone.
Hongjoong waits a whole minute for San to react as Seonghwa and Jongho squabble in the back, and when San doesn’t, still staring blankly out of the door, he moves forward to tap San on the shoulder. “Um… San-ah? You okay there? Did we break your brain or anything?”
San turns around slowly, a befuddled expression on his face as he glances up to look at his leader, blinking slowly, fingertips pressed to his lips in amazement.
“But Hongjoong-hyung… that was completely inappropriate for friends…”
Wooyoung and Hongjoong scream.
>>>
Some time ago…
“Mission Pabo Part Three: Surveillance, begin!” Hongjoong whispers the second San disappears into the kitchen and Wooyoung immediately drags a tablet out from under the air mattress, placing it on the couch as the rest of the members crowd around it, Mingi excluded, who’s still too terrified to expose himself to the evil spirits held at bay by his blanket. Yeosang fiddles with the buttons on the app, scrolling through channels as the rest hiss at him to hurry up.
“Shh! I’m trying.” Yeosang whispers back huffily, tapping on several tabs and channels. Jongho shifts closer to the screen, trying to see the feed over Seonghwa’s shoulder, who’s a few inches from losing balance and frowns. Honestly, did his hyungs think this kind of stupid strategy would work? “Kitchen… kitchen… there it is!”
Immediately his hyungs scream, Yeosang very nearly tossing the whole tablet into the air. Jongho makes a face of disgust and moves to pick up the fallen device, but before he can take another step, Seonghwa pounces right on him, shoving a pillow over his face as he screeches for Wooyoung to turn the damned thing off.
Jongho never finds out what happened in that kitchen.
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Alien
✂ Pairing: Yandere! Prince! Rengoku Kyōjurō x Reader
✂ Word Count: 2,8k+
✂ Trigger Warnings: Possessiveness, implied abuse
[Edited]
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I've seen a lot of people wrote Cinderella au, so I want to try my hands on it.
If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!
“I've never had clouds follow me each day. Years of sun that never went away. I lie here awake but I'm not one to pray. Everything's changed and now I'm not okay.” - Bring Me Home [G Flip]
Compared to some people down the streets, your living situation was much better than they could ever wish for. You still had a roof over your head, clothes – regardless of how dirty and rugged they were – to cover your body, food to sate your hunger, and a room to sleep in. You knew that, and that’s why you endeavored to seek a silver lining in your life. Anything to give you hope that miracles did exist, and everything you’d done all this time wasn’t meaningless.
But there were some days where gratitude was hard to practice, and you felt as if the agony you experienced would never end. You wanted to give up, and at the same time, you couldn’t afford to allow pessimism to dominate your life. Today was one of those days, unfortunately, where your stepmother seemed to act crueler and more sadistic than you could handle. Perhaps it was the stress of picking the right dresses for her daughters or the excitement at the prospect of the prince noticing them and the luxury they’d get to experience in the palace.
Nevertheless, your ‘family’ was overjoyed with the invitation despite the – honestly unnecessary – agitation they displayed over the preparation.
“Ma, it’s too tight!”
“Hush, now.” Your stepmother scowled as she proceeded to tighten the corset on Junko's back. “A sacrifice has to be made if you want to attract the prince.”
The younger sister whined again, while the older one, Ryōka, admired her polished appearance in the mirror.
“My, I certainly look ravishing tonight.” she puffed, caressing her sides sensually. “I’m sure I’ll be the one the prince chooses later. I mean, who doesn’t want this kind of body?”
“No! It’ll be me, instead!” Junko interjected vehemently, clenching her fists.
“Be quiet, both of you!” Your stepmother growled as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “If I see any of you causing a ruckus at the party, I swear I’ll spank you.” The sisters fell quiet from the threat, but the older woman ignored their blanched faces and snapped her head towards you. “[Name], don’t just stand there like an idiot. Make yourself useful and clean this mess!”
You hurriedly nodded and scampered to grab the broom. As disheartening as it was to watch them fussing with themselves and chatting excitedly about the party, you still had work to attend to. Work that never ceased and always piled up on an invisible desk. On one hand, you were happy with their departure. You finally had some time left for yourself at home!
On the other hand, however, you wanted to join them, too. You wanted to see the palace from up close. You wanted to see what the prince and his family looked like. You wanted to wear a gorgeous dress and meet new people.
You wanted to… you wanted to be free, for once.
“What’s wrong, dear? You look disgruntled.” A playful voice asked. Looking up, your eyes widened when they landed on a beautiful yet tiny woman with wings fluttering on her back. Black locks that faded to purple flowed behind her, tied into some kind of a unique style. Large, pupil-less eyes that reminded you of an insect's stared down at you patiently. Occasionally, long eyelashes would caress her pale features when she blinked. Despite her overall cute looks, you sensed mischief in her aura. “Hello!”
You blinked in surprise, and hesitantly returned her hearty greeting. “H-hello…” you murmured and glanced around as if hoping someone would explain to you who the heck this woman was and how did she get here without your knowledge. Maybe she managed to slip inside when your stepmother opened the door earlier? But, shouldn’t any of your sisters notice her? It wasn’t every day you got to witness a fairy in person, after all. “Um, who are you? And how did you come here? All the windows are locked, you know?”
The diminutive woman clasped a hand over her rosy lips and chortled. “Worry not, sweetheart, I’m not here to hurt you.” she chirped, effortlessly dodging the questions. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know her answers, either. Her presence was already hard to swallow, anyway. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you!”
You frowned in bewilderment. “Help me?”
She nodded merrily, beaming. “Yes, I’m here to help you go to the palace and get the prince!”
You sputtered and frantically flailed your hands as though it could change her opinion. “N-no, you got it all wrong! I’m not–” Your cheeks heated up when she leaned forward and hummed in mock questioning, urging you to continue with your nonsensical rambling. “I-I don’t like him that way, alright? I don’t… I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“And that’s why I’m here to realize your dream.” She finally glided back once she had enough teasing you with her knowing stare. “To start it all, you need a beautiful attire to complement your features and body!”
She waved her wand, and immediately, sparkles surrounded your body and changed the rags into the prettiest gown you’d ever seen. The straps hung loosely on your arms, while the bodice hugged your body perfectly and revealed the right amount of cleavage. A silver necklace dangled on your neck, glittering in the dim moonlight that passed through the windows. The color of the dress darkened from bright yellow to fiery orange, whereas your gloves were pearly white. The fairy merely smiled at the confused glance you shot her. It wasn’t as if you disliked the color, but you suspected a hidden motive somewhere.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she inquired, hands clasped behind her.
You opened your mouth to question her singular choice before sighing. “Yes, it is. Thank you very much… fairy.”
Her amiable smile widened as her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re welcome~!”
The next few minutes, she completed your looks with a pair of glass shoes and transformed a mere pumpkin into a magnificent carriage. She explained to you that the magic would disappear once the clock struck twelve, and you needed to leave before the predetermined time. Despite the crushing realization that your ‘freedom’ was only temporary, you still heeded her warnings nonetheless. There was no reason for you to disregard the consequences just because she’d helped you. At least, you could try to appreciate her assistance, even if it came out of thin air. And because a simple thank you just wasn’t enough to describe your gratitude.
“Bye, [Name]! I hope you have a delightful night!”
You chose to bite your tongue from asking about how did she know your name when you didn’t remember giving her and waved instead. Slowly, her figure grew smaller and smaller with each distance the carriage took until she was merely a sparkle among the fireflies. You smiled sadly as you rested against the plush couch, musing about how lucky you were to meet such a kind woman. Maybe God finally took pity on you for once? Whatever it was, you thanked her from the bottom of your heart and hoped you could talk to her again.
Hopefully, as a friend.
Unfortunately, your little praying session was cut short when the horse suddenly stopped in front of a humongous building. The coach opened the door to your left and extended a hand. You tentatively accepted his help, unaccustomed with the gentlemanly gesture, and climbed out of the carriage. You gawked at the extravagance, the guards that stationed in every door, and the elegant guests. Gripping the skirt of your dress, you wondered if it wasn’t too late for you to return to your home. You felt so out of place, like an alien. What if someone noticed your ineptitude and kicked you out?
But going home meant wasting the fairy’s hard work, and although you doubted the probability of your second meeting, you refused to disappoint her.
Swallowing the ball of nerves that clogged your throat, you steeled yourself and shakily entered the palace. You thought you caught a couple of guards sending suspicious glances in your direction, but you quickly shook your head to dispel the image. Don’t think about unpleasant things, and you should be fine.
At least, that was what you hoped until someone approached you.
“Hello, hello!” Your heart nearly leaped out of its cage when a trenchant voice boomed. Was it just your suspicion or were you being jumpier and more airheaded today? A tall man with yellow hair and red streaks stood in front of you, smiling widely. “You have a unique dress there, Miss. I like it! It reminds me of my hair color.”
His hair…
Did that meant this person was–?
“T-thank you...!” Almost instinctively, you bowed to hide your flaming cheeks. That cheeky fairy…! She should’ve told you earlier! How would you suppose to act now?! “I’m… I’m glad you like it, Your Highness.”
Oh, great. Now you acted as if you were trying to grab his attention. At this rate, you wouldn’t be much different than your sisters.
The princess laughed exuberantly, but you detected no mockery of your apparent nervousness. Only genuine amusement and… interest? You shook your head and clenched the dress. He must be interested due to your striking garment, not because of who you were. The thought both dismayed and relieved you.
“You’re quite an entertaining one, Miss.” Extending a hand, he beamed. “May I have this dance?”
Dance?! Oh, no. How could you forget about this important detail? Don’t accept, don’t accept, don’t accept –
“… S-sure.”
Darn it. Now you were going to embarrass yourself in front of him, you just knew it. How could you expect an ordinary girl, whose job was housekeeping, to suddenly be able to dance flawlessly?
But it wasn’t too late. You just… you just needed to follow his lead. You were going to make a lot of mistakes, but as long as you appeared to focus on his movements, he’d surely overlook your clumsiness. Hopefully.
The prince ushered you to the center of the ballroom, and only now did you realize that the guests had long stopped doing their activities and were staring at you. The sheer intensity, ranging from envy to curiosity, encumbered you. However, he squeezed your hand gently as a sign of reassurance and smiled cordially.
“Just focus on me,” he whispered as he wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you close to him. You knew it was part of the dance, and yet, you couldn’t help the way your heart thundered at the seemingly intimate gesture. “and you’ll soon forget them.”
You weren’t sure if it was that easy to disregard the plethora of guests standing on the sidelines – you weren’t him who was used to the attention – but you nodded anyway. The fact that the prince of Rengoku had gone out of his way to invite you to dance was flattering enough, so you just had to humor him in return.
“May I know the name of my partner?” he inquired after a short period of adjustment. He chuckled when you accidentally stepped on his foot and dismissed your flustered apologies.
“[N-Name], Your Highness.” you murmured bashfully, the minor flaw mortified you beyond belief.
“Now, now, no need to be so formal. Just call me Kyōjurō.”
You stared into his dilated eyes, mentally inquiring the reason behind the abrupt informality. Wouldn’t it be rude of you to call a prince by his first name? But he didn’t seem to mind, so that should be fine… right?
“Ah, alright… Kyōjurō.”
His already wide smile expanded as he squeezed your hand, satisfied with your immediate albeit reluctant compliance. Kyōjurō knew, the moment he laid his eyes on your skittish figure – so foreign yet precious – you were quite the meek one. The way you constantly looked around, alert at the slightest hint of disturbance, suggested that this was the first time you attended a party. And, probably, his home itself.
Kyōjurō wasn’t a fool. He’d studied too many books about body language to know that you didn’t belong here, that you acted far too nervous for the typical noble. You were probably a peasant that somehow got invited, and regretted coming once you saw the environment.
Though, it didn’t mean that you couldn’t familiarize yourself. Given enough time, he was certain that you’d be accustomed to the royal life and its benefits.
The rest of the night was spent with an impromptu dance lesson, laughter, and small talks. Due to his easy nature, you almost forgot that he was still a prince underneath; someone that you wouldn’t have the courage to talk to otherwise. And, for a moment, you were led to believe that he was some kind of a long-lost friend. The kind of friend that you always wished to have.
Until the clock struck, shattering your fairy tale that he silently weaved with his persona.
“I-I’m sorry, Kyōjurō, but I need to go.” You tried to release your hand from his grasp, but shockingly, he refused to budge. “Kyōjurō, my mother is waiting for me at home.”
No, she didn’t. But a tiny voice told you that something was wrong with him, and of course, your stepmother would definitely blow a fuse once she learned about your disappearance.
“I can send a guard to relay her a message that her daughter has been chosen as my future wife.”
You faltered, and Kyōjurō took this as an opportunity to pull you towards him and hug you as tightly as he could.
“W-what are you talking about, Your Highness?” Perturbed, you’d unknowingly reverted to the formal title, much to his displeasure. “I don’t… I don’t understand! What do you mean by ‘chosen’? I’m not… I’m not going to marry you, am I? That’s just impossible.”
“[Name],” For the first time in his life, Kyōjurō faked a smile. Not that you’d be able to differentiate it from his usual demeanor, though. “don’t you know what the purpose of this party is?” When you shook your head, he grinned knowingly. Every guest knew, except you. And that just proved his theory right. “It’s to find a perfect candidate for my future spouse. And I’ve picked you, among these women.”
You balked at him and attempted to claw his hand had he didn’t catch your wrist.
“No, I refuse! You can’t just… decide something without my permission!” Despite your ardent rejection, your voice wavered as desperate tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. You wondered why nobody rescued you from him, or if his status intimidated them too much. “Your Highness, please…! Let me go. I want to go home, please! Just search someone else instead, please!”
“So you could return to your ordinary life?”
You gaped at him, and you both watched as the dress that flattered your body reverted to its normal rugs. Somewhere in the outside, you could hear the guards shouting about ‘a carriage that turned into a pumpkin’ and ‘a rat’. The events that occurred were too much for you to bear, and for the first time in your life, you broke down publicly.
In the balcony of Rengoku palace, you collapsed right before his eyes and bawled. Your hair was a mess, bruises discolored your body, and your eyes were bloodshot, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything anymore. Why should you, when you’d revealed to him that you were merely an imposter? An alien that could never fit in this stately environment. A peasant whose skills were only housekeeping and surviving.
No, you sobbed. You really didn’t fit anywhere, did you? Not even your closest family, who instantly rejected you once your father died. Why did he have to die? Why did your parents have to leave you alone at their vicious hands? This was unfair. You wanted to go with them, too.
“Sssh… it’s okay, it’s okay.” Kyōjurō crouched beside you and patted your back as though it’d magically fix everything that ruined you. “Everything’s going to be alright, now.” No, it didn’t, but you couldn’t utter that. The tears had yet to run out, after all. “I’ll ensure that you live comfortably with me.”
You didn’t respond, but the fact that you no longer opposed him and accepted his affection was enough for him. Caging you in his tender embrace, Kyōjurō closed his eyes and relished the proximity.
Searching the culprit to your abuse should be the first step to establish your new life, but he could do that later. For now, he needed to bring you to your shared room so you could have a proper rest. He knew just how exhausting crying could be to your body, and he didn’t want you to fall asleep during your ‘heart-to-heart’ conversation later.
Junko: 順子
Ryōka: 良華
#yandere scenario#yandere imagine#yandere anime#anime yandere#yandere anime au#anime yandere au#yandere oneshot#Yandere kyojuro#Yandere kyojuro x reader#Yandere kyojuro rengoku#Yandere kyojuro rengoku x reader#Yandere rengoku kyojuro x reader#yandere kimetsu no yaiba#yandere kny#yandere demon slayer
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Eccentricity [Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime]
Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.
Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Some Kind Of Disaster by All Time Low.
Chapter Warnings: Language, references to drugs and violence.
Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE
Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @writerxinthedark @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @loveandbeloved29
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Easy Questions, Evasive Answers
“So it was nothing,” Archer said, glancing up from where he was tinkering around beneath the hood of my 1999 Honda Accord, checking hoses and belts and dipsticks. “This is pathetic, by the way. That you can’t change your own windshield wiper fluid. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow.”
“I never had my own car in Phoenix!” I objected around a mouthful of a Starbucks pumpkin muffin, my first of the season. And that was true: Renee and I couldn’t afford one. “I didn’t have to learn about car things!”
“No, it’s great, I love it, I have a customer for life.”
“It was totally nothing,” I told him. Meaning the photograph in the newspaper article from 1979. Meaning my paranoia surrounding beautiful, brooding, certifiably lethal Benjamin Lee.
Not Lee, I reminded myself. Benjamin August Hardy, born November 3rd 1893.
“Was it really?” Archer asked, skeptical.
“Uhhh, you were the one who was making fun of me for thinking he might be a time traveler. Or a bigfoot.” Or a vampire.
“Yeah, okay, true...” He let the hood of the Honda fall shut with a bang, then wiped the muddy streaks of motor oil from his hands with a stained rag. “But you were freaked out. Like super freaked out.”
“I was, yeah. But it wasn’t him in the photo. I took another look, there were freckles and, uh, like, uh, some other things that didn’t match up.”
“Huh.” Archer watched me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I didn’t notice that.”
“Ben laughed about it. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. A stalker and an idiot.”
Archer smirked slyly. “He must not have held it against you too much. I’ve never seen that guy laugh in my life.”
I took a moody bite of my muffin, rolled my eyes, feigned shallow schoolgirl angst. “Trust me, he’s not my biggest fan.”
“Ohhhh, and this bothers you?” Archer sauntered over and stole a crumbling hunk out of the pumpkin muffin. “Does someone have a little crush on the gorgeous, grouchiest Lee?”
“Definitely not.” I sipped my chai latte, contemplative, debating telling him more.
“Uh oh. There’s something else, I can see it. Spill the tea, you walking college-chick-who’s-obsessed-with-fall stereotype.”
“I’m so excited! I’m going to get to see changing leaves this year!” Cacti are majestic, ancient, intrepid, and they remind me of home; but they never change. They’re like desert earth that way, like the ocean. Like vampires, actually.
“We’ll have to do all the Instagram-worthy stuff. Pumpkin patches. Hay mazes. Apple picking...you can even bring that Ben guy if you want to. If he promises not to murder me with his mysterious time-travelling demon powers.”
Oh, kid, you have no idea. “So...I am kind of into a Lee guy. But it’s not Ben.”
Archer gasped, inhaled pumpkin muffin morsels, bent over as he hacked them out of his lungs. “Who?!” he rasped, scandalized, and then coughed again.
I couldn’t help but smile as his name spilled out: “Joe.”
“Which one is that? The Middle Eastern Men’s Vogue model one?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No, not Rami. He has a girlfriend, by the way.” And has for the past half a century.
Archer wiggled his eyebrows. “Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.”
“Oh my god, please never say that phrase again.”
“Joe is the...” He closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the metal workbench, trying to remember.
“The Italian one,” I finished for him.
“Ahhh. The annoying one.”
“He is not annoying! Why do people keep saying he’s annoying?! He’s hilarious, and sweet, and lowkey wicked smart, and, and, and...”
Archer whistled, grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, girl. You do like him. You really like him.”
I sighed in defeat. “Okay. I really, really like him.”
“Like him as in would swipe right on Tinder, or like him as in you want to get married and honeymoon in Hawaii and have twelve pasty, angular babies?”
“Oh wow.” And for the first time, I was confronted with the singular enigma that was a future with Joe. Vampires had relationships with other vampires, obviously, even marriages; but that didn’t mean the same rules applied to humans. Did he like me? Could he like me? What would that even look like? How would it end? And it would have to end, of course, eventually. Unless somehow I stopped aging too. “More than just a right swipe. We’ll see about the twelve kids.”
“Just make sure he wraps it before he taps it. I’m too young to be an uncle.”
“Stop,” I pleaded, gulping down my latte, averting my gaze across Archer’s small garage filled with customers’ vehicles, pretending not to be intrigued and yearning and petrified. I couldn’t imagine hooking up with someone as faultless and—presumably—experienced as Joe and being anything but a disappointment. I’ve never hooked up with anyone. At all. Ever.
“What?” he asked, concerned, thieving another piece of my pumpkin muffin. Powdered sugar dusted his fingers like the snow I’ve only seen two or three times in my life.
“Nothing. I just really wish you went to Calawah too.”
“And give up all this easy money from clueless suburbs people like you?” Archer beamed, wily and proud and affectionate. “Not a fucking chance.”
No More Sad Spaghetti
Joe gawked in horror, chomping noisily on his Big League Chew bubblegum, as I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed for lunch. It was mostly cloudy in the early September sky overhead, but he was still wearing sunglasses. He had traded in his ubiquitous U Chicago apparel for a Cubs t-shirt. Squirrels scurried through the bigleaf maple trees that dotted the campus, snatching up acorns with tiny clawed paws, wriggling whiskered noses in our direction.
“What’s your problem?” I asked, taking a bite. “It’s not sad spaghetti.”
He blew a small pink bubble, then popped it with his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s...like...mangled.”
“It got trapped between my textbooks!” I protested. Admittedly, the accordion-shaped peanut butter sandwich—my vegetarian alternative to fishstick Thursday—kind of sucked.
“You can’t eat that. Oh my god. It’s making me so sad. Give it to the squirrels.” Joe pulled out his iPhone. “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”
“I can’t tell you,” I replied, tossing my sandwich towards the nearest tree. A hoard of squirrels immediately descended upon it and proceeded to battle for dominance, emitting shrill, peanut-butter-crazed shrieks.
His brow furrowed. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because you might not like me anymore.”
“Why would I not like you because of pizza...?” And then he knew. “Oh no, oh god, please don’t say pineapple.”
“I’m a pineapple pizza person.”
“Baby Swan,” Joe said, deadly serious, pressing his palms together. “That is straight up sacrilegious. You can’t put tropical fruit on a pizza. You realize I’m Italian, like an actual Italian. I’m so Italian I’ve killed other Italians for being the wrong kind of Italian. That’s how Italian I am.”
“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t socialize with literal mobsters. It’s unsavory.”
“Settle down, I’m ordering the half-pineapple pizza, you freaking barbarian.”
I watched Joe as he tapped his thumbs against the screen, humming to himself, amused, perpetually buoyant. And I couldn’t picture him as a monster, as a killer: pulling triggers, slitting throats, digging blades into soft vulnerable love handles, feeling for the mortal puncture of a lung or kidney. I asked him, my voice quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the autumn wind: “Did you actually hurt people?”
“Nah. I didn’t have the stomach for it, even back then. I was on the deal-making side of things. The business side. I was a people person, a smooth talker, astronomically charming.”
I smiled, mischievous. “That’s difficult to imagine.”
“Okay, so no cheesy breadsticks for you.”
“I’m sorry, mob guy. Please order the breadsticks. You’re so charming I can’t stand it. My jeans are unzipping all by themselves.”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So you’ll sacrifice your dignity for breadsticks. Good to know.” He finished typing and laid his iPhone on the grass. “Alright, next question.”
“Does your hair grow?” Joe’s hair—I couldn’t help but notice—seemed longer than it was the day I met him a week and a half ago, disorderly and auburn-tinted, ruffling in the breeze.
“It does, yeah. Hair and nails still grow. So you have to shave, but you can’t get razor burn. And any nicks close right up.”
“Very cool. How often do you need to eat? You know...actually eat.”
“It varies, but generally twice a week.”
“And what kind of animal has the tastiest blood? Besides...well...” I gestured towards myself. “The upright two-legged kind with opposable thumbs and a partiality for pineapple pizza.”
He blew another bubble, then leaned in towards me. And I realized, for the first time, that he had his own inherent, exclusive, totally Bath-And-Body-Works-worthy scent as well; Dr. Gwilym Lee was sandalwood and campfires and log cabins, Mercy was roses and vanilla...and Joe was pine trees, peppermint, cold night air, like all of that eternally youthful magic of Christmas Eve sieved into a bottle. I popped the sheer pink bubble with the cap of my blue pen. Joe asked: “Do humans like chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Coffee or tea? Baseball or something hella lame?”
“Depends on the human.”
“Exactly. Same deal for vampires. I prefer bears, especially grizzlies. Lucy and Mercy like deer, elk, moose, animals like that. Ones with hooves. Weirdly, Rami’s favorite is crocodile, I think because it was the first thing he ever tried in Egypt. He doesn’t get it very often, but has been known to buy them on the black market on occasion. Scarlett likes mountain lions. Also domestic cats, but you didn’t hear that from me. Gwil is a wolf guy, but he won’t kill the endangered kinds. Such a gentleman.”
“How about Ben?”
“Ben’s still coming around to the whole eating animals thing. I don’t think he has a favorite yet.”
Joe isn’t a killer, and he never was; I could believe that. But Ben... “Why is he so different than the rest of you?”
“That’s...kind of a long story,” Joe replied carefully.
“It wouldn’t be such a long story if people stopped talking about how it’s a long story and actually told it to me.”
He flashed a grin, revealing white canine teeth filed into points; they were subtle, yes, but they were there. Fangs. I envisioned pressing a fingerprint against them and feeling the flesh split in two, the blood dripping down onto his tongue like Washington rain. And unlike Joe’s skin, mine wouldn’t knit back together on its own. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of tormenting you with the prospect of incredibly juicy yet confidential information!”
I rolled my eyes, sipped my can of Diet Coke, returned my attention to our lunch plans. “So garlic doesn’t repel you. That part of the lore is completely made up.”
“Yup. Thank god. Eternal life would be worthless without pizza.”
“Can you do drugs? Get drunk?”
“We can’t overdose, but we can get the effects of anything we consume. It’s not a good habit to get into though. If you’re nodding on heroin for like four days at a time, it’s pretty easy for some other vampire to find and murder you.”
“So a vampire can be killed by another vampire.”
“Absolutely. Next question.”
I consulted my mental list. “Do you sleep?”
“Yeah. Well, kind of. We nap for a few hours a day.”
“What happens if you don’t?”
“We get bitchy. Really bitchy. We essentially turn into Ben.”
I laughed, chewing absentmindedly on the end of my pen. “So that’s his problem. He hasn’t napped in a century. Now it all makes sense.”
“Something like that,” Joe said. “You gonna come over tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to present The Walruses And Me tomorrow and I still haven’t started the book.”
“What do you know, I can tell you all about The Walruses And Me!”
“Seriously? You’ve read it?”
“No, but I can enthusiastically narrate the Wikipedia article to you while you pet Mercy’s alpacas.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”
“Terrible for your grade in Marine Mammals. Good for your development as an interesting and happy human.”
“Nice try, but I’m already both of those things.”
Joe reached out suddenly, jarringly, and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. My favorite Lee, I thought, thoroughly transfixed but trying to hide it. Oh no. “Interesting, definitely. But I have this gnawing, distressing suspicion that you’re still working on the happy part.”
“I miss the desert,” I confessed. That wasn’t quite all of the problem, but it was accurate: I missed the heat, the sun, the parched prehistoric air I had always called home. Although I was beginning to find reasons to like Forks, Charlie and Archer and the promise of a Pacific Northwestern autumn; and then one big reason in particular. A very old, pale, chatty, Italian reason.
“A bit of a quandary for a future marine biologist,” he replied gently, perhaps apprehensively.
“I always figured I’d live somewhere like San Diego or Los Angeles or Galveston. Someplace on the ocean, but also sunny and hot and with palm trees. The best of both worlds. But you couldn’t go there with me, could you?”
Oh no.
Oh NO.
Oh fuck, this is definitely a crushing-on-Lee-boys zone.
Joe stared at me through his sunglasses, chomping on his Big League Chew, the corners of his mouth turned up and etching lines like parentheses into his face, pleased and nodding slowly and triumphant somehow. Then he struck out his hand again, this time with his pinky raised like a flagpole. “No more pathetic depressing lunches.”
“You got it. No more sad spaghetti. No more sad peanut butter sandwiches. You have my solemn, human vow.”
He smiled as his pinky entwined with mine. “No more sad anything.”
“So this vampire thing sounds like a pretty sweet gig. No dying, no consequences for a hellacious diet or wild condomless orgies, literal superpowers, perfect hair...why doesn’t everyone get to live that way?”
He shrugged; and there was an unfamiliar, meditative tension in his face. Almost sorrow. “It’s not all pizza and orgies and heroin. We have weaknesses too.”
“Like what?”
“Hey, look!” Joe piped cheerfully, twisting around towards the parking lot. “I think our GrubHub guy is here.”
Bad Blood
I was definitely regretting that fourth slice of pineapple pizza as I waddled into Chemistry, navigating sluggishly around the hulking frat boys and giggling sorority girls and mousy bookish types who lugged around colossal backpacks that were always threatening to knock an unsuspecting passerby off their feet at each unthinking turn. But while I was arriving in the classroom—physically, anyway; emotionally I was standing in an empty field somewhere screaming I cannot be falling in love with a hundred-year-old mobster vampire!! into the void—Ben was a countercurrent darting through the crowds and towards the hallway door.
“Where are you rushing off to, old guy?” I asked him. “Bingo? To renew your AARP membership? To walk vigorously around the inside of a mall?”
Ben responded in that deep, low, humorless voice. “They’re doing some kind of blood typing experiment today. I probably shouldn’t be around for that.”
“Oh.” I glanced over at Professor Belvin, who was indeed hunched over the table at the front of the classroom and laying out rows of Q-tips and rectangular paper cards and alcohol swabs and bottles of clear liquid, whistling what sounded like Time Of The Season.
Ben sighed irritably, rubbing his crinkled forehead. “I already used up all my absences. I’m gonna have to make up a compelling last-minute tragedy. Tell Professor Belvin my grandma died or something.”
“I mean, technically, she did at some point.”
“Ugh,” Ben replied, not consoled at all.
“Wait, I got this.”
I gripped my belly, sank into the nearest chair, and groaned dramatically. It really didn’t require all that much acting. Ben watched with huge green eyes, confounded.
“Miss Swan!” Professor Belvin cried, rushing over. He was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt, and suspenders and a matching bowtie patterned with bubbling multicolored test tubes. Belvin had been Charlie’s classmate from kindergarten through high school, and still palled around with him over Bud Lights and low-quality nachos on bowling league nights. Bowling was, evidently, the sport of choice for middle-aged Forks dads. Also for Welsh vampire pseudo-dads born in the 1400s.
I whimpered in reply.
“Are you alright, Miss Swan?” Professor Belvin asked worriedly. A few students had begun to congregate around the scene. I felt a pang of genuine nausea as perspiration beaded at my temples. You better appreciate this, Mr. Hardy.
“I’m okay,” I said, in my most pained and martyrish voice. “I don’t want to miss...today’s lesson...it looks so fascinating...but I didn’t wash my kale thoroughly last night and then I had a salad for dinner and now I might have food poisoning.”
“You poor thing!” Belvin exclaimed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about class. You can just answer some textbook questions or something, no problem. Please go get checked out to make sure you’re alright.”
“Could someone...maybe...help me get to the campus clinic...?” My eyes listed towards Ben. “Maybe...my lab partner?”
“That’s a good idea.” Professor Belvin turned to Ben. “Mr. Lee, would you be willing to escort Miss Swan to the clinic? You can do an alternative assignment as well. If you don’t mind missing the blood typing lab.”
“I’d be delighted to help,” Ben responded, still puzzled. I offered him my hand, and Ben took it, grimacing as he led me out into the hallway. As soon as we were alone, he dropped my hand and opened up several feet of space between us.
“Thanks so much, Miss Swan, you are a lifesaver,” I said, imitating his morose, rumbling British accent. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Ben. You can repay me in basic courteous conversation and Starbucks gift cards and by maybe not killing me.”
“So you’re totally fine?” Ben asked flatly.
“Of course. Nobody with taste eats raw kale.”
Frowning, frustrated, he started puffing on his vape pen. “You need to stop doing nice things for me. It’s extremely disorienting.”
“This may be difficult for you to come to terms with, but you, Ben Hardy, are worth being the recipient of nice things.”
“No, you still don’t get it,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him in the empty hallway. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Kill people like you.”
The Fire
“Who is the cutest little alpaca I’ve ever seen?!” I cooed in a squeaky falsetto, scratching her wooly brown chin. “Who’s going to come home and live with me and Charlie forever?!”
“That’s illegal, ma’am.” Joe was watching me, arms crossed over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, smiling wistfully.
“It is not!”
“It actually is,” Rami added. He was lying on the grass and gazing up into the roiling, grey, late-afternoon clouds with his fingers laced behind his black hair. None of the Lees were wearing sunglasses now. “A house has to be zoned as farmland to have alpacas, which ours is. Yours, tragically, is not.”
“What are you, a lawyer?” I shot back.
Rami grinned. “I was once. And I will be again, in approximately...let me count...five years.”
“That’s what you want to do with your boundless time and energy? Be a corporate shill?”
Joe cackled. “He tried that already. It lasted about five minutes.”
“Manhattan in the 1980s,” Rami reminisced dreamily. “Hundred-hour workweeks. Cocaine everywhere. What a time to be alive. And I hardly ever left the office, so the sunlight thing wasn’t a problem.”
“Okay, so you’re not in it for the Maseratis or the drugs...”
“I’m going to be an immigration attorney,” Rami told me. “Help refugees apply for asylum to come to the United States. Arabic-speaking refugees, in particular.”
“Wow. I stand corrected. That’s wonderful, Rami. I now feel like a total tool for only aspiring to save sea turtles.” But it made sense, of course. What would any good person spend eternity doing? Making the world just a tiny bit better. I glanced at Joe, teasing him. “And you just study how to get rich, huh?”
“I’m a venture capitalist,” he said brightly. “I invest in small businesses, counsel them, encourage them, connect them with other people in the industry, help them grow. And I don’t need the money, so I take a practically microscopic equity stake. I’m basically a professional charitable donor.”
“And you get to put all of those charming mob-guy skills to use.”
Joe winked. “Exactly.”
“Doesn’t it get old?” I asked both of them. “Being college students?”
Rami shrugged. “No really. The world changes, schools of thought evolve, our own interests fluctuate. Every few decades we circle back and go for another round, fresh degrees, maybe new professions entirely. You learn something new every time.”
“And I’ve been waiting for all my old professors to die so I could go back to U Chicago for fifty years!” Joe shouted. “I’m fucking pumped!”
“But...don’t you already know everything...?”
Joe chuckled. “We’re vampires, Baby Swan, we’re not prodigies. We’re sharper than the average person, sure. But it still takes effort to learn. And we all have things we suck at.”
“Like not being obnoxious,” Rami said, nodding to Joe.
“Like not minding our own fucking business,” Joe hurled back.
“I cannot control the fact that I’m a literal mind reader—”
“You boys behave yourselves,” Mercy called in her relaxed, drawling Southern accent, swinging a basket of carrots and zucchinis and cabbages that she’d dug out of her garden, wearing a long flowing yellow dress and her hair tied up in a scarf. She plodded over in her bare feet, handed me a few carrots, then pointed to the chocolate-colored alpaca I was petting. “That lady there is Athens. And the black and white one by Joe is Augusta. Then there’s Norcross, and Alpharetta, and Savannah...and that real chubby grey one heading into the barn is Marietta.”
“I adore them,” I replied, beaming. Mercy had sheep and pigs and a couple of cows too, all ambling contently around the emerald green field as the first threads of fiery, rust-hued sunset were lighting up the horizon.
“We used to have ducks, too,” Mercy mused. “But they disappeared recently...”
Rami passed Joe a knowing smirk. Joe mouthed back menacingly: Do not.
“Hey mom,” Rami piped.
Joe jabbed an index finger at him. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”
“Joe ate the ducks.”
“You bitch!” Joe cried.
“Oh, Joseph,” Mercy sighed mournfully, lifting a brush out of her basket and dragging it down Athens’ fuzzy back.
“I’m sorry! It was one time! I was weak!”
“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” Mercy said. “I’m just disappointed.”
“Mom, that’s worse!”
Rami climbed to his feet and swatted grass and leaves off his cardigan sweater. “Alright folks. My work here is done. Peace out.”
“Oh no, you don’t get to do a hit and run like that, hey, Rami, hey, hey, come back here!”
Joe trotted after him, shouting a litany of insults, as Rami laughed hysterically and careened into the house. Lucy and Gwil were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies; Scarlett was in the garage changing the brakes on Ben’s Vantage; Ben was noticeably absent from the Lee household and presumably out hunting. It was remarkably easy to picture his fingers closing around bloodied flesh, a wolf’s or a bear’s or an elk’s, lowering his fangs to a pulsing jugular.
“So you’re really into this whole farming thing,” I said to Mercy, looking out over the field rimmed by towering western hemlock trees. I didn’t know exactly how many acres of land the Lees owned, but it was a lot. Mercy adopted rescue animals, donated vegetables from the garden to local food pantries, and occasionally rented out the barn as a wedding venue.
“I’ve always loved it. I had a farm, you know. Before I met Gwil.”
Before she died.
“I didn’t know that,” I murmured, wanting to learn more, afraid to ask, never meaning to pry or offend. “I remember you mentioned the Civil War, and a barn...being...well...being trapped in it. When it burned down.”
Mercy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the polite version of the story, isn’t it?” She set down her basket in the tall grass, tugged distractedly at a dark strand of hair that had escaped her scarf, stared glassily out into the sunset muted with cloud cover as Athens moseyed away. “Do you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you if you do. But I don’t want to upset you, dear.”
My voice was barely a whisper. “I’d like to know.”
“We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere,” Mercy explained. “My husband Arthur and I.”
And it felt so outlandish to hear her say those words. Husband. She had a husband before Gwil. She had a whole life before this one.
“He had a bullet in one leg and a limp from a hunting accident when he was a boy, so he was never called up to enlist. It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor men they sent to die in it. That’s how it always goes, I expect. And how it always will. We had two daughters, twelve and fifteen. I won’t tell you their names. Don’t take that personally, dear. I haven’t spoken their names in a hundred and fifty years.”
She turned her murky eyes—like homemade bread crust or coffee or the wood walls of a log cabin—to me.
“When the Union Army came through, they were beasts. Men like that...men who have been killing and looting and burning their way across hundreds of miles...all they want to do is get blood on their hands. That’s all they remember how to do. So that’s exactly what they did. They slaughtered our cattle for meat. They burned the house down. And then they took me and my girls, and they...they...well, you know what they did. What men do when they’re monsters. And when Arthur tried to stop them, they shot him in the chest and spit mouthfuls of chewing tobacco on him as he bled out in the dirt. Called him a coward and a deserter. Told him everything they were planning to do to me and my girls. And when they were done doing all of those things, they locked the three of us in the barn and set it ablaze. I was the only one still alive when Gwilym got there. And believe me, I didn’t want to be.”
“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my throat burning for Mercy, for her family, for this divinely kind and benign and tender woman.
She patted my cheek fondly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I got a second chance. Gwilym gave me a second chance. That’s what he does, you know. He finds broken people, fixes them, loves them fiercely. He gave me forever. Two more daughters. And three sons.”
Three sons, I thought. Rami and Joe and Ben. She counted Ben.
“Does someone have to be dying?” I asked her softly. “You know. To become like you.”
“No, honey. That’s just how Gwil does things.”
“But...why? What’s the possible downside? Why not change anyone who wants it?” Why not change someone like me?
And Mercy peered over at me, contemplative, curious, like tiptoeing gingerly over rotted floorboards, like weaving through a minefield. Like she was trying to figure out what I’d already been told.
“Hey Baby Swan,” Joe said, startling me. I whirled to see him waiting with a patient smile and his hands buried in his pockets. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
He led me upstairs to Gwil’s 1960s-style office, where Dr. Lee had cleaned and stitched the tiny gash in my forehead after my misadventure with Ben in the woods outside Calawah University, where the wall above the sturdy oak desk was adorned with a massive painting filled with gorgeous, unfamiliar, inhuman faces. Joe took a deep breath, and then he began.
“This,” he announced, introducing the painting, “is the vampire version of the mob. They can trace their existence back to before the Roman Empire. They find people who they think have potential, have talents. They turn them. And then they offer them a hundred-year contract. You sign it, or they murder you. When your term is up, you get to decide whether to renew or leave. But almost no one ever leaves. After a century of taking orders and guarding and killing, what else do you know how to do?” He pointed to the terrifying woman with long white hair and red eyes. “That’s Liesl. She’s literally Satan, only blonder. The chick with the tattoos is Akari. She can meet a human and tell what powers they’ll have once they’re changed. Very useful, obviously. The dude who looks like Idris Elba is Cato, and he’s actually an okay guy, he’s the one currently assigned to keep tabs on Gwil’s coven...”
I soaked the names in like rain into dark, lush Washington earth as Joe relayed them to me, strange and beautiful names: Aruna, Phelan, Morana, Adair, Zora, Araminta, Honora, Victorien, Rigel, Sahel.
“Who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the young man standing at the center of the painting, the one with black hair and eyes so light and luminous a brown they were almost gold and a sinister, unmistakable magnetism.
“Very good question,” Joe complimented. “That’s their Al Capone. That’s Larkin.”
“And what’s his vampire superpower?” He has to have one. I know he does.
“How do I even put that into words? It’s more than charisma. It’s slightly less than mind reading. He can see through people, what they want most, what they fear. And he can make them do things.”
I gazed into those omniscient glowing eyes, feeling myself getting caught there, feeling some primal dread swelling in the capillary beds of my heart and lungs and bone marrow. “Joe, I’m thoroughly enjoying this captivating backstory, really, but...why are you telling me all of this now?”
“Because you asked why Ben is so different than the rest of us. This is why.” Joe waved broadly at the painting, at the closest thing his world had to a mafia, to unrepentant killers, to actual demons. “This is where he came from.”
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Text
happier than ever
You call me again, drunk in your Benz
Drivin' home under the influence
You scared me to death, but I'm wastin' my breath
'Cause you only listen to your fuckin' friends
I don't relate to you
I don't relate to you, no
'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty
You made me hate this city
words: 3.2k
plot: emma and tomo’s relationship, in a nutshell.
trigger warnings: abuse, assault, drugs, cheating, violence, blood, suicidal ideation, nsfw
Five years is a lifetime when you’ve just begun your twenties. It’s half a decade of years so formative and important that you don’t really realize their importance until they have flown past.
Emma spent those years with Tomo.
[ SEPTEMBER 2014 ]
A twenty-one year old goes to an Outkast concert. She gets propositioned by a guy. Rough, pushy, handsy, it’s enough to make her feel suffocated, plan paths of escape or desperately look for a face in the crowd that could intervene. Then he comes in with his buddies and they all but rescue her. How ironic Emma thinks, years later. What a Disney-ified, damsel in distress moment to have and to meet by.
They spend the rest of the concert together, follow it up with an after hours at Los Coyotes, wolfing down soft shells in between food-spitting laughter. Emma, Tomo, and his two buddies. The energy is infectious, and she doesn’t want to say goodbye at the end of the night. It’s a feeling she has never felt before; those sparks in his eyes that are in hers too, the way he grounds and floors her. They exchange numbers and Emma’s face lights up as she’s getting off her Muni owl: it’s a text from him.
It doesn’t take long for his contact name to acquire an Emoji heart next to it, the girl who ridiculed these kinds of things in high school now finding herself enamoured, head-over-heels, and not caring for the criticisms of formerly cynical self.
[ OCTOBER ] A month later and she’s packed up and moved into his place, about as happy as she has ever been of late; everything in life falls into place with him, just makes sense.
[ NOVEMBER ] He gets エマ tattooed on his collarbone; her name in katakana. She gets 23, his lucky number.
They spend thanksgiving with her mom in Cupertino. Frankie hasn’t seen Emma this animated again in a long time, composes a poem about in her head as the green beans and pumpkin pie are passed around. Later of course, she pulls out the baby photos, much to Emma’s embarrassment and Tomo’s delight. “You were such a fat baby, Jesus,” Tomo laughs. “She looks like she ate baby Jesus,” her mother quips.
When her mom falls asleep, they sneak out and climb up Emma’s childhood treehouse armed with blankets. They gaze at a sliver of night sky through a gap in the roof as Emma tells him her childhood dreams of flying to space and inventing computers that could contact extraterrestrial life. They kiss, they make love, Emma ponders her stance on marriage being outdated and for chumps and losers next to a snoring Tomo.
[ FEBRUARY 2015 ] Their first Valentine’s day together they drop acid at Pier 39. An irate parent yells at them for making out on the merry-go-round in view of children; have they no shame.
She makes new friends, dozens, someone always at their place as Tomo plays them new tracks, smoke weed together, and watch the oil projector light show make shapes on the ceiling. They talk about the future, fame, and world domination.
They don’t discuss babies because neither of them care for that sort of shit — but they do talk about moving into a bigger place together, maybe getting a dog or two — the breed is subject of many arguments.
[ MARCH ] In peak puppy fever, Emma adopts a two year old rescue bulldog named Tito. It’s the first, tiny sign of a crack in their relationship, of dissent — she thinks she sees Tomo glare at the precious pup when he thinks she isn’t looking. But maybe she imagined it. He does shed and slobber uncontrollably after all, and her boyfriend happens to be a clean freak.
[ JULY ] That summer, Emma braves a plane once more to see Tomo play in Atlanta. His set is off the walls and for the first time, she is amazed to see just how many fans he has, how far this boyfriend of hers has come from making tracks in his living room. It’s just too bad she is fast asleep when he tiptoes out of their hotel room to meet one of said fans for a back-alley blowjob.
They roadtrip across the South to play some more venues and the pattern repeats itself in Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico. She wakes up in a cold sweat one night in Vegas, confused as to why he’s gone. “Out getting food. Got hungry.” The message hits her in a weird place, but she is tired, sleepy, and in a haze; Emma accepts, does not question. He even returns with some Taco Bell for her.
Timeskip — 3 years:
[ APRIL 2018 ]
Emma is on her hands and knees in a bathroom, vomit dripping off the toilet rim. She can’t remember how or why she got here, but she’s here. Everything seems to be swimming backwards. Eventually she is able to collect herself off the floor, splash water against her face and wall-to-wall stagger back out of the bathroom. It didn’t work, she’s purged the worst of it but still feeling funny. “Oh, Emma, there you are.” A man’s hands wrap around her. He says he’s friends with Tomo. Says he’ll take her to him. Fade to black.
Waking up with strange bruises should not become a norm, but it does. Emma dismisses it, goes to work, does her best.
Things with Tomo are a violent rollercoaster; some days are great, some days nondescript; and some days downright nightmarish. They fight, throw shit, break shit, yell at each other. Things almost border on the unacceptable as words turn into threats, threats turn to action. A hand around the throat; a body pinned to the wall — her body, of course. His weed grinder he threw that hit her in the head which he swore he’d meant to only toss at the wall. It never crosses a line into the unacceptable, though. That’s what Emma tells herself. He might push her down on the bed, sure, but a bed was soft. He might squeeze her throat in the heat of an argument, but never so much that she’s passing out. He doesn’t hit, kick, or punch her. That was what abusers did, not him.
She tells herself he can’t help it, his mother used to punish him and his father didn’t love him and now he lashes out the only way he knows how, on the only person he can. He didn’t grown up in as loving a home like she did. He had his reasons. It was okay. They were okay. And the makeup sex afterwards? The best ever.
[ MAY 2018 ] A month later and Emma is walking in on some girl riding Tomo’s dick like the world was ending, right there on their couch. On their goddamn couch they picked out together, hauled up the stairs with the delivery men. Somehow, the worst part about it all, Emma’s fucked up brain tells her, is that Tito is there to witness it. Her innocent, furry son, witnessing his ‘dad’ for all intents and purposes, cheating on his mom. A ridiculously thought but one she has nonetheless as she’s driving away, Tito next to her in the passenger seat. She goes to sleep at a friend’s and sobs the entire night.
Despite herself, she doesn’t break up with him; but the rift is a mile wide and constantly palpable. Tomo becomes relentlessly apologetic. Not only does he beg forgiveness, he does it live on-air at a radio station, on social media, Emma bombarded by strangers she doesn’t know writing her to take him back. Then he goes and uses her personal kryptonite pulls a Lloyd Dobler outside her work with a Cocorosie song she was absolutely weak for. She hates making a public scene but the sentimental part of her is melting at the gesture, the boombox, all of it. Emma stays. He’d been a shitbag, but he was her shitbag, with all his lovable and terrible qualities wrapped into one person, and she just had to take the shit with the good. Because there was no one else she’d rather be with, ripping side-stitches from too much laughter at four in the morning, tears in her eyes for a good reason this time, from one of his horrifying jokes.
He was hers and she was his, that’s just how it was to be. Well, as much as she could call him hers when he seemed to be everybody else’s in the process.
Emma does ridiculous, degrading, uncomfortable things in the name of love, and yet in the end she can’t hold on to the love she had for him in the beginning. Way back when they were going up on that ferris wheel at the pier and he looked at her like he had nothing but love in this world, for her. That was what hurt the most, because now the ferris wheel only went down.
There are threesomes, fivesomes, sixsomes, so many bodies in between hers and the one she loves, all in the name of exciting him, holding onto him, trying to be something for him that measured up to Enough. But none of it is enough. None of it makes him happy, nor did it make her happy. She gives him an inch and he takes a mile and then demands more, smiling with blood in his mouth. She breaks down and becomes something she doesn’t recognize in the mirror. Whether it was an act of revenge or desperation, or finally wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, Emma sleeps with Corey, one of his best friends. She takes pictures, sends them to him “by accident”. She hates herself through it all, every moment of it, mostly for what he made her into. And yet, underneath all the layers of attempts at hurting him she was really just crawling on all fours, begging him to love her again, need her and want he the way he did in the beginning. Craving to get that first hit back, the one she had been on a residue high off of for four years, the one that now tasted metallic and rancid in her throat.
The worst part? Tomo doesn’t care. He texts her back, telling her to have fun, to send more pictures. She’s never felt this hollow, this empty, this non-entity of a being. The day of her high school graduation flashes in her mind, her dad telling her to never lose her identity, the core of what made her, her. Emma took that core and probably threw it into the Pacific. Somewher between Japan and California, it lies at the bottom of the ocean.
[ APRIL 2019 ]
Turns out, Emma could draw a line, and that line was becoming accessory to a drug deal. She knew Tomo sold on the side to make up for all the money going into the records, but it had always been a few pills here and there, nothing big. But this? Fentanyl, Xanax, bricks of coke and hash? It was a lot. It was too much.
He sells the drugs and her to go with it, and that’s the end right there. The package she delivers to the apartment he asks her to deliver it to turns into a hostage situation, and she leaves hours later, bruises and caked blood on her. She can’t go home, doesn’t want to. She wants to jump off the bridge she’s crossing from Oakland back to the city. Any bridge, any of them would do. She understands why people jump from the Golden Gate now, or maybe always had. She was there now, climbing the railings, she was ready. She wanted that plunge so badly, would be sad to leave one parent, but good to be reunited with the other. Maybe there she’d be happy, maybe there she’d find peace.
She calls Ben that night. She’s dry eyed and unemotional, but as soon as she gets the right words, verbalizes her situation, she’s sobbing again. Tomo is out of the city, across the country in Philly on tour. Now was the time, if there was any time for it. She’s not even done with the call when Ben is getting in his car to drive to her. It’s 6 hours from Ojai to San Francisco; he tells her he’ll be there in five. She never deserved a friend like him and never would, Emma thinks as she packs, hastily because somehow Tomo walking through the front door as a ‘surprise’ wouldn’t be out of the question. In the end, she can’t pack everything, has to leave so much behind, her records, books, knickknacks. Five years in this apartment and she’s leaving all of it behind, making a getaway in the middle of the night like some kind of burglar.
By three in the morning he’s here, and they get to packing her suitcases in the car, stacking them as best as they fit in his trunk and backseat, all of Tito’s things and then Tito on a bed in the seat in the back. Emma is in busy mode, stacking and packing everything as fast she can, still somewhere in the back of her mind thinking Tomo would appear at the last minute, and how with Ben here, things could get ugly. She doesn’t want them to get ugly. She loved him far too much to see him have to deal with Tomo, the only person in that specific firing line should be her and no one else.
They drive off. She only feels herself unclench an hour out of Daly City, somewhere in between the Bay and Southern California, where she can exhale. She’s still looking behind them constantly, wondering if every passing car could somehow be him. The saddest, most desperate part of all this that a part of her wants him to have followed. One last ditch attempt to get her back. An all out attempt, one where he would get on both knees and apologize, swear to never be this way again and follow through with it, because he was her person, he was her only person, there was nobody else in this world for her but him, but what do you do when you had to run from your person in the dead of night?
She pulls her raincoat tighter when they stop to get gas, a cold and windy middle of nowhere gas station. She’s not sure how she ends up embracing him, but they’re in it, and feeling someone’s arms around her, somebody that actually cares, who’d never hurt her, who was family, was her mom and his sister and everybody she loved rolled into one, feels like a reprieve. She feels like dirt for making him do this, making him worry, Emma was a piece of shit for that.
She says as much. He tells her to shut up, that she’s nothing like that and this was nothing that he wouldn’t have done for her on any night, any time at all. And maybe that, that was the night she fell in love with him a little bit, or realized she had always been, all along, but God likes to play Lucifer’s games with the little lives he watches over, and it wasn’t made to be, too late anyway since she’d left her heart in somebody else’s hands where it would stay. And he doesn’t need a mess like her anyway, just thinking of the name Catarina was enough. It had been five years but she still remembered the day like yesterday. How low he had been back then. How they would get high together and feel miserable together because at least they had that. They had Weetzie too, but she hadn’t experienced loss like they had, she sympathized but she’d never know what this particular slice of hell was like. But Ben and Emma knew. She knew it in that part of her ribs that met his, and she did not know what she would do if she didn’t have that, have Ben Abrams in her life.
[ MARCH 2021 ]
Fast forward two years, and the ex is in town. Here, in Los Angeles. That very ex you worked so hard to forget, to heal from, to act like he wasn’t there. And yet, reminders of him were constantly there, everywhere. She doesn’t tell her friends, doesn’t tell anybody he’s in town, just balks when his so called best friend turns up in her neighborhood. She nearly grabs Tito and runs the other way, but it had been too late for that and they have a forced, awkward catch-up. He’s oblivious to anything happening, had barely known about her and Tomo breaking up. Figures, Emma thought, that he would act like nothing happened at all.
He’s in town, and every day she goes to work dreading something happening. She thinks she sees him outside the tattoo parlor’s window, but it’s someone else entirely. She’s losing it again, losing sleep, falling prey to her nightmares. Has a boyfriend now but even that doesn’t help, if anything, he’s a guilty reminder of just how little progress she had made, because she couldn’t devote the time and attention somebody like that needed in her life. Not when all she could think about was him.
The worst part is that once he’s long gone again, back up north, she’s feeling that hollow feeling again. Feeling upset that he didn’t seek her out, didn’t come see her. Even though she knew what an unmitigated disaster that would’ve been, the horrible, rotten part of her wanted it. Of course it wanted it. Two years and her skin still itched for him like an addict longing to be in the throes of fullblown relapse. But he didn’t track her down, call, or text, and that was that. Her only run-in with him involves a party flyer papered on a wall, his name in big stylized letters as the headlining DJ at the club. She stares at that flyer for a little too long, it burns itself in her eye like she’d looked at the sun for too long. And then she does the worst thing she could probably do, go on instagram. Only to find he has a new girlfriend. A brunette with tattoos who looked fun and flirty and everything she had been all those years ago.
That was the last tip of the scale. She reactivates her Tinder, finds some half okay looking guy, makes plans to meet him that night. It’s terrifying, so terrifying going through with, but she gets sufficiently drunk, then high on top of that, and goes through with it. Thinking of another boy’s name the entire time, his face, his body, hands and all the rest. Twelve hours later she’s leaving his apartment, no longer the nun of two years she’d become and feeling shitty about that on top of everything else. It was probably time to go see Karen again she thinks, smoking a cigarette under the sun that melts her while waiting for her Uber home. Thanks friends, thanks family, I’ve made terrific process with all your help and am now back to square one. Thanks for everything.
Maybe in a decade’s time.
Maybe she’d be over it by then.
#billie eilish and her new album sponsored this para#literally billie wrote this song for emma i die#did i have his s.para tucked away for 2 whole years because i was too lazy to finish it? yup#emma#self para#self para: emma#npc: tomo slater
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@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Two
With the odd little redhead sorted, James sends him off to get them coffee and pastries. It’s a ploy, and a blatant one at that. But M’Baku has never been one to turn down the opportunity to go to Bag End Bakery.
The place was a wonderland of sights and smells, the big glass case in the center of the room dominating the space and drawing the eye. Inside, there were gold cut outs laid in neat rows, doilies on top of them to display whatever delicacies that Bilbo has come up with.
And the smell. God, don’t get him started about the smell of the place. It was like walking past the gates of Heaven itself and taking a whiff. Sugar and cinnamon hung lightly in the air and still found the way to tickle your nose and stick to your tongue. The smell of freshly roasted coffee was a strong noted counterpart. It made you want to sit down and stay awhile.
Then again, the place could have legos all over the floor and the most uncomfortable, flimsy metal chairs and M’Baku would still want to stay.
Love made fools of us all.
He steps inside, ducking a little so he doesn’t knock his forehead against the bell hanging there, and breathes in deep. Yes, this was as close to Heaven as he was going to get. As evidenced by the angel behind the show case who was smiling at him as he wiped the flour from his hands and onto his apron.
“Hello.” Bilbo has a lovely, smooth voice. Like heavy cream. He steps up to the counter, and M’Baku can see the way he’s fighting the smile at his lips. Fools of us all, indeed. “What can I get for you today?”
M’Baku didn’t have a regular order. There were too many delicious looking delicacies in that case to settle for any one of them, no matter how delicious they were. Now his coffee? That was the same every single time. An easy order, too. A medium roast, with cream and two sugars. Though sometimes the holidays got the best of him and he’d order something with pumpkin or peppermint.
But at the moment, M’Baku wasn’t thinking about his coffee order (or James’. Sorry, brother.) or even the wide array of sweets laid out under bright lights that were calling to his grumbling stomach. No, M’Baku was thinking about a book he’d picked up in the store last night when they were cleaning up.
It had been left out on the edge of the shelf, one of the pages inside dog eared. The dust jacket had been lost since before they had ownership of it, as evidenced by the price sticker right against the cover of the book. 3.99. Not exactly a best seller.
They got a few loiterers, but neither M’Baku nor James had ever gotten the urge to run anyone off. Hell, they had two overstuffed leather chairs that were kept in front of the big frosted glass front window of the shop. The lighting was fantastic there. So long as people left their coffees from Bilbo’s on the table or the windowsill, they could sit and read for as long as they wanted.
But this book had caught M’Baku’s eye. Because the person reading it hadn’t made themselves comfortable in a chair in the sunshine. They’d stayed behind a book shelf to read. Clandestine. What sort of fantastic smut had they found in a bargain bin book on a back shelf?
So he did exactly what his mystery reader did. M’Baku stood right there in the aisle and went to the dog eared page to see what all the fuss was about. But what he found wasn’t old white woman smut, or even the strange kind of bondage that seemed to be all the literary rage these days.
No, M’Baku found a story in the throes of love and passion, a woman drawing her husband’s bored eyes to her again by bringing him into the kitchen. With an array of fresh fruit and melted chocolate.
He must have read the line about the woman watching her husband bite into a luscious, white chocolate covered strawberry a dozen times. And then he slipped a fiver into the cash register and put the book into his bag to take home.
What can I get for you today? M’Baku blinks back to the present and away from the thought of sweet fruit juce spilling on a willing tongue. “Well.” His laughter is a quiet thing, and a sheepish thing. James would be doubled over with laughter if he knew what M’Baku was about to do. Like the kind of laughter that would make your stomach muscles hurt for a few hours afterwards.
James could laugh all he wanted. M’Baku was a man on a mission.
The little redhead was what switched this thought from fantasy to reality. If she could walk into their shop, see a picture of John Luther on the wall and decide she wanted him enough to make a deal, then M’Baku could take a walk down their little cobble stone street to his friend’s bakery and make a play for what he wanted.
“Do you work with chocolate much?” That’s probably a stupid question. And the confused smile Bilbo gives him just confirms it. There are drizzles of chocolate across a few of the pastries in the case, right at M’Baku’s eye level. This was off to a great start.
“When I have the time.” It takes M’Baku a second to realize that Bilbo isn’t laughing at him. He’s laughing at himself. (It helped, knowing he wasn’t the only nervous one here.) “I’m no chocolatier by any stretch of the imagination, but I do like to try new things.”
Well. A man couldn’t get a better opening than that, now could he? “Could you show me how to dip fruit in chocolate?” He’s very particular about how he asks. Because M’Baku doesn’t just want to buy chocolate dipped fruit from Bilbo. He wants to be a part of the process.
Bilbo looks at him for a long moment, thinking it over. M’Baku watches in pleased surprise as he puts the ‘back in an hour’ sign on top of the glass case and gestures him behind the counter with a crooked finger. “We can put a little something together. It won’t be especially, fancy but you’ll get the gist of it.”
“That’s all I need.” M’Baku steps behind the counter, and follows Bilbo over to the sink, standing shoulder to...top of the head next to Bilbo as they wash their hands beneath the warm torrent of water, bubbles swirling around the basin of the sink before they slip down into the drain. He forgets sometimes, how small Bilbo actually is. There was something about being on the other side of the counter that made him seem larger. Like his authority was some kind of a step stool.
“Right.” Bilbo claps his hands together with a quick burst of sound, looking down at the ingredients laid out on the counter top between them. There were two metal bowls, a pot, a cutting board with chocolate and a massive knife sitting on top of it, and then a green plastic basket of strawberries. “The first thing we need to do is to chop the chocolate. It doesn’t need to be nice or neat, but we want the pieces relatively the same size. If some are bigger than the others, they’ll take longer to melt and we can risk scalding the chocolate on the bottom.”
M’Baku looks from Bilbo, to the massive knife and back again. “And you want me to do that?” That huff of breath that might just be a laugh feels like a victory. Bilbo nudges him out of the way with an elbow against the ribs and starts chopping the chocolate with his knife, as easy as breathing.
There was a grace to the way that he moved, like it was ingrained in him. Bilbo rocks the knife against the well worn and scoured cutting board, the chocolate coming apart in crisp snaps beneath the motion. And in what feels like a matter of seconds, there’s a neat mountain of chocolate debris. Bilbo gathers it up onto the flat side of his knife, letting it rain down into the first metal bowl. “Now.” For a man who didn’t want to be in charge of anyone, Bilbo was very good at it. “Have you ever heard of using a double boiler?”
M’Baku hums. “Bowl over boiling water?” He holds his hands, one stacked on top of the other. He’s watched a Youtube cooking show or two in his time. Even if he’s never put any of it to practice. They were soothing to watch when you wanted to sleep. Especially the Japanese ones with their subtitles and their tiny cakes that always looked like something other than cake.
Bilbo’s smile is quick, and bright. “Right. It helps us control the temperature so we melt our chocolate evenly.” The pot is filled with water from the sink and put onto the big range above the row of ovens. Bilbo waits, checking his watch before he looks to water for the roiling bubbles of a boil. “Alright, bring the chocolate.”
M’Baku puts the bowl on top of the pot of boiling water, and takes the whisk that is handed to him. “You want to wisk gently, but constantly.” Pale fingers curl over M’Baku’s hold on the whisk, and his heart leaps right up into his throat. When Bilbo pulls away, M’Baku is careful to keep the same slow, easy strokes in a circle around the bowl.
And though it gives him something to do with his hands, it does little to stop the running commentary of his thoughts, like a hamster in a wheel. Bilbo’s hands were softer than expected. M’Baku had assumed they would be callused and dry, after all the hard work he put in every day, and dealing with things fresh out of the oven. But his hands were soft. It made the touch between them, no matter how short, feel that much more intimate.
“Coconut oil. The not so secret ingredient.” Bilbo’s voice is playfully low as he spoons a big blob of white into the mixture, the darkness of the chocolate becoming a richer, warmer color as they coalesce together into something whole. “It helps the chocolate set against the fruit. And it gives it a nice shine.”
M’Baku raises the whisk from the mixture, watching the chocolate fall in silken ribbons back into the bowl. It was almost hypnotic to watch, slithering back down to become one with the rest of the chocolate still in the bowl.
“Now. We’re not on an especially quick time frame with the chocolate, but we do need to move before it begins to set. Though if it gets too hard, we can warm it again on the double boiler. That’s why we keep it simmering while we work.” Bilbo lifts the first strawberry, holding the green strem between his thumb and forefinger. Gracefully, he dips it into the chocolate and gives it two swift turns, cutting off the tail of chocolate that dribbles from the tip.
The strawberry is placed on the piece of parchment that Bilbo laid out on a cooking sheet. “You make that look easy.” And sure enough, when M’Baku lifts his strawberry from the gooey bowl, two twists leaves him with nothing but a lumpy, lopsided strawberry. When he lays it beside Bilbo’s, all M’Baku can do is laugh. “Definitely harder than it looks.”
“That’s alright. You just need a little more practice, that’s all.” Bilbo’s smile is warm, and private. It feels like something that belongs to M’Baku and M’Baku alone. And if their fingers touch when Bilbo hands him the next strawberry, well...who’s to say?
M’Baku dips the next strawberry into the chocolate.
“I could get used to this.”
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Lick Your Wounds (part two)
[Breakaway]
Part 1
TW: I don’t think there are any, but let me know if there are some
———————
Behind The Siren’s Eyes
Being cooped up in a cabin on a grand, amazing cruise ship wasn’t that bad if you didn’t think about it!
Oh, who was Joan kidding. She was absolutely miserable. And not just because her hand is swollen and cut open.
After getting sent back to her cabin once her hand was wrapped up and the gash was patched together with medical tape, Maggie practically forced Joan to sleep. Not that she had a problem with that. It wasn’t until the next day that boredom set in.
Joan first awoke to aching, throbbing pain in her hand. She whimpered loudly, inwardly thanking god that she had a single cabin. Then, she collected her bearings and got up-
-only to realize there was no need to get dressed. She had been called out of the show until they arrived at the next stop- Cozumel, apparently- and got proper medical attention. Well, since she was up, she might as well freshen up.
And that is when she realized how awkward it was to brush her teeth with her non-dominant hand. It was like the way she simply moved a toothbrush felt wrong in her right hand. But that wasn’t all: she quickly learned that many things were a struggle. Like typing on her phone using only one thumb because she had to use all her other fingers to hold it up. And playing on her Switch. And reading! She couldn’t even flip the page without having to put down the entire book and turn the paper like that!
To put it simply, she wasn’t having the best of times. And it was only the first of seven days.
Joan was doing the only thing she could manage to do without struggle, watch TV, when there was a knock at her door. She said come in and Maggie entered, holding a small paper bag that filled the room with a sweet smell.
“Maggie!” Joan cheered, throwing only one arm up. “You came to visit me!”
“Of course.” Maggie said. She walked over to the bed and set the bag in Joan’s lap. “I brought you doughnuts.”
Joan’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight seeping in through the windows.
“Thank you!” She chirped. “You’re the best!”
“I know.” Maggie said. Her voice was as dry and deadpanned as always, but there was a crinkle around her eyes and Joan knew she was doing her version of smiling.
“As you should.” Joan hummed. She went to open the bag, but winced when she accidentally moved her left hand. Maggie notices.
“It still hurts? Ah- stupid question. Don’t answer that. Of course it does.” She tentatively touched Joan’s wrist, causing her to whimper, so she quickly pulled away. “I barely touched you. It’s that bad?”
Joan nodded with another tiny whimper. She carefully sets her hand back onto a pillow and waited for the pain to die down before she spoke up again.
“I-it really hurts, Maggie.” She whispered. “I took the painkillers the nurses gave me, but...they take awhile to kick in.”
Maggie frowned. She opens the bag of doughnuts and popped one of the doughnut holes into Joan’s mouth, causing her to squeak softly.
“I’ll go see if they have anything stronger, alright?” She said. “But first eat. I’ll help you.”
Joan blushed dark red. Maggie rolled her eyes.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I-I’m not!” Joan barked. “You just- mph!!” Another doughnut hole is stuffed in her mouth. “Mmmph...” She grumbled.
Maggie blew out an amused breath before looking at the TV, which was playing a beach house hunting show. She wrinkles her nose at it.
“Why do you always watch this crap?” She asked.
“The houses are pretty.” Joan said, still chewing. Maggie jabs her in her stomach, causing her to squirm away with a muffled squeal.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Maggie hissed. She looked back at the TV, swiping a doughnut hole for herself.
The two eat their sugary breakfast in silence for awhile, watching a basic white heterosexual couple tell the poor real estate agent about what they wanted in their house (“You can’t have a house in the middle of town AND have easy access to the beach. You have to pick one, you selfish bitch.” Maggie had commented at one point). When the first commercial break happens, Maggie picks up on Joan wiggling beside her. The girl was blushing, too. She looked at her strangely.
“What are you doing?”
“I- umm...” Joan’s ears ignite in enraged shades of red. “I have to use the bathroom.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows with a quick puff exhaled from her nose.
“Do you?” She said, then got up. “Alright. Come on.”
“I don’t need your help!” Joan squealed. “I just- you asked what I was doing, so-”
“Go piss.”
“Don’t say it like that!!”
Joan rolled out of bed with as much grace as a drunk roly-poly would have and hobbled her way to the bathroom, where she then met her greatest challenge yet: pulling her shorts down with only one hand.
“Okay, Joan. You can do this.” She whispered to herself.
“Are you talking to yourself while peeing?” Maggie called from outside.
“Shut up!!” Joan cried. Then, softly, she grumbled, “I’m not even peeing yet...”
She turned her attention back to her mission and grabbed the waistline of her shorts. She pulled that side down below her hips and then reached over to the other side, doing the same, but this time feeling her muscles strain slightly from the stretch of doing so. Which was kind of pathetic, but she dismissed it and continued.
“Do you need help?” Maggie called again.
“No! No, I got it!” Joan called back as she wiggled around like a spastic worm to get her pants to fall down to her ankles. That was not something she wanted Maggie to see, especially when she lost her footing and careened herself directly into the wall.
On her bad arm.
“Ahh-!!” Joan squeaked.
“Joan?!” Maggie’s voice sounds uncharacteristically frantic. She’s in the bathroom in seconds, nearly flinging the door off its hinges. Her panic is halted, however, when she sees Joan hopping and squirming around the small space with her shorts around her ankles while keening in pain.
Maggie closes the door and goes back to the bed without another word.
When Joan eventually gets finished doing her business (which consists of her struggling to pull her shorts up and then ditching them entirely), they don’t speak of the event and just stare at the house hunting show playing on TV in silence.
“Anne is coming to visit you later.” Maggie finally said, breaking the awkwardness.
“Really?” Joan perked up.
“Yup,” Maggie nodded. “She would be here right now if it weren’t for morning rehearsals.”
“You skipped rehearsals for me?”
“Well, of course.”
Joan smiled at that, then yawned. She rubbed her eyes with her good hand.
“You’re already tired?” Maggie asked.
“I, umm-” Joan is blushing again. “I didn’t really sleep.” She continues in a mumble, “Hurt too much...”
“You pitiful little thing.” Maggie crooned, plucking some hair out of Joan’s pink face. “Why don’t you rest up? Let me get you settled-”
Maggie went to crawl out of the bed to fix the sheets and maybe convince Joan to put on pants, when a hand- one that wasn’t grizzled by gore and bandages- grabs onto her shirt and she’s yanked back down. Not even she could bite back a soft yelp at the strength this hurt girl had.
“You're soft.” Joan murmured faintly. Maggie had fallen back onto the bed at an odd angle and Joan was curled up in a way that let her nuzzle her face against her stomach.
“And you're delusional.” Maggie said. She went to move into a better position, when she noticed that Joan’s chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Asleep, already?
Joan looked so much more peaceful than she did earlier, and watching her, with her nose buried in her stomach, told Maggie that she wouldn’t be able to move for awhile. Or, well, until she had to get to the show.
“Rest up, pumpkin.” Maggie whispered, brushing Joan’s fringe back and kissing her temple gingerly.
“Hm?” Joan opens her eyes and looked up at Maggie.
“Ah-” Maggie blinked. “You're awake?”
“Pumpkin?” Joan hummed absently. “You've never…called me that before…”
“You were supposed to be asleep, dumbass.” If she weren't afraid it'd hurt her, Maggie would have punched Joan right in the shoulder. So, instead, she flicked her forehead, earning her a sharp whine as an answer.
“You've called me that before, though…”
Her semi-asleep retorts make Maggie exhale a breath in amusement.
“Well, since you're awake, can you put some pants on for me?”
“But…I'm not wearing pants…”
Joan peeks under the blanket and looks herself over weakly, confirming that she wasn’t, in fact, wearing pants.
“That’s right. You already took them off. For some reason.”
“I...took off my pants?”
“Yes.”
“...Oh. ‘M sorry...”
“It’s okay, Joan. Just put them- what are you laughing at?”
Joan is giggling endearingly into Maggie’s stomach. It's such a sweet sound, after everything that's happened.
“You.” Joan squeaked out. “You’re silly, Gigi...”
“Oh yes.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’m the silly one here.”
“M-Maggie, stop it, it hurts,” Joan stutters out between giggles.
“I’m literally not doing anything.”
Joan howls at that and dug her face further into Maggie’s midsection. If anyone else had been doing such a thing she would have been thoroughly pissed off at such an invasion of her personal face, but Joan was an exception.
“Okay, okay-” Maggie finally has to pull herself away and get out of the bed, earning her quite an adorable pout. She dug through one of Joan’s drawers and pulled out some soft grey sleeping pants. “Come on. Get your knickers on.”
Joan made a face.
“It's pronounced ‘sweat pants’, Maggie.”
“Actually it's pronounced, ‘Put them on so we can go to sleep’, Joan.” Maggie retorts.
“Fine.” Joan grumbled. “Close your eyes.”
Maggie does as she’s asked and turns away. She prepares the bed as she hears Joan struggle behind her.
“Okay.”
“All set?”
“Can we go to bed now?”
“Do you want to change your shirt or take some medicine?”
Joan moans in an exasperatedly cute way. “I'm tired.”
“I know.”
“Can we go to bed now?”
The repeated dialogue worries Maggie a bit, so she concedes to the demand.
“Yeah,” She breathed. She got Joan into the bed and then laid down beside her. She brought the younger girl’s face up to burrow into her neck and placed a quick peck on her cheek.
“Will you…stay with me…?”
“Of course, darling. Of course I will.” Maggie feels Joan smile weakly.
It doesn’t take long for Joan to drift off, snuggled up contently against her dear friend. Maggie watches over her, being mindful of her hand.
When it was time for her to leave for the show, Joan whimpered in her sleep at the loss of warmth. Maggie ended up giving her the stuffed monkey thing she kept under her pillow, and the girl cuddled it instantly. She shook her head in amusement.
“Stupid tambourine.”
————
“Oh, Joanie!!”
Maggie winced at the volume Anne had when she entered the pianist’s cabin.
“Will you shut up?” She hissed. “She might be sleeping!”
“Wha...?” Joan lifted her head from where it had been buried in her blankets. She blinked blearily. “Maggie...?”
“And me!” Anne piped up.
“Annie?”
The queen and her former Lady go to the bedside, sitting on the edge of it. Joan looks up at them with a very relieved, or maybe just dazed, expression.
“You came back...” She drawls out. “And Annie’s with you!”
“I told you.” Maggie said.
Anne ruffles Joan’s unruly hair, which she mentally notes is rather sweaty.
“How are you feeling, kiddo?”
“Mmm,” Joan shrugged, but winced at the movement of her left arm. It makes Anne and Maggie exchange looks that such a simple action can cause her pain. “Bored. Lonely. Really tired...”
“Then maybe you should go back to sleep,” Maggie suggested. “We can leave if you’d-”
“N-no!” Joan cried suddenly. “P-please don’t go! Don’t leave me...”
Looks are exchange by the queen and her former Lady again. Anne gently smoothes out Joan’s hair.
“Alright, sweetheart. We won’t go anywhere.”
Joan smiled weakly before laying her head back down. Her bad hand is resting on a pillow, lax and perfectly still. The bandages are slightly redder than they had been that morning.
“Hey, Joan,” Maggie said.
“Mmmm?” Joan opened one eye.
“Maybe we should redress your hand? The nurses did give us extra bandages-”
“No!” Joan cowered away. She rips her hand off of the pillow when Maggie grabbed for it. “No, no! Please no!”
“Joan, it needs to be-”
“No!!” Joan howled. “It’s-it’s gonna hurt too bad! P-please don’t, Maggie! Please!”
She screams loudly when Maggie reaches for her hand, and that’s what gets the guitarist to back down.
For a moment, Maggie is mortified at how scared she made the poor girl, but she quickly erased that terror. She couldn’t let her persona fall.
“She won’t, Joan.” Anne said, trying to smooth things over. “She won’t touch your hand, alright? Just calm down.”
Joan hiccuped. She’s crying, now. Not that anyone can blame her.
Maggie climbs fully into the bed and Joan is in her arms in an instant, whimpering and weeping. She glances worriedly over at Anne for a moment, who looks equally as concerned.
“I-I’m sorry, Gigi,” Joan sobbed weakly.
“Shh, shh.” Maggie murmured. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Maggie holds the girl gently. And she lies to her, over and over.
Because Joan was not okay. And Maggie had the horrible, sickening feeling she’s only going to get worse.
#lick your wounds#six the musical#six the musical fanfic#six the musical fanfiction#six breakaway#breakaway joan on the keys#breakaway maggie on the guitar#breakaway anne boleyn#anne boleyn#joan on the keys#maggie on the guitar
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Drarry: Albus and Scorpius' Adventure Travelling Back in Time. (6)
---
“Harry.”
“Harry!”
“HARRY!”
A smack.
“Ow! What's that for?!”
“You've got to stop doing that, mate!”
“Doing what?!”
“Like you're looking into your future, Potter.”
Harry quickly turned his head around to Zabini he almost got whiplash.
“Shut up, Zabini! No one asked your opinion!” Ron grumbled while the other man just shrugged. “You saw it yourself, Weasley. We've been sitting here for almost 20 minutes and not once did Potter talk or even glanced at us.”
Harry gave Zabini a glare, “No offense to you, Zabini but it's my eyes, I can do whatever I want with it.”
Zabini lets out an amused smirk, “Ah, I can see where Albus got that mouth of his.” he cheekily said and laughed when Harry got flustered.
Ron groaned aloud, “Harry, no. You can't be serious!”
“What?” said Harry, defensively. “Just look at them!” He pointed, “Look at them and tell me you didn't feel the same.”
When Ron stayed silent and fidgeting in his spot, Harry rolled his eyes as Zabini snorted, “The least you could do was to defend your statement, Weasley.”
“Well, you tell me then if you didn't feel the same.” said Ron instead, giving Zabini a challenging look.
“If I feel the same, Weasley, it is none of your business.” Zabini stated.
Ron scoffed at that, “What a complete bullshit you are.”
They continued to give each other remarks but Harry’s attention was not on them anymore. He throws his sight to where he has looked earlier; where Hermione, Malfoy and the twins sat together, huddling close with the Book of Old Curses in between them.
The book that they have retrieved earlier from the library.
After a few arguments, and another few arguments about Harry's Invisibility Cloak when Malfoy explained his intention, after Scorpius defended his father saying that he's a huge fan of Harry Potter- “That's why I know about his Invisibility Cloak!”- when they (Ron) have accused Malfoy that it was just his plan to steal Harry's cloak- “Honestly, Weasley. As if I have nothing better to do.”-that lead into another arguments because apparently Malfoy was always up to no good just like his name- “Which of course you know that it means bad faith just like you!”-which lead to Albus angrily stomped over to Ron and shouted, “Shut up, Mr. Weasley or I'll tell your daughter that you're such a prick!”- that lead to Malfoy scolding Albus for being rude but it managed to seal Ron's mouth shut and thus, they have managed to came up with a plan.
Since they were allowed to the Restricted Section now, they only have to use the Invisibility Cloak on the twins and because of Malfoy’s prohibition, he decided that it was much safer if the Gryffindors were the one who will retrieve the book with the twins- “Just in case if someone,” here he looked at Ron, “accused me for planning another world domination.”
Parkinson had agreed with the plan because “If there's anyone that they trusted to use the Restricted Section, that would be all of you”- Zabini had snorted at that but he didn't disagree.
The Slytherins, along with Ginny and Ron- “Someone needs to keep an eye on them.”-will wait at Malfoy and the twins’ room while they executed the plan.
That was an hour ago and now Ginny and Parkinson went to hunt for food, while Harry, Ron and Zabini took their spot next to the bed doing nothing. The small crowd near the fireplace haven't looked up from the book; Hermione jotting down notes on a parchment as Malfoy doing the same. They will read it while discussing and gave each other their insights. The twins latched up on their father as usual, Scorpius pointing out what he has read before while Albus agrees.
Harry shook his head. Honestly, that kid was such a baby when it comes to his father but like an angry little cat when dealing with other people. Scorpius was much more behaved, polite but Harry knows he will not hesitated to do anything for his family, judging from the way he acted around Albus and Malfoy. Hell, he even found a way to cure his father!
“Why are we sitting here, and they're over there?” He asked out loud.
“Because we're just a distraction so let the brains one do the work and we wait.” said a voice, and Harry looked up to Ginny who was giving him a look, both hands were full with plates of food so Harry quickly took the loads from her and placing it down the floor.
He looked around to see both Ron and Zabini were already munching down their own food with Parkinson in between them.
“Albus, Scorpius! Come, let's eat!” Ginny called, and the twins immediately perk up at that.
“Sweet, food!” Albus exclaimed, taking his spot next to Ginny as Scorpius sat next to Harry.
“Hey, you two! Why don't you take a break for a moment?” Parkinson then called but received a dismissive waves from Hermione and Malfoy.
“Don't bother, Aunt Pansy.” said Scorpius, taking a bite of his food, “When Papa and Aunt ‘Mione are in that mode, there's nothing can stop them.”
“They work together in the future?” asked Harry and they nodded, “Close friend, even. They work in the same department.”
Albus snorted a laugh, “Remember when Dad got a bad hex from a raid and was submitted to St Mungo’s but Papa didn't come because he and Aunt ‘Mione was in the middle of a discussion that he said much more important than Dad’s tiny scratch.”
With that, the two small boys fell into a fit of laughter while the young adults were looking at them, horrified.
“It was that bad?” askedHarry, when none seemed to have the ability to speak.
“Oh yes,” Scorpius giggled, “Dad always got himself submitted to St Mungo’s because of his work but nothing serious really.” He said, giving him a mysterious smile.
Apparently, he's not the only one who saw the smile because he can see the others were sharing a look.
“You know,” Parkinson suddenly piped in, “Your Papa never told us who's your Dad is.” She said, gesturing to her and Zabini but Harry saw her shared a look with Ginny.
Albus, that calculative little prat managed to caught the exchange. “You're not going to get that part of information from us, Aunt Pansy.” He cheekily said, smirking a little.
Zabini laughed as Ron choked into his food, and Harry reached out quickly to pat his back.
“Honestly, Al. You're going to kill someone one day.” Scorpius rolled his eyes. “What he meant by that was because Papa don't even know who's our Dad is!”
“What?!” They exclaimed in unison.
“What do you mean he doesn't know?” asked Parkinson.
“Oh, Papa is not that eager to know who his husband is in the future.” Scorpius shrugged, though a small smirk decorated his face. “He was just trying to help us as much as he can, and make sure that we get what we wanted for coming this far by ourselves.”
They nodded at that, and Harry can't help but steal a glance at Malfoy. The way he concentrated on his task, exchanging words with Hermione. He really did work hard for his twins and promptly reminded that Malfoy is the type of person who would do anything for his family.
“If you don't mind me asking,” Harry heard Ginny begin and he quickly turned to them. “What makes Malfoy believe that you're his sons from the future?”
Harry can see nods from the others, and noticed that he was doing the same. He has been asking that himself and now he was sure that everyone have been wanting to ask the same question.
The twins gave her an appreciative smiles, “We've been wondering if one of you will ask that kind of question.” said Scorpius, taking a sip from his pumpkin juice.
“Well?” Parkinson probed, handing out a napkin to the small boy and he received it with a small thank you. “Your Papa is the kind of person who needs proof if you want him to believe in something. So, do you have any?”
Somehow, they unconsciously leaned forward the twins, peering down at their faces waiting for the answer.
Albus suddenly burst out laughing, and they gave him a questioning look.
“I'm sorry, all of you looks funny!”
Scorpius rolled his eyes at his brother's idiocy. “Headmistress McGonagall herself did the magical signature test on us. She tested it twice, and of course we're matched.”
“Right,” said Ron, “I forgot that they were with McGonagall first.”
Harry nodded, agreed. Of course McGonagall will make sure of that first.
“Besides!” Albus suddenly stood up, patting his pockets, “We have another proof!” He announced, pulling put a photo. “Here, you can see it yourself!”
“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, widening his eyes in disbelief as he looked at the photo. Harry can't blame him, he can hardly believe it himself. It was a photo of an older Malfoy with the twins who seemed much smaller than they are now.
They looked positively happy.
Malfoy looked much better; content, healthy and handsome.
Harry blinked at his last comment.
“I can't believe you really did travel back in time.” Zabini shook his head, curling his lips in amusement.
“We did! We can't believe it ourselves too!” Albus grinned.
“We performed the ritual ourselves!” said Scorpius smugly, lifting his chin upwards that made him looked like a tiny Malfoy.
Harry can't help but chuckled, “That was a very brave thing to do.”
They beamed at him.
“How old are you both, anyway?” asked Ginny.
“We're 10!”
“10?!”
“How did you performed those ritual if you don't have wands?!” asked Parkinson, clearly surprised.
“We use Dad and Papa’s wands of course!” Albus gives a shrugged.
“Blimey, these kids are dangerous!” Ron stated in shock.
“I can tell that the both of you been sneaking around behind your Dad.” Zabini drawled, giving the twins an approving wink.
They giggled.
“Salazar, who the hell was your Dad?” Parkinson huffed, “Now I'm dying to know. I mean to create the both of you needs a good genes. Draco got intelligence, so your Dad must possess these-” She suddenly gasped and look at the twins in horror, “Your Dad was a Gryffindor, wasn't he?”
“No way a Gryffindor wants to marry Malfoy.” Ron scoffed.
“Oh,” said Albus innocently, “But he was a Gryffindor.”
“What?!”
“Now I'm concern,” Zabini frowned, “Did your dad willingly married a Gryffindor?”
“That's just insulting!” Ron squared up, “You Slytherin can't be trusted! He might've Imperius that poor bloke!”
Harry had enough.
“Can we just focus at one moment that it's all in the future? Anything can happen!”
They jumped in surprise at his sudden outburst.
“Sorry, Albus, Scorpius. I didn't mean to scare you.”
The twins shook their head and smiled at him.
“And I'm sorry, for my outburst.” He said at the others then.
“You don't have to be sorry, you know.” said Parkinson, “We only sits here together because of Albus and Scorpius. I can say this is the most civil we've been to each other.”
Ron snorted, “Tell me about it.”
“Well, I say truce for now,” Ginny announced, picking up her pumpkin juice. “We don't want Albus and Scorpius to get scared every time they sit with us.”
The twins grinned at Ginny delightfully.
Zabini shrugged, “Truce then.”
“Truce.” They announced in unison and lifted their own pumpkin juice to clink it together in the middle.
Albus and Scorpius laughed as they took a sip of their drink.
Somehow, they managed to fall into a civil conversation, asking the twins questions about their family and the future while the twins will answer in the most mischief way they can be.
Harry bit his lips unconsciously as he continued to observe the twins; Horrendous matching hair in black and white-blond, green and grey eyes, and their Dad was a Gryffindor.
Malfoy doesn't know who his future husband is but Harry knows he got his own suspicion. It can't be that hard, right?
Sure, maybe there's other blokes who got the same genetic traits but the twins just narrow it down for them.
A Gryffindor, with black hair and green eyes.
The twins may be denying it all they want, but with those sly looks, and knowing smirks, going to Harry for comfort when Malfoy got mad, and making themselves at home around Harry- he looked down in time to see Scorpius slipping his hand around Harry's arm and Albus somehow managed to change his spot sitting next to Harry now, getting himself comfortable.
It can only mean one thing, right?
It was,
It was him.
He was their Dad.
Wasn't he?
---
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#drarry#drarry fic#drarry gang#drarry fluff#drarry squad#drarry fanfic#harry/draco#draco x harry#harry x draco#harry potter#harry james potter#draco malfoy#draco lucius malfoy#scorpius and albus#scorpius malfoy#albus severus potter#time travel#adventure#drarry fandom#drarry feels#ron weasley#hermione granger#ginny weasley#pansy parkinson#blaise zabini#hogwarts#8th year#curses#hp characters#hp fandom
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Insects play a key (and also icky role) in decomposition by turning corpses into bones
https://sciencespies.com/nature/insects-play-a-key-and-also-icky-role-in-decomposition-by-turning-corpses-into-bones/
Insects play a key (and also icky role) in decomposition by turning corpses into bones
It’s that time of the year when skeletons, skulls, and bones have found their way onto cookies, porches, and storefront windows.
While skeletons are universally considered symbols of death, the process of turning a newly dead animal into a bony skeleton relies on an explosion of life that ushers in the process of decomposition. Much of this transformative process is performed by wriggling, scuttling, scurrying insects.
Through decades of careful observation and experimentation, entomologists have described a five-stage model of decomposition. This model explains how insects, in close collaboration with microorganisms, transform a warm body into a pile of bones while simultaneously recycling carbon, nitrogen, phosphorous, and numerous other nutrients so that other living things may grow and thrive.
It begins with a corpse
The first stage of decomposition (termed “the fresh stage”) occurs between the moment of death and the first signs of bloat. Within this period, there are no outward signs of physical change, but bacteria already living within the carcass begin to digest tissues within the body.
Insects start arriving in the minutes to hours after the animal has died. Most insects colonizing during this initial period are flies from the Calliphoridae (blowflies), Muscidae (house flies), and Sarcophagidae (flesh flies) families.
These early flies seek out prime real estate to deposit their eggs. This is generally limited to the animal’s natural cavities (e.g., nostrils or mouth), or within any external injuries (e.g., abrasions). The moisture levels and soft tissue within these areas make an ideal nursery habitat for young maggots to develop.
Bloat, maggots, and methane
Bloat comes next. In this second stage of decomposition, the lack of oxygen within the body begins to favour anaerobic microbes. These bacteria thrive in the absence of oxygen within the body.
As the bacteria begin expelling gases like hydrogen sulphide and methane, the abdomen begins to swell. The carcass begins to darken and smells foul. Because carcasses are an uncommon and short-lived source of nutrients, numerous insects may detect and travel to a carcass from kilometres away.
During the bloating stage, fly eggs hatch, and large quantities of maggots begin to feed on the flesh. At this point, beetles join in on the feeding frenzy. Some beetles, such as carrion beetles, will feed on the nutrient-rich flesh of the carcass.
Predaceous beetles, such as rove beetles and clown beetles, arrive to feed on the maggots.
Maggots work their magic
The third stage is known as “active decay.” This stage begins when the carcass starts to slowly deflate, a process akin to a tire pierced by a nail. Larval insects gnaw small holes into the body cavities, allowing gases to escape.
Tissues begin to liquefy, giving the carcass a wet appearance, followed by the release of a putrid odour. By the end of the active decay stage, maggots concentrate their feeding within the chest cavity of the animal. Soon beetles dominate, with huge, huge numbers of rove beetles and clown beetles arriving to chow down on the maggots.
Once most of the flesh has been eaten away, the carcass enters the stage of advanced decay. The putrid odour of the carcass begins to subside, and most maggots leave the carcass to pupate in the underlying soil.
Next, adult dermestid beetles arrive at the carcass and begin laying eggs. Dermestid beetles — small round beetles covered in tiny scales — are scavengers that feed on a variety of dry materials: fur, feathers, dead plants, even carpets!
If they’re not familiar to you, perhaps you haven’t looked closely enough — a 2016 survey of arthropods in homes detected dermestid beetles in 100 percent of households.
Dermestid beetles finish the job
The final stage of decomposition is known as dry decay. Very few adult flies are attracted to the carcass at this stage. During dry decay, the carcass is reduced to bones, cartilage, dried skin, and hair. By this stage, there is little odour at all.
Larval dermestid beetles continue to clean the skeleton, leaving behind remains that look very similar to a disassembled skeleton. Dermestid beetles are so effective in cleaning bones, in fact, that they are regularly used by museums when preparing skeletons for collection and display.
The little things that run the world
While witnessing this beastly undertaking is not for those with squeamish stomachs, decomposition of animal remains is a fundamental process that cycles nutrients within ecosystems.
Nutrients like carbon (the basis of all life on Earth), phosphorous, and nitrogen, which all living things need to grow, are in limited supply in ecosystems. They must be constantly reused and recycled to ensure the continuation of life.
Following decomposition, the soil beneath the cadaver will contain a high concentration of nutrients relative to the surrounding ecosystem.
However, the nutrients released into the environment don’t all stay in soil and plants. Nutrients and energy contained within the dead animal (whether a mouse, raccoon, or crow) are repurposed and repackaged into living, breathing insects.
When these insects complete feeding on a carcass, they disperse into the wider environment where they continue to be productive members of ecosystems.
These very same insects help pollinate our crops (including pumpkins), fill the bellies of insect-eating animals (such as bats), and are crucial to the decomposition of other dead organisms (like rats, toadstools, and snakes).
If you happen to stumble across animal bones this Halloween season, or any other time of the year — take a moment to consider the beastly drama that made this discovery possible.
Paul Manning, Postdoctoral Researcher, Faculty of Agriculture, Dalhousie University.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
#Nature
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Snowman Song
So, a while back someone asked if I could write fluff just about Orphydice falling more in love with each other and I decided I’d focus on moments where Orpheus writes/dedicates songs to Eurydice. Here’s another piece of that little series. Just a good old fluff piece because I love these children.
______________
In the time since their return up above, Eurydice had been dreading the snow. Snow meant cold; snow meant short, dark days, no crops to harvest. Snow meant winter, and winter meant biting cold. As Persephone returned underground Eurydice counted the days in her head, watching the leaves fall from the trees. Orpheus took her on long walks, pointed out the colors and the beauty of it all. He reminisced; it had been so long since the canvas of changing colors had been part of their lives, and his few memories of fall with Hermes were picturesque and serene. His memories involved things she hadn’t remembered doing, even in the few memories she had of good times with her parents as a young girl.
Orpheus made up for it. He had her carving sweet faces into pumpkins and placing them in the window. He raked the leaves and kicked around their piles, grinning and watching them all fall around him once more. He put on the kettle and made cider from the apples that had fallen and bruised, the ones that were more difficult to preserve. (he attempted this; the drink was bitter and off-putting the first time, until Orpheus went to Mister Hermes for the recipe he thought he’d remembered but had completely butchered). Orpheus loved the fall, the way the world began to hush and close in on itself, the way the cold kept them inside by the fire, wrapped in blankets and each other. Eurydice loved him for this but hated herself for the way her body constricted and her pulse quickened any time the sky grew grey and cold. Even with Orpheus and his love of all things fall beside her, she could not stop worrying about the impending winter.
It was early when the first snow fell; there was not yet a regular timeline of these things as the world was adjusting back into its new cycle, but Eurydice swore that the fall was short and the leaves had fallen far too soon.
“It shouldn’t be like this,” She stood at the window by their front door, looking out upon the rows of empty dirt where they’d just plucked the last of their harvest the day before. “It’s too early. Maybe it was all a trick. Maybe,”
“-Maybe,” Orpheus crossed the distance of their humble living space, wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Maybe winter is coming, but we’re ready. We have a fire, we have the rest of the harvest canned and preserved. We have jobs, we have a house.” He brushed his nose against her cheek, resting there for a moment as he felt her take a steady breath. Then, he raised his lips to her cheek, kissing her. They stood there for a while, Eurydice watching out the window as he watched her relax her breathing. Orpheus held her, and they watched the pink sky of the shortened day turn to night.
“We have each other. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Unless-unless you wanted to, I’m not trying to sound like I’m keeping you here or like you have to stay, or,”
“Orpheus,” Eurydice laughed, turning in his arms to brush her hand along his cheek. “We’re here. Together. I don’t plan on going anywhere.” She ran his thumb along his cheek, stood up on her toes to kiss his lips, and smirked.
“Unless you think I’m going anywhere when it starts to snow really bad-then, I might have to tempt you to stay.”
The snow came sooner than either of them thought; after three days of dark grey sky the first flakes began to fall, heavy and thick like the seeds of pussywillow plants that had been dried and put in vases on the kitchen counter. Eurydice tapped her fingers on the windowsill, drew hazy configurations of lines and patterns as her mind wandered. Orpheus was puttering around the house; he’d started a low glowing fire early that morning, and had taken to poking it every time he walked by, watching the embers fall low underneath their sturdy logs, keeping the house a haven. He’d put a kettle on, and moved between their little kitchen and the fire with ease. He’d often look over to the window where Eurydice sat, knees curled up to her chest, wrapped in a haphazardly knit blanket they’d attempted to work on together. One hand was slipped through a large gap in the knitting, fingers tracing its imperfect shape. Her head lay against the glass, eyes half-opened, and she was silent. Orpheus nodded to himself, running back to the kettle to take it from the heat for a moment.
Eurydice could hear his shuffling, the movement of his feet back and forth across their living space, throwing open drawers and cabinets, before she felt something soft hit her head. Startled, she shifted in her seat at the window and bent down to pick up the offending object; a hat. One of his winter beanies, sturdily made and traded for at the market at the turn of the season. She glanced up at Orpheus in time to catch her mittens, then the oversized jacket she adored. Eurydice bent her brows, looked across the room at a half-dressed Orpheus in curiosity. He smiled back, waving his hand.
Orpheus had thrown on a more rugged pair of pants, traded in loafers for boots. He’d already put his own jacket on-a large woolen thing, slightly torn at the wrist. He was a flurry of motion, lacing and buttoning, running to the large chest by their bed to pull out two long, knitted scarves. Both were slightly askew, one quite a bit longer than the other, but he slung one over his shoulder with a widening grin, walking with a skip to the window. He bundled the scarf around her with a flourish, kissing her nose and her forehead and her lips with giddy excitement.
“What are you doing?” She asked, shaking her head at Orpheus as he continued to fly around the house, gathering things up in his arms.
“It’s snowing.” He stops in his tracks, turning to look at Eurydice with slightly quizzical eyes. “It’s the first snow of the season, and it’s sticking-we have to make a snowman.”
It’s another tradition lovingly remembered; they’d talked about it when the skies first started to turn gray, as they were prepping the garden for the impending cold. Orpheus had stopped in his tracks, looked at the sky, and taken a deep breath. He’d recalled with a soft smile the days when he was little, when Hermes had pulled him along in a dainty wooden sled, taken him through the park to a clearing with a decently sized hill and let him slide down all morning long. They’d built snowmen after every first snowfall, Mister Hermes doing most of the brunt work as Orpheus had been so skinny and long-limbed. They’d spend the day outdoors, up until Orpheus’s fingers were red and his boots would begin soaking in the cold. Then, Hermes would pull him back on the sled to the little apartment above the bar. They’d change and run downstairs to serve the incoming crowd; he’d make Orpheus a steamed hot chocolate, let him sit behind the counter and pluck away at his tiny guitar as Hermes worked.
Seeing the first snow stirred Orpheus, and when he finally convinced Eurydice to trek outside of the warmth of their home he just stood, looking up at the big flakes falling, and felt the breath catch in his throat. He took hold of Eurydice’s hand. She watched him silently, the wonder in his eyes as they trailed across the sky and the glimmering of the patches of snow hit by sunlight. She watched his grin double in size, boyish and unfiltered, and felt his hand squeeze hers.
He bent down then, gathering a small ball of snow in his hand. He was covered in snow almost instantly but didn’t seem to mind as he crawled on his knees across the front yard, rolling the snowball in front of him. Eurydice watched in curiosity as the ball grew in size, left a small track where it picked up its mass. When he was satisfied he stopped, right in the center of their yard, and stood to admire his handiwork. The ball of snow went up past his knees, and Orpheus sized it up with unabashed joy.
“Come help me make the next one!” He implored, already bent down to form another snowball between his gloves. Eurydice moved slowly toward him, taking the snow from his hands and placing it on the ground. She rolled it like she’d watched him, felt it grow in size as she moved. The snow was letting cold seep through her pants and gloves, but Orpheus was chattering to her about what they’d gather for the snowperson’s eyes and nose and Eurydice barely felt the cold. She was far too busy hitching herself to the lift in his voice, the way the cold brushed his cheeks red and his hair fell haphazardly into his face. By the time she’d finished the middle, he’d rolled a sizeable head. It took both of their power to get the middle in place, and when Orpheus stacked the head, the pair couldn’t help but laugh at their creation. Where it had once been just taller than Orpheus’s knees, the snowperson’s head was taller than Eurydice, completely dominating their yard with its presence.
Eurydice laughed, sitting down in the snow and looking upon their hard work. Orpheus was proud, prouder so to have caused the musical sound of her laughter. He danced around the snowperson, called it sir and ran inside to grab it one of his more outlandish hats. It took Eurydice sitting on his shoulders to get the hat on right, the two fumbling through the motion through tear-laden laughter, Eurydice resting her head atop Orpheus’s to try and catch her breath. They gathered coal from the fire for eyes, and dowels from their garden for arms. Orpheus hummed a tune under his breath, Eurydice attempting to follow it. It was something uplifting, with a sort of waltzing tune. He took her gloved hand in his, spun her as they danced around in their boots and coats, the snowman the focus of outlandish lyrics he made up on the spot, a story woven by the silly hat atop his head and two dowel arms that had once helped hold up the harvest they’d make into soup that night. The more he made up the more she laughed, clutched onto him and pressed herself against him, resting her head on his chest. He kept singing, attempting to solidify the lyrics of the snowman waltz that had her brushing her cold lips along his neck, her breathless laughter shaking against his chest.
By the time they were finished they sky had begun to grow dark again, and they trudged in from the snow begrudgingly, beaming at the snowman that now watched over their tiny home. Orpheus poked the fire, and Eurydice began chopping vegetables for soup. As she was chopping, Orpheus could hear her humming his snowman song. He ran to an old notebook on the shelf, opened to a blank page, and began translating what they had created; what he had begun just to hear her laugh.
Every year after this, Orpheus and Eurydice celebrated the first snowfall with a gigantic snowman, and a rather dramatized singing of their snowman waltz.
#Orphydice#hadestown#song dedication series#writing:mine#I just really needed a solid fluff piece and Orpheus being the cutest of boys will do it#it needs a better tag but
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Not As It Seems Part XIV - Emet-Selch x Warrior of Light
Summary: As All Saint's Wake approaches on the Source, the Warrior of Light decides a haunted house is the perfect way to celebrate the holiday.
A/N: My bestie, Crystal, came up with this idea! My WoL’s costume
Word Count: 2327
Masterlist: here
Ao3: here
----
I stood at the foot of my bed, inspecting the outfit I’d laid out, a hand to my chin in thought. The door to my inn room opened and I looked over my shoulder as the Ascian made his way in. He came to a stop next to me.
“What, in Zodiark’s name, is that?”
“Hmm,” I hummed and leaned over to pick up the white pumpkin head I’d set out. “All Saints’ Wake is coming up on the Source.”
“And what does that have to do with…,” he paused, unsure of what to make of the clothes. He waved his hands in the outfit’s direction. “With this?”
“It’s a custom to dress up in a costume.” I set the mask back down on the bed again. “This is what I usually wear, though I was thinking about changing it up.”
“What is its purpose?”
“Haven’t I told you before? Not everything has to have a point. Though,” I started, with a fond chuckle. “I do love scaring the kids.”
Emet-Selch raised his brow. “You...like scaring children?” His tone was incredulous.
“Sure,” I said, grinning. “On All Saints’ Wake, it’s almost expected.” He put a hand to his chin as he took me in. “I was thinking of maybe setting something up this year.”
“Setting something up?”
“Like a...like a house haunted with spirits.” I tilted my head to the side. “I could very well use my own house.”
When I looked back at him, his brow was furrowed. I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning on one leg and scoffed.
“All that time on the Source and you have no idea what All Saints’ Wake is, do you?”
Indignation passed over his face for a moment before he shrugged, suddenly looking bored. “Why would I give a care to Eorzean customs while being the ruling party of Garlemald .”
I breathed a laugh and shook my head, leaning down to pick up my Grand Company uniform and went to hang it back up, then sat on the bed and patted the space next to me.
“The legend goes,” I began as he removed his coat and dropped down on to the mattress. “That the Twelve invite the saints to a grand feast one night every year. But, while they are gone, their protection over the world is gone, inviting all sorts of demons and other creatures to descend upon the realm and wreak havoc on its people.” He laid down on his side, supporting himself with one elbow.
“As the citizens take refuge in their homes for the night, the Adventurer’s Guild I joined always took part in gathering these creatures and returning them to their imprisonment.” He looked at me, confusion written on his face.
“And what do the children have to do with this, if they are safely in their homes?”
“Well, the nights leading up to the Wake, we throw a festival for the saints who are invited to meet with the Gods. Children dress up in costumes and go house-to-house to collect candy.” He shook his head.
“Your customs are strange, hero.” I huffed a laugh at him.
“I suppose when it’s all you’ve ever known, it doesn’t seem strange.” I shrugged and laid down next to him. I stared up at the ceiling and we were quiet for a long while. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head and I sat up quickly, surprising the Ascian next to me. I turned to him with a wide smile.
“You could be in my haunted house!” I exclaimed, explaining my sudden outburst. “When you go without a body, those without the Echo can’t see you, right?” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Whatever you’re scheming, the answer is no.” I pouted and he rolled his eyes.
“You don’t even know what it is yet.” He gave me a look that made me giggle. “Don’t be so serious. It’s meant to be fun .” I leaned down close to his face. “Besides, I think you’d enjoy scaring the kids.”
“And what, exactly, does scaring kids entail, hero?” I put a finger to my lips in thought and leaned back again.
“I suppose you could just appear in your Ascian form,” I told him. “A few of the children should be able to see you, so maybe throw in a bit of your arcane magic for show.” He watched me for a few moments, taking in my excitement, then sighed.
“Fine, I will attend to see what this festival is all about. But, I make no promises of putting on an act.”
A sly smile appeared on my face, then. He raised a brow at me and I leaned forward, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips. “I promise it will be fun.”
A few weeks later, after multiple visits to the Source to decorate and ready my house, Emet-Selch and I stood outside the front door, examining my work.
“I don’t find this particularly...terrifying,” he noted as he took in the decorated front lawn. I rolled my eyes and put my hands on my hips.
“It’s not meant to scare adults, you know.” I placed my hand on his back and nudged him towards the door. “Go on,” I ordered. “They’ll start arriving soon.” He clicked his tongue at my audacity, but moved put his hood back over his head and went to the place I’d designated for him.
He still seemed reluctant, no matter all his talk about cooperation , but at the very least he would experience another one of my customs for himself. I sighed and shook my head before lifting the enchanted pumpkin over my head and prepared for the night to begin.
When I brought in the first group of costumed children, I laughed as a few of the jump-scares I orchestrated around the house elicited small screams from them, but when I passed by the Ascian, he was sitting in a chair, a book from my library open in his lap.
I stopped, lifting a brow at him, though I knew with my mask he couldn’t see my face. When he noticed me, he looked up and smirked at me before going back to his book. I shook my head and watched as he turned a page.
“What is this supposed to be?” one of the kids asked. I knelt on one knee next to him, an idea blossoming in my mind.
“You don’t see the spirit sitting in that chair?” He looked at me incredulously. “Really, he’s there. Do you think those pages are turning by themselves?” I pointed as Emet-Selch turned another page. He looked up at me again.
“That’s just the breeze,” the child shot back at me, so serious I nearly scoffed at him. But one of the others stepped forward and pointed as well.
“No!” he cried. “Look!”
When I focused on the Ascian again, he stood up, closing the book. He snapped, summoning a pen to his hand. He walked up to the kid and forcefully took his arm.
“Wait-,” I started to protest, but it was drowned out by the frightened gasps around me as the child stumbled forward. When the pen started scratching against the boy’s skin, many of the kids screamed and ran off.
When Emet-Selch had finished, he smirked at me again, then headed back to his chair and his book.
The kid stood frozen, staring at his palm, his whole body trembling.
“Wh-wh-wh-,” he stuttered, but was unable to finish his sentence, tears welling in his eyes, before he took off down the stairs and out of the house.
My mouth dropped opened as I watched him, then turned back to the Ascian as I tore the pumpkin from my head.
“What in the seven Hells did you write?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “All I wrote was ‘Yes, but can the wind do this?’” He chuckled to himself and a laugh rose out of my chest as well.
“See, I told you it would be fun,” I said, pointedly with a raised brow, and dropped the mask back on my head.
A while later, a group of siblings travelled into the house, most of them older and curious about the screams they were hearing from down the street. They had a young girl in tow, dressed as a marmot.
As I led them through the house, they were murmuring about how they didn’t understand why my house was getting so much attention. Finally, we happened upon Emet-Selch’s room and the oldest sighed.
“Is this going to get any better at some point?” he asked, then looked down at his small sister, who had pulled her hand out of his and was walking forwards. “Nelly, where are you-”
“Who are you?” her sweet voice asked as she approached the Ascian. He closed his book and bent down to her level with a small smile, looking her up and down before tilting his head towards me again.
“This one has the Echo, hero.”
“The Echo?” she inquired, holding a finger up to her mouth. I went and took a knee next to her.
“You can see him?” I asked her, conspiratorially. She nodded with enthusiasm.
“Nelly, who are you talking to?” The little girl turned back to her siblings and shrugged her shoulders.
“Just the man standing here.”
The kids snickered around her and she frowned. “Looks like the runt’s making things up again, guys!” The girl puffed up in indignation, her eyes welling with water.
“I am not! I swear! He’s right there!” She pointed at him again. I frowned at the older children as they taunted and laughed at her. Emet-Selch took her small hand in his clawed glove and she turned back to him.
“They call you runt? Do they always pick on you, young one?”
With a trembling bottom lip, she nodded. I put my hand on her back.
“Do you often see things they do not? Is that why they make fun of you?”
Another nod.
“You believe me, don’t you?” her tiny, unsteady voice asked as the other kids continued making jokes about her myriad of imaginary friends. The Ascian smiled at her again.
“We believe you.” She visibly relaxed. “Would you like to play along in a little prank?”
“Come on, Nelly, let’s get out of this dumb house,” one of her older brothers ordered once they’d had their fill. He reached down for her hand, but Emet-Selch lifted her up by the waist and set her on his shoulders.
I stood again and he nodded towards the door as the older kids watched in frightened awe, mouths hanging open. I moved quickly as he whispered what to say into Nelly’s ear.
“You don’t get to bully me anymore!” she said, small voice dominating, the little light left in the room snuffing out.
“Oh Gods, she’s possessed!”
One of the sisters turned to take off out the door, but I quickly slammed it shut. With a snap of the Emet-Selch’s fingers, I watched as the smile on my pumpkin head grew wider and flames shot out from the eyes and mouth. The girl took a step backwards as I blocked the door, bumping into her siblings and nearly stumbling to the floor.
The group turned back to the youngest, her eyes now glowing red. Gasps and cries came from them as the Ascian started walking towards them, a wide, maniacal grin on his face. With nowhere to flee, they cowered together.
With another snap, buckets of water appeared above them and dumped their contents over the kids’ heads.
Shock and silence fell around the room. At the behest of Emet-Selch, Nelly’s eyes stopped glowing and my mask returned to normal. Light filtered back into the room as they all sat still, breathing hard.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” he said in a booming, amplified voice that he made sure everyone in the room could hear.
“C-c-come on, let’s get out of here!” one of the boys shouted and scrambled for the door. I opened it again and they took off, down the stairs and straight out the front door, entirely missing the bowl of candy I’d set out. The Ascian set the small child down on the floor again.
“Go on, then,” he said, nudging her towards the entrance. “You’d better catch up to them.”
“Thank you!” she said, sweetly, with a smug smile on her face.
“Made sure to get some candy on the way,” I said to her when she passed.
I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as she skipped down the stairs and out of my house, laughing quietly.
“I thought you weren’t going to participate,” I said to him, looking over my shoulder. He came up behind me, plucking the pumpkin head off of my shoulders. He tucked it under his arm and shrugged.
“What can I say? I have a soft spot for young children.” He wrapped his free arm around my waist and pulled me into him, leaning into me to leave a small kiss on my cheek. I glanced toward the clock on the wall before I turned to him, easily lifting the mask off of his face.
“Well, I’d say the haunted house was a success. What do you say we retire for the night?”
With a snap, the front door to my house closed and the lights outside extinguished. He let my mask drop to the floor as he dipped down to pick me up, eliciting a surprised squeal from me. Holding me tight, he pulled me close, pressing his lips against mine, before pulling away and walking us towards the bedroom.
“Yes, let’s,” he agreed, a smug smile appearing on his face. “You should wear the pumpkin, though. I actually quite like it.”
I burst into laughter as he dumped me into bed, then gripped the fabric of his robes and pulled him down with me.
#emetselch#Emet-Selch#emet selch#emet selch x warrior of light#emet-selch x warrior of light#warrior of light#warrior of darkness#FFXIV#ffxiv fanfiction#Final Fantasy XIV#final fantasy xiv fanfiction#Final Fantasy 14#final fantasy 14 fanfiction#all saints wake
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04 - The groundskeeper/gardener
Surprisingly, the fireplace is full of genuine, orange-red, totally unhaunted fire. You sit in one of the soft, deep red velvet chairs and feel yourself sink a few inches into the plush upholstery. The parlor is small and cozy, hardly larger than the two chairs and the fireplace, but it is immaculately kept and lovingly decorated with all manner of gothic knick-knacks. Black painted skulls and lace-trimmed doilies line the shelves while massive paintings of the house and its grounds dominate the walls. Between the heavy wood of the shelves and the thick, smoky smell of the hearth, you almost feel like you're somewhere safe for once. You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of the fire, doing your best to put your situation out of your mind.
"Coffee? Tea?" You nearly jump out of your skin as Brian unfolds from behind the chair you're sitting in. He offers you a tray with a steaming cup of either, both of which you politely refuse after noticing something you can't identify in the tea. The tray bobs in a bizarre sort of nod and Brian disappears once more. The moment of respite is over, you lament with a sigh. You try and find something to look at that isn't doing its best to creep you out. The only part of the walls that isn't plastered with landscapes of the mansion's garden is a plain-looking glass door overlooking... the mansion's garden. In the moonlight, at least, it's hard to tell if the roses actually have eyes inside them.
"YEARK!" A strange cry echoes from the garden, breaking the silence and making you clutch the armrests of your chair a little tighter. Ravens - because of course it's ravens - scatter out of the bushes in the distance. Curiosity winning out over nerves, you get up and walk over to the glass door to peer into the silvery night. Moving between the rows of immaculately trimmed hedges, you can see a round shape bobbing up and down -
"Ah, yes, Trumbert must be making his rounds. Quite a diligent fellow, he is," Brian says, appearing from the blackness behind one of the shelves to... watch with you, you guess. His hand is pointed at the glass, in any case. You ask who Trumbert is.
"Why, our devoted groundskeeper, of course! He tends to our Missus's sprawling gardens all by his lonesome, but he's got the knack for sure. Pleasant fellow, but not much one for conversation," Brian explains. You nod and follow the bobbing sphere as it navigates the hedge maze with surprising speed. Every dozen yards or so, it jerks to a halt with another "YEARK!" before resuming its course. You and Brian watch Trumbert for some time, mesmerized by the clockwork precision and thoroughness of his progress through the garden. Your attention is drawn away only when you wipe your brow and realize that the fire is growing warmer than before. You ask Brian if you could go have a look at the garden.
"Please do. The Missus takes great pride in her grounds, so I'm sure she's appreciate you appreciating them," Brian says, opening the door and giving you a little "after you" gesture. You thank him and step out into the cool night air. The storm that battered you before has passed, and now the full moon shines down on leaves glistening with the last vestiges of rain. The tiny porch that you stand on is bordered by thick masses of thorny vines, all laid out straight as though a comb had been run through them. As you step down onto the perfectly even black grass, you see the vines give way to roses of a deeper red than you've ever seen before. You chuckle at your own fears from earlier; the centers certainly are white, but none of the flowers sport actual human eyes.
Except... oh. Yeah. That one did just blink.
You break eye contact with the flower and pick up your pace into the garden. The plants are arranged in a grid, you notice, with categories and varieties exhaustively labeled. You examine the various flytraps and nightshades on display, each given a distinct and hand-painted nameplate. Just as you pause to wonder how one person keeps all of the plants so picturesque and still has time to paint tiny pictures, an earsplitting "YEARK!" catches your attention. A massive scarecrow, easily eleven feet tall, bounds around the corner of the hedge and barrels straight for you. Its four wooden arms spill hay as they flail without rhyme or reason, clipping leaves, yanking weeds, spraying chemicals and raking dirt all at once. You flinch as the whirlwind of metal and wood dances right at you.
"YEARK!!" screeches Trumbert, bouncing up and down from one foot to another in front of you. You lower your hands from your face and look up at his impassive pumpkin-face as you attempt to greet him.
"BAZZ! YEARK!" Trumbert makes no effort to look down at you - you're not sure if he can even move his head - and instead continues to bounce back and forth, swinging his rake in the general direction of the plant you're standing in front of. You try to say something else, but he cuts you off again.
"YEARK BAZZ! PEZBEN YEARK!" Trumbert shrieks, apparently growing impatient enough to push past you and continue his mad gardening down the row of plants. You watch him spiral across the garden and out of sight around the next hedge corner. All of the flowers are perfectly trimmed, with not even a leaf left behind - save for one flower by your feet. You stoop and pick it up: a daffodil. You hadn't seen any daffodils in the garden. Puzzled, but pleasantly surprised, you make your way back towards the mansion, listening to Trumbert's shrill cries echo off into the distance with a bemused smile on your lips.
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Jonghyun/Jinki; he works from home; R
In front of Jonghyun, on their knees and half hidden by the table, is another human, very clearly sucking his dick.
Oh yeah, Jinki thinks suddenly. He remembers now. He can drop by anytime but watch out because Jonghyun might have one of his sex work appointments.
There’s something Jinki is forgetting as he sticks the spare key Jonghyun gave him into his back door and gently pushes it open. Some extra note that Jonghyun mentioned to him when he gave him the key. Maybe to be careful to not wake his puppy with the noise? But, no, Roo usually stays conked out until someone starts giving her little pets. He puffs up his lips as he thinks and shuts the door behind him. “You can drop by anytime, but,” Jonghyun had said. Hmm.
After a moment, Jinki shrugs. He’ll remember later, probably. Jonghyun should be here anyway to tell him; he came over to get some snuggles and see if he wanted to go out to eat in a little bit. He’ll just go find him. He fluffs the hair on top of his head as he makes his way through Jonghyun’s living room and to the kitchen first to grab a bottle of water. As he nears the doorway, Jonghyun’s voice floats out of it.
“Master, huh? I like the sound of that,” he’s saying, and his voice is low, smooth, suave, and lazy. Jinki hesitates, but his feet don’t pause him before he peeps into the kitchen and finds Jonghyun.
He’s leaning up on his fridge behind the kitchen table, light brown hair styled up very suave, fancy glasses perched on his nose, his silver earrings in his ears and his cleanest, most expensive looking dress shirt and jacket over his shoulders. In front of him, on their knees and half hidden by the table, is another human, very clearly sucking his dick.
Oh yeah, Jinki thinks suddenly. He remembers now. He can drop by anytime but watch out because Jonghyun might have one of his sex work appointments.
As soon as he thinks this, Jonghyun glances up, looks at him, looks back down, and then does a doubletake, eyes wide and surprised. Jinki grins sheepishly and gives him a little wave, holding up the spare key with a shrug. Jonghyun glances down to the babe on his dick and then up again, grinning sheepishly as well, moving his hand to guide them by the top of their head and block his face from their view.
“Hi lovie,” he mouths. Jinki does his best to hold back a snort. He points with his thumb over his shoulder towards the hallway.
“Should I go wait in your office?” he mouths back. Jonghyun shakes his head with a meaningful glance down at his babe.
“Bedroom,” he says. Jinki nods giving him a thumbs up as well, and turns to head to the bedroom and chill for a while. Before he takes a step, he pauses and glances back.
“You fuck people in your office?” he asks. His music sheets are in there. His precious notes. Jonghyun shrugs again with a lazy smirk and a twitch of one eyebrow. Jinki shakes his head fondly and continues on his way silently through the house. As he goes, he hears Jonghyun talking out loud again in that smooth, confident tone of voice.
“You know what? Every morning, after you suck Master’s cock and make me breakfast, you’re gonna climb up on this table, and bend over, and present your pretty little ass for Master’s inspection….”
In the bedroom, Roo snoozes in the center of Jonghyun’s bed. Jinki eases himself as gently as he can on next to her and still winds up murmuring little apologies and petting her gently back to sleep on his tummy. From there, he stares blankly at the ceiling, grins, giggles, and only stops himself from full out laughing because he doesn’t want to wake Roo again.
Instead he reaches up to flick Jonghyun’s dim headboard lamp on and grabs one of his books at random to read. It’s about animals with ocean blue and pumpkin orange and midnight purple fur and he’s instantly invested, holding it above his face as he turns the pages. A few chapters in he hears some rhythmic thumping coming from Jonghyun’s office behind the wall and bites back another laugh. Sounds like he fucks well enough to earn his expensive rates.
Eventually, while the book is starting to get very interesting with giant armies running for shelter in a cave as rainbow colored falcons screech overhead, the sex noises stop, and then it’s silent for a little bit, and then footsteps pass the bedroom door. A few more minutes later Jinki hears Jonghyun’s squeaky shower knobs. He thumbs forward a little in the book to look for the next stopping point. When he finds it, he shrugs and keeps reading. Not too far. Jonghyun usually showers quickly.
Jonghyun comes knocking on the door a little before the stopping point, but that’s okay. Jinki keeps his finger in the book as he closes it and props himself up on one elbow. Jonghyun slips inside, towel around his waist, hair damp, smile bright and giddy.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming over!” he squeaks. He bounces a little as he walks over to press a kissie against Jinki’s cheek. He bends down to press a smoochie to Roo’s soft head as well before smiling back at Jinki and nuzzling his shoulder.
“I wanted to surprise you with me,” Jinki says. He lets his free arm flop lazily over the pillows, presenting himself. He knows Jonghyun loves surprises.
“I love surprises and you,” Jonghyun beams. “I’m gonna nut, thank you.”
“I thought you did just nut,” Jinki grins, raising his brows. Jonghyun snorts into giggles that he muffles behind his hands as he slips to his dresser to get into some clothes. Jinki notes the faint scratch marks on his back with amusement.
“Work nuts don’t count,” Jonghyun says as he wiggles into some sweats sans undies. “I’m perfectly capable of nutting about you being here and lovely right now.”
“Mmhmm,” Jinki says. He watches Jonghyun struggle to pull a hoodie over his head, get stuck for a few seconds, and wave his arms around until he can find the collar and guide it over his head. He pops out of it with a tiny oof, hair mussed over his eyes. Jinki muffles his own giggles at the sight.
“What?” Jonghyun pouts. He flaps his hands once as he says it and his hoodie sleeves flop over them, making Jinki laugh more. He only stops when Roo whines at him for all of his tummy movement.
“Nothing,” he smiles, petting her head gently. “It’s just that, when you said you did full sex work, I didn’t think you meant you were a dom.” He half laughs the word out just saying it. Hearing Jonghyun be all cocky and dominant like that was so wild. Jonghyun shakes his head with his own sheepish laugh, running his fingers through his hair.
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, it’s just easier to be a dom with clients,” he says. “It’s easier to separate work sex from relationship sex that way, you know? Plus they all expect me to be a dom because I’m buff or whatever. And also, I can’t fucking. Call anyone daddy without catching feelings for them, gosh,” he adds in a mutter. Jinki snorts.
“Is that why you fell so fast for me?” he asks, quirking a brow. “Because I let you call me daddy on the third date?” Jonghyun exhales softly as he eases himself onto the bed next to Jinki and nuzzles his shoulder, one hand shooing Jinki’s away so he can pet Roo instead.
“No, mostly it was because you’re my snuggly warm bubbly bear,” he says. He makes his voice all tiny and cute, wiggling against him and adding a smoochie noise after it, and Jinki rolls his eyes fondly.
“Mostly?” he asks. Jonghyun wiggles again, more insistently this time.
“Yes! Ninety-five percent,” he says. “Ninety-five percent you being lovely and good. And five percent that you let me call you daddy on the third date.” He grins slyly as he says it and Jinki shakes his head again. Of course. He does appreciate the reassurance, though. It’s hard for him to believe that he’s good most of the time but Jonghyun’s honestly makes it a little easier. “Are you liking the book?” Jonghyun asks then. Jinki hums, confused; Jonghyun taps the book that Jinki forgot he had in his hand. “That’s the second one, you know,” he says.
“Is it?” Jinki asks. “Shit.” Jonghyun giggles and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
“It’s fine, it can be read alone,” he says. Jinki hums again. Good, then, because he was too invested to stop. Well, kind of. He stops now, plucking one of Jonghyun’s tissues from his headboard to mark his place and tossing the book further away on the bed.
“Wanna go get something to eat?” He asks, turning just enough that he can nuzzle a kiss to Jonghyun’s mouth without upending Roo off of his tummy. Jonghyun gasps softly, presses seven more quick, tiny kissies to Jinki’s mouth, and nods.
“I’ll pay,” he says, wiggling off the bed. “Cause Master just got some cash fucking money, ayy.” He pumps his fists in the air but dramatically puts absolutely no emphasis whatsoever on the ayy. Jinki pulls one of his spare pillows over to muffle his laughter into. He loves Jonghyun a lot.
#jongyu#jonghyun#jinki#onew#fluff#r#oneshot#they go out to get some food and jinkis like arent ur appointments just like an hour long usually hows he gonna wake up nd suck ur dick#and jongs like shrug emoji they just like hearing elaborate scenarios so they can go home and jerk off about it later#nd i told him if he paid me extra he could come over early so we could do it but only Maybe bc itd be in the guest room and i h8 bed laundry#and jinkis like lmao#jong doesnt fucc in the bedroom bc thats where roo naps and also where he fuccs his real babes#anygay they jong pays and leaves a nice tip and they go home and jinki reads more of the book and jong snuggles in his lap#nd theyre v uwu nd cute#ydw
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