#Carib Glass

[goosesartblog]

wip ridder which im probably never gonna finish because i hate drawing on trackpad

[insideoutsolutions]

Talk about glasses and glare 😅 Happy New Year from the Bryants! #insideoutsolutionsmn #newyear #caribou #cariboucoffee #winter #goals #goalsetting #glasses #glare #reflection #reflections (at Caribou Coffee) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm7aw2_PZ81/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[canisalbus]

Hiya! I have a very important question, mayhaps THE most important question on this planet!

What's your favorite animal? I guess that it might be a canid of some kind but I could be wrong.

(You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just curious)

As you already surmised, I like canids a lot! Dogs are wonderful in general but I can't seem to get enough of sighthounds in particular, they're just really elegant and sculptural (makes them very fun to draw) and are so full of character (as a quiet and introverted but mostly friendly creature I find them very relatable).

I also love deer! Reindeer (or caribou, same species) are particularly close to my heart.

And goats, especially those leggy and mostly hornless but very colorful breeds from South Asia.

Cats. All sorts of cats, they're great.

Just so this wouldn't be all mammals, my favorite birds are arctic loon and peacock.

My favorite fish is the coelacanth.

My favorite reptiles are European adder and lace monitor.

When it comes to amphibians, glass frogs are very neat.

There's so too many invertebrates to choose from but I've always liked various mantises and hermit crabs.

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Just friends? | Matt Rempe x Reader

Pt. 2

Warnings: language, that’s it? NOT PROOF READ

Summary: we head to the Ny Rangers game, matt had gotten three penalties and the rangers lost. We head to our little friend days, i accidentally split the way i feel about Matt, he tells me his feelings.

A:N- FIRST REMPE BLURB‼️🚨I’m scared, this is so gonna flop bc he’s like the most hated rookie…

══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══

I’ve known Matt since we were in seventh grade. It’s been nine years of friendship. I’m excited to watch him play as a rookie in THE nhl.

“Are you ready?” Matt asks me, as if I’m the one who’s nervous. This whole time he’s been pacing back and forth, we play the Hurricanes tonight in the playoffs. I’m excited!

“No. I think I’ll just stay here in the hotel and watch you play from here.” I joke with him, he obviously isn’t in the mood to mess around.

I tie his tie and flatten his suit out, I mess with his hair a bit. “Matty?” Ally walks in.

“Hey y/n! Cars running, we’ll have to leave early, we need to grab gas. Unless you are going in early with matt?” Ally, one of Matt’s older sister.

“Oh hey? I didn’t know you were here.” Steph says as she walks in, checking in on my work. “Nice tie. Who tied it?” Steph asks Matt.

“Cool, cool.” Steph says as she looks at Matt’s eyes that trail into mine.

I’ve never seen Matt the way I’ve seen other boys, maybe it’s because I’ve grown up with him, I’ve seen him go through puberty, get girlfriends, and I’ve seen his room. Ally and Steph on the other hand… well they think Matt and I are literally meant to be.

“Cute.” Ally says as she grabs Steph and walk out.

“So we’ll see you y/n, at the seats?” Ally says as she walks down the hallway of Matt’s home. Matt pulls me to his mirror that is hung in his closet door.

“You look comfy.” He said and he rubs my shoulder, he looks down at me. For preference, I am 5”3, and he’s 6”7’. He’s significantly taller than me.

“You’ll do great.” I say and I grab my bag, my phone and apply lipgloss. He stares at me while I tie up my shoes. I’m wearing a blue tank top, and on top I have a leather jacket, I have a Rangers jersey imprinted on the back of the coat. I walk around with white air forces on my feet.

We walk to the car and we pull out of the driveway. We watch Matt’s older sister’s car get smaller as we turn a corner to head towards the rink.

“Radio on?” Matt asks me, I’m sure he’ll want to play our song.

“Sure.”

He throws his phone at me and gives me aux. “no. Play something fun.”

I play Martin & Gina by Polo G.

“No, play our song.”

So I do, I type into his Spotify search Shower by Becky G. “I love this song!” Matt says as he looks over to me. He keeps his eyes on mine.

“Matt!” I yell as he steps on his breaks. He almost ran a kid over. He let the kid cross the street and Matt wanted some coffee so we head to a Caribou.

“You wnat anything?” Matt asks me, and again he stares me down, I see him looking at me like I’m the great Mona Lisa. Or as if I’m the Eiffel Tower.

“No I’m good I’ll just pick up a Dr Pepper at the food court.” I reply. I look into Matt’s eyes, he has a light bruise that stained his under eye from previous fights. I’m sure he’s fired up for playoffs, I’m excited!

~

We get to the rink and he walks in the player enterance and I head for the other side of the building, making it to the front of the building. I enter in just as normal and get my pass out to enter in as family. I understand that I should’ve gone in with Matt, but it felt better to get in early instead of late like the other family do.

I head for our seats and make it to my spot that I always sit in. I can see all the fans walking to the glass, signs are up and pressed against the window. Rempe jerseys everywhere, and family’s sitting at seats waiting for the game to start.

Hype songs start, warmups are coming. I watch Matt walk on the ice. For some reason I felt this wierd park in my stomach. I got wayyy to excited to see him. I actually smiled so big that my cheeks hurt from staring at him.

~

After game

~

The rangers lost. Matt hasn’t walked out of the locker room, and I patiently wait. He was the last one out, the coaches even left before him. The janitors started to come in and clean up. I have to wait for Matt, he’s the one driving me home.

“Matt?” I said when he finally walked out. “What.” Matt says in the grumpiest tone. He didn’t walk out for post game interviews, so I assume that he would do it later.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, I thought I was being kind for asking. He left me on heard. He just took my hand and walked me to his car. He opened my door for me, and threw his hockey gear into the back of his car.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Matt finally answered.

Okay.

“Okay, let’s just go home alright?” I say canceling our plans that we were waiting for, for the last week.

“What!? No!” Matt whines before he backs out of his parking spot. “I wnat to go.” He said as he looks at me.

“Let’s spend time together. Come on. Please? I just had the worst game of my life and you’re just gonna make me feel worse?” He guilt trips me.

“Maybe.” I sarcastically answered as I throw his hands off my thigh. See, moments like this I believe his sister that maybe we could be something. NO! Matt is just a friend, he’s practically been in my life forever. Freinds for 9years and going on, and known eachother since we were 8 years old.

“I’m gonna shower, and you need to change.” Matt says when he pulls into his driveway. His sisters pull in behind us. “Matty!” Steph tells out for him.

“What.” He replied, he sounds the way he did before we left the rink.

“Um. Okay well me and Ally are going to the mall, and we’re going back to school. See you soon okay?” Steph says and she steps back into her car. That’s the last time I’ll see them, well ofcire we still have summer but they’re all the way at college and I’m just here in New York.

~

“Okay should I wear red, or green?” I ask Matt, I men’s his opinion matters, like a lot.

“Im wearing Blue, so you should wear that blue and white outfit you got a while ago.”

“That wasn’t an option.” I reply. I just do as he says and slide in my corset top dress and a value decal lace, the white silk sits on my curves.

“You’re so beautiful.” Matt says as he watches me walk out of the bathroom. My hair is curled, my makeup done and my legs are shaved, I also have the perfect amount of heel that raises my height.

Matt looks me up and down and grabs my hand. We drive down to a cove. We eat some pasta and we grab some dessert at this small shop downtown. “Don’t get anything in that dress!” Matt warns me, I’m eating like a pig.

He’s so sweet. I could talk to him for hours.

After our foodie phase we head to the coast. We drive about an hour just to get to a beach. It was so nice, we sat and stared at the stars, but it felt wrong. I know that we would be good as a couple but, what his sister say all the time teasing him makes me think he likes me. No.

He can’t.

We’re friends.

“How’s life been? Got a hot boyfriend I don’t know about? You just moved up here in New York so how you like?” Matt asks me, he turn his head and leans back onto his forearms. He’s watching me stare into the void. I’m scared to tell him.

No, we’re just friends.

“Nope. Men are stupid. Not you of course, your perfect- your like the only guy I would date!-or well yeah it’s nice up in New York, city is beautiful and the weather is my type.” I answer, I stuttered about all of my try feelings. Shit.

“Well l feeel the same way.” Matt says, I’m sure he heard my little cry of what the hell did I say.

“What.”

“I like you as well y/n. You didn’t notice?”

[shixcherie]

Sweet Like A Cherry| Kim Hongjoong ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

☆☆ NOTE : I want to take a moment to apologize for any confusion caused by the overlapping scenes in my fic with @ja3hwa's dilf series. It was never my intention to cause any misunderstandings or plagerise her beautiful works. She has been a huge inspiration to me, and having read her fics in the past, I realize that some ideas may have stuck in my mind while writing this one.

I've worked hard to change those scenes completely and take the story in a more mysterious and mafia direction, which I had initially planned.

Also, a big thank you to @whatudowhennooneseesyou for helping me recognize the similarities and pointing me in the right direction. I truly appreciate it.

I hope you can overlook this minor mistake and continue to support me as I move forward. Your love for my work means the world to me!

Thank you and sorry again @ja3hwa

☆ Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 11 : Age Gap, Dilf

↬ [ Synopsis ] : A birthday fling with Hongjoong takes a shocking turn when you realize he's your dad's best friend and he's hiding some dangerous secrets. Now, trapped on a family yacht, your growing desire for him becomes impossible to resist, unaware that someone has been watching both of you closely.

☆ Word Count : 2.4k ☆ Genre : Smut. Some Plot. ☆ Pairing : Dilf!Hongjoong x F.Reader [ Park Y/N, Seonghwa’s daughter ]

☆ ☆ ☆ WARNINGS : Dad’s best freind Joong. Joong is on the run from someone. Stalker-ish, someone is watching you both closely. Mutual Masturbation, but reader is unaware of him watching her. Cum play.Mentions of alcohol.Nipple play.Dirty thoughts and fantasies. Pet names (honey, baby). Sir kink. Hongjoong is in his late 30s and he is nasty while reader is only 23 (Oopsie, but enjoy). Mildly Noncon (no permissions were asked).

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

“Cheers to 23!!!” all your friends screamed as tequila shot glasses clunked together, celebrating you. You had just turned 23, and what better way to celebrate than throwing a huge party at Havana, the finest club with the best cocktails and liquor in town?

Your dad, Seonghwa, had suggested a birthday yatch trip, butyatches you can do anytime, your dad owning a big private one. You can’t celebrate your 23rd with all your friends in town just whenever, so you politely declined, asking to postpone it for another day. But there was one more reason as well.

Your friend group has a tradition, kinda stupid, but spicy. The birthday girl has three tasks for the evening:

First, drink the Havana exclusive, El Fuego del Caribe, a signature cocktail known for its fiery blend of rum, chili-infused tequila, and a splash of tropical juices.

Second, engage a stranger in conversation and buy them a drink.

Third, get a picture clicked while having some kind of fun together, the kind of fun you can decide.

Being the least experienced with relationships in the friend group, this turned out to be a daunting task for you, especially the third one.

Anyhow, this birthday girl pulled them all off.

The intense yet exciting task list started with you approaching the bartender, plopping yourself at the bar, and winking at him. That’s how you ask for Havana’s exclusive, and when he winks back, consider your order taken. That was easy, first task, done!.You downed the drink at once, your friends watching from their table. The alcohol burned your throat as it went down, sweet and spicy with a sour aftertaste.

Now, time to catch a stranger for a fun night. As your eyes wandered around the club, checking out some sexy guys, you spotted this man eyeing you from the other end of the bar. You threw him an alluring smile as you studied him. He looked to be in his late 30s, well-built, with a left brow slit, tattooed arms, and to seal the deal, a very inviting devilish smirk. An overall yummy demeanor.

Let’s go with him.

He came and sat down next to you, and a very engaging, flirty conversation swooned you both into a small bubble of your own. You learned his name was Hongjoong, and that he had just come back into town after almost a decade in the States.

Hongjoong was captivated by you the moment he took a sip of the drink you bought him. Your charm, the way you carried the conversation, and just how beautiful you were, it all aligned perfectly with what he desired in a woman.

After hours of talking and throwing back shot after shot, things were a bit hazy for him, but one thing was crystal clear: he was hooked. He flirted shamelessly, and you only encouraged it, turning playful teasing into something more when you grabbed his arm and led him to the private room, ready to check off the last item on your list.

Ahhh… the fun you both had.

—

Waking up with a throbbing headache, you vaguely remembered being dropped off at home by your friends, Hongjoong’s face flashing across your mind as a smile crept up.

He was perfect. But there was a teeny tiny problem, you couldn’t remember what exactly you both did, or if you actually took the picture.

Feeling a little sad that you might not see him again, you walked into the living room where breakfast was being served, only to see a familiar face. Hongjoong, sitting right there with your dad in the living room, deeply engrossed in conversation.

Why is he here? Did I drag him back home? Why are he and Dad talking like they're best friends?

As you nervously approached them, their eyes landed on you. Hongjoong’s face paled, the blood rushing from his face as his eyes widened, mirroring your nervous expression. He recovered himself quickly.

“Ahh, Y/n! You’re up. Hongjoong, meet my daughter. Y/N, this is my best friend Hongjoong, he's finally back from the States after almost a decade,” Seonghwa introduced, oblivious to the fact that you two had already met.

“Hello, Y/n.” Hongjoong said, his voice firm, almost neutral, but with a tiny smirk on his lips as he extended his hand for you to shake.

“Hi, nice to meet you...umm...” you took his hand, unsure of what to call him.

“You can call me Hongjoong.” he assured you, his grip firm, sending jolts of electricity through your body. Pulling your hand back slightly, you went to sit at the breakfast table, sneaking glances at Hongjoong from time to time, his gaze reciprocating with equal... intensity?

Wow... I slept with Dad's best friend? Why the hell can’t I remember what we did last night?

“Y/n, about the yatch trip. Why not turn it into a little get-together?” Seonghwa asked, to which you slightly nodded. “Hongjoong, you should join us too. My princess is 23 now, and you're back after so long. We should catch up with all the boys, and you need to meet their kids as well.” he announced excitedly.

Damn. This is going to be the end of me. The thought crossed both your and Hongjoong’s minds.

—

The yacht was big enough to fit everyone who showed up, which was a relief. There were plenty of activities and services, so the trip seemed like it would be fun. Luckily, even with the crowd, you managed to get a room for yourself. After the chaos of your birthday night, some alone time was exactly what you needed. Now, settled in one of the small but cozy rooms at the back of the yacht, you finally had the privacy you wanted.

The only problem? It was right next to Hongjoong’s.

Night fell, and everyone retired to their rooms. Hongjoong stood on the deck, the memories of that night still fresh in his mind as he glanced at the photo you had taken on his phone during the heat of the moment. When he met Seonghwa the next day, he had no clue you were his daughter, he didn’t even know Seonghwa had a daughter, let alone a beautiful twenty-three-year-old one.

But what will they do about this? Will they try to harm you for being associated with him? Are they here, watching him and you?

~ your birthday night ~

The music was in sync with your heartbeat as your eyes locked with Hongjoong, his devilish smirk igniting desire and not helping with the wetness building down south. Leaning in close, your breath hot against his ear, you whispered, "Let's go somewhere private."

Making your way through the sweaty mush of drunk people on the dance floor, you led him to a secluded room. The door clicked shut as you turned to him, slowly unbuttoning your top, letting the fabric fall from your shoulders. This was your kind of fun.

Hongjoong’s gaze darkened as you grabbed his drink, took a sip, and spilled it down your chest. The liquid covered your skin, trailing down your boobs, giving them a glistening look that made Hongjoong’s mouth water.

"Clean me up, sir." you teased, watching his eyes burn with desire. That “sir” in your angelic sweet voice had him down bad for you.

Without hesitation, he pulled you by the waist, your body crashing into his, sending sparks through you. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking over the trail of alcohol on your skin, his large hands busy squeezing your ass. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked your nipples, and Hongjoong sucked hard, releasing the nipple with a pop sound.

"Tastes so sweet, like a cherry, baby." he said, continuing his licks.

The sensation, his words sent sparks through your body, as he was busy cleaning the remnants of liquor off. His mouth was hot, his tongue teasing, tasting you in a way that left you craving more, needing more. You gasped, tugging at his hair, the heat between you rising.

Adding to the moment, you reached for your phone, accidentally grabbing his and snapping a picture, interrupting the moment. "Oops, wrong phone," you smiled at him innocently. "Will you keep it for me, sir?" Your innocent request earned an amused smirk from him.

"Only if you promise to see me again." Hongjoong teased, smirking, the tension between you far from over and only left you both craving for more.

~~

Was he regretting that night? No.

He definitely felt a connection, an intense one, the first time he laid eyes on you in Havana. Your playful, banter-ish conversation was a gentle push toward those unannounced feelings his heart was welcoming, and the night in that private room definitely sealed the deal.

He was more curious about what was going on in your mind.

But knowing your feelings might open a can of worms that he wasn’t ready for.

And if they found out about your associations with him... What would they do to you?

As he walked back to his tiny room, almost as if his prayers were answered, soft moans caught his ears, halting him in his tracks.

"Joong... aa... I need you," you moaned, your fingers rubbing against your dripping cunt, trying to relieve some of the ache, your back to the door. The whole evening had been tense with Hongjoong in your vicinity, and it took everything in you not to jump his bones. But...

Why has he been distant? Is he avoiding me? Does he not want this? What’s his deal?

Pushing those questions aside, you focused on the pleasure, recalling the night of your birthday. The way his tongue moved on your chest, the way he sucked your tits—it all felt so vivid. Suddenly, everything felt hotter, thick drops of sweat coating your forehead despite the air conditioning set to its coldest.

Hongjoong, watching you pleasuring yourself through the glass door of the cabin, curtains slightly pushed aside, was torn with dilemma, as he’d definitely felt someone watching him the whole evening.

Should I go in? She definitely wants this... She does feel something, right? But what if they find out?

What if they come to this town looking for me? Will Y/N’s life be in danger? Will they come after her too?

"Joong, please... touch me, sir..." you whimpered, your fingers rubbing harder against your cunt, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your left hand squeezed your tits, the same ones Hongjoong had once covered with sweet kisses, unaware that you were being watched.

Hongjoong’s dick hardened at the mouthwatering sight, forming a tent in his pants. Shit, he needed release, and he needed it now. His hands automatically went to his clothed member, touching and rubbing, trying to soothe himself.

Checking to see if the hallway was clear, he pulled his throbbing cock out, hoping to relieve that ache, even just a tiny bit, as your moans provided music to his ears. His mind took him down the rabbit hole where his dirty fantasies lived, away from the world. Your taste still fresh in his mind, his pace quickened. The idea of bending you over and fucking deep inside, with his girthy dick exploring your insides, was something he desperately needed to happen.

He covered his mouth as dangerous groans threatened to escape his lips while his hand worked on his throbbing cock, rubbing ferociously. His eyes flicked to you—the sight of your lips between your teeth, eyes tightly shut, sweat dripping off your face—pushed him closer to the edge.

Your fingers quickened against your cunt as you rubbed harder and faster, breathless moans leaving your lips, traveling to Hongjoong outside the door, pushing him over the edge as he came hard in his hand, slick dripping down his legs. Your fast movements also pushed you off the edge as you came undone on the fluffy sheets.

Hongjoong and you both breathed deeply, trying to recover from the intense high, and just when the timing couldn’t have been worse, he heard footsteps approaching, heading toward your rooms at the back of the ship.

To save both you and himself from getting caught, he entered your room, causing you to freeze at his sudden entrance, all your actions coming to a painful stop. Your face turned cherry red. Embarrassed.

Was he watching me this whole time? Fuck! Fuck! I even called his name out loud. He definitely heard that... Fuck my life! Your mind was a mess, embarrassment taking the best of you as the older male stood in front of you, wet stains in his pants showing that he had cum.

"Y/N, stop... someone’s coming," Hongjoong said, warning you about someone approaching the back of the ship. "Pretend you’re sleeping," he added as he gently laid you on the bed, tucking you under the covers. He quickly hid behind the door, the room dark enough that no one outside would see him there.

The footsteps came to a halt in front of your door, lingered for a few moments, then walked away.

Who could be up at this time of night? Hongjoong thought to himself. Ah, probably one of the kids. He decided to check to make sure the path was clear, and to his surprise, no one was there. Hmm... was my mind playing games with me?

“All clear,” he announced as he turned towards you, hand still holding the door knob, ready to leave. He took one final glance at your sleeping figure, about to step out.

“Are you gonna leave me already, sir?” your voice dripped with innocence as you sat up on the bed, propped on your knees, looking almost like an angel fallen from heaven. A request Hongjoong so desperately wanted to fulfill but couldn’t, as his eyes flicked to the window behind you, a red cross plastered on it.

Shit! Are they here already? Is this them telling me they’re watching me?

I need to get out of here, and fast. And I need to make sure they don’t harm her, he thought to himself.

“Sorry, angel,” he said, gripping your cheeks and pecking your lips. “I can’t put your life in danger.” He lingered there for a second before backing off and leaving the room, disappearing into the darkness.

What did he mean by he can’t put my life in danger? Is someone after him? Why the fuck did he have to kiss me... if he has no intention of being with me?

What is going on, Joong? What are you hiding?

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[sadesluvr]

Black Christmas - S. Raglan x Reader x M. Schmidt

Mike’s job as a park ranger becomes interesting when a mysterious couple stay five nights in a winter lodge.

A/N: HOLY FUCK. This is my longest and most tiring fic in a while (for all the right reasons) and I’m really excited to share it with you! It was loosely inspired by the req and work by @dilfbabie (HERE) but this has a festive, darker spin. This is for the people who voted for a Steve/William aligned reader, and is porn with plot. Further details in the tags, but this is reminiscent of a Jordan Peele film (aka the best kind of film), so dark themes lie ahead. I really hope you all enjoy it, consider it a Christmas gift ;)

Word count: 5.3K

Tags: SMUT (Porn with plot) / Slow burn / Fem! Reader / Threesome / Brief mentions of abuse / Alcohol usage / Oral sex, male receiving / Fingering / Blowjobs / Voyeurism / Cowgirl (position) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Psychological manipulation / Deception / Dub-Con (if you squint) / Cheating --- MINORS DNI

MONDAY

Mike had grown to find that being a park ranger was far more amusing than working as mall security. He loved being surrounded by the natural world, and the relatively isolated nature of the job - outside of being with his colleagues - meant that he had time alone. Time to think.

It was even more enjoyable in the winter, specifically the Christmas period, where he revelled in the contrast of the bustle of the shopping district with the tranquil sightings of caribou and squirrels.

It was standard procedure for the rangers to meet the guests of the lodges they inhabited, simply as an act of trust building. Today was no different, except for the fact that he was standing at the door of one of the largest and lavish buildings in the resort, which only meant one thing…Snobby, rich inhabitants.

When you answered the door, your lips parted in a brief moment of shock, adjusting your relaxed posture so that you were upright. 

“Hi…” you said, an unplaced smile appearing on the corner of your lips. “Can I help you Officer…?”

“Mike,” he quickly added. “I’m sure you’ve seen me in the pamphlet, but I’m your designated ranger for this district. I’m here for your safety,”

You seemed somewhat confused at this, but also rather appreciative.

“Thanks…” you replied, absentmindedly fiddling with your necklace. “We— Uh, we haven’t looked at that much yet, actually…”

Mike nodded. You’d probably just moved in, likely more desperate for a shower and a nap than read pages of menial information. 

“My pager codes should be taped to the wall in the kitchen. Outside of patrols and emergencies — weather, rabid animals, that sort of thing — I’ll shouldn’t be in your hair,”

You cocked your head, seemingly interested in something about him. He was cute; boyish in contrast to his position that was usually reserved for those with blatant machismo. You wondered how he got it in the first place.

You nodded back, fingers lingering on the door as you swung it. “Oh, well that’s great, thank —“

“Babe? Who is that? You’re taking an awful while to — Oh, hello Officer…?”

Your interaction was interrupted by an older, taller man who emerged from the stairs behind you. He was dressed in an off-yellow utility suit - likely for skiing - in which a purple sweater peeked out from underneath. His hair was groomed and he wore large, slightly out of fashion glasses. He rested an arm above you, leaning it on the doorframe, and Mike squinted as he noticed that you’d shifted uncomfortably at the movement before trying to compose yourself.

He was lost in his thoughts, temporarily oblivious to the fact that the man was staring at him expectedly. 

“ — Mike, “ he stammered, giving the man his name.

“Your badge says Michael,” he replied, matter of factly.

“I prefer Mike,”

“Hm,” the man mused, the grumble seemingly coming from the depths of his chest. “That’s odd. Usually you guys are referred to by your last name…”

Mike wasn’t sure about you, but this mysterious man was definitely a rich asshole. They always assumed they knew everything. 

“It’s Schimdt — Michael Schmidt…but please, Mike is fine,” he replied, shifting his weight and pursing his lips. Strangely, the man’s blue eyes widened, and he cocked his head, softening his demeanour. Your gaze was fixed to the floor uncomfortably, and Mike could only decipher that you were embarrassed by the man’s insistence. The entire thing was borderline uncomfortable.

Yet, at that moment, he smiled.

“The name’s Steve,” he perked up, extending his hand for the smaller man to shake. He took it, and the man’s grip was firm and assuring, leading Mike to believe that he was some kind of businessman.

“Thank you, Mike,” continued sincerely, his voice noticeably soft. “Hopefully we’ll see you around then,”

Mike blinked and glanced at you. You were still, almost motionless, with Steve protectively hovering over you. He could tell he’d interrupted something.

“You too,” he replied, beginning to back away as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Happy holidays.”

TUESDAY 

During the ins and outs of his job, Mike had been trying to rack his brain, wondering if he’d ever come across this ‘Steve’ before, but to no avail. Perhaps he’d just gotten the wrong person. Michael was a very common name, after all.

He wondered about you, though. You were certainly younger than him, and although he’d come across his share of problematic couples, there was something far more striking about you than the rest. Steve’s authoritarian presence, coupled with your seemingly shy, introverted own, was usually a cocktail that led to disaster. He wasn’t a cop, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep tabs on you, would it?

It seemed that the time would come quicker than expected. The next morning he’d received a ‘111’ message from your residence, and hadn’t wasted time in making his way up to see you.

Upon being let in, he quickly found out that you were alone, with Steve having run out for groceries. Apparently, you’d been hearing ‘rattling and shaking’ in the vents, and simply feared being home alone with the threat of a robbery looming over your head. He’d checked the vents, scoping the interior out for signs of damage or entry, quickly finding out that badger had made a home inside the walls, earning a good chuckle from the pair of you.

“I’m so embarrassed!” you’d gushed, and Mike had smiled slightly at your flustered demeanour. You were dressed rather nicely for an early morning, in a chic turtleneck, pants and a pair of Moon Boots. It didn’t take a genius to decipher that you either came from, or was in contact with a lot of money.

“No problem…” he chuckled, feeling the quiet instinct to pry. “So, Steve just left you here, even with the threat of an intruder?”

Your shoulders visibly dropped at the fact. 

“Pretty much…” you sighed, masking your nervous energy by removing a mug from the coffee machine, pouring some fixings into the liquid before taking a sip, exhaling deeply.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you sighed, and Mike stiffened at the way you were so sincere, eyes locked on his own as you seemingly read his mind. “You have a point, but I like that he doesn’t baby me. But it does scare the shit out of me, knowing that we’re basically in the wilderness. Anything could happen…!”

He nodded.

“Well, you’re more likely to be attacked by kids at Santa’s Grotto than a bear,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t worry…”

You smiled, gaze unwavering as you sipped the drink, admiring the rich taste on your tongue. It was as if you were a siren, beckoning him towards you with an indescribable aura. There was more you wanted to say, but you couldn’t say it.

Biting the bullet, he cleared his throat. 

“Hey — This may not be my place, but is everything okay? When he came down the other day I saw you tense up,” Mike finished, and you let out a low hum as you contemplated the implications of his statement.

“We’re having a few issues,” you said, rolling your eyes, apparently brushing the situation off. “We’d been arguing a lot back home, and he booked this trip so we could regroup and stuff. I’m grateful, and I might even love him – but it doesn’t make me any less paranoid. I never know how he’s feeling, y’know? He’s a bit off sometimes…”

‘Off’. 

That was certainly one way to put it, Mike thought.

“...Does he hurt you?”

“God no,” you insisted. “He’s just — Well, let’s just say that he’s not all that open about his past,”

Silence. 

Mike let out a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips, musing on what you could’ve meant. He averted his gaze to glance around the cabin. It was rather lush, with floor to ceiling windows, marble countertops and rich oak accents; perhaps you were living beyond your means? Every item in his sight seemed relatively normal, blankets, keys, even a small Christmas tree with a few presents underneath. Still, it meant nothing. After all, nobody kept their secrets on display - no, those kinds of things were reserved for a bedroom…Or basement. Or the trunk of a car. Or in the psychological prison of the mind.

“…I should finish getting ready,” your voice interjected. “Thanks for the help, Mike,” you said sweetly, and he nodded before turning around and making his way to let himself out. As he placed a foot down the first step, something turned him around, and he was shocked to see that you weren’t far behind him. He hadn’t heard you follow him.

“By the way —“ he said, clearing his throat again. “I’m doing a patrol on Thursday, so I’ll be around…Just if you need to talk…”

He hoped he wasn’t being too forward.

You smiled, and this time Mike could see the emotion in your eyes.

“Good to know,”

WEDNESDAY 

One of the best things about the job were the treetop viewing platforms. It gave a 360 view of the resort, and Mike was able to see near and far with his pair of binoculars. It was certainly a task that Abby would’ve loved, if she were ever allowed to see him work.

On this particular morning, he was scoping out the usuals - people on the slopes, those taking photos, and the general assortment of vehicles that came in and out of the building. Still, he found himself looking westward toward the lodging you were living in. Call it paranoia, or call it doing his duty, he couldn’t pry himself from the familiar outline of the building.

All seemed normal, until he’d focused on the top window, the largest one of the house that sat behind a balcony. There was no sign of you on the outside, other than the table and chairs, but it was what was enclosed behind that glass that worried him.

Sure enough, you and Steve were there. He couldn’t make out from the resolution, but your face was pressed to the glass, with Steve behind you, clearly leaving little room for you to move. Mike felt his chest constrict, tongue swiping over his lips as he zoomed in, silently praying that you weren’t being hurt.

It turned out that hurt was the complete opposite of what you were undergoing. There you were; totally nude with Steve’s large arms around your throat, kissing your neck as he jerked, your body writhing about as he did. Mike knew all too well what you were doing, and it didn’t take long for the blood to rush from his cheeks to his cock, praying that his growing bulge wouldn’t be visible to anyone. 

Your eyes were half lidded as you scrambled to hold onto something, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder what your moans sounded like. Were you a screamer or a whimperer? Judging by the way the older man was ravishing you, it seemed to be somewhere in between the two.

Swallowing, he lowered the binoculars, pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what he’d just done. There was no ridding the image from his mind, certainly not when he’d taken in every crevice of your body. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets to try to suppress his base urges, storing the image securely for later.

THURSDAY 

Mike rubbed his eyes as he slid into the company car, ready to do his rounds. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. 

His grip remained firm on the steering wheel, carefully navigating the elevated roads. A fresh layer of snow had settled over the past day, and the last thing he needed was to skid off into the trees. It was funny that the winter wonderland around him couldn’t mask the fact it was in a place like this where his family’s life had been turned upside down — where his brother had been cruelly and callously taken…All under his watch.

Sometimes he couldn’t live with himself.

He was at the bottom of the final stretch of lodges when he noticed two figures trudging down the hill. Their arms were outstretched and faces scrunched - and Mike recognised you instantly. Steve was following after you whilst your arms were crossed, clearly having a temper tantrum of some kind. Squinting, he tried to make himself unnoticeable as he listened in.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to see her! I love kids!”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see her, it’s just — Well, it’s not that easy…”

“How could this be difficult? I’m your girlfriend. She’s your daughter. Someday we’ll have to cross paths, right? Unless I’m some silly fling to you…”

“You’re not, okay? You know I love you. It’s complicated - Vanessa, she’s a little volatile —“

“I wonder where she gets that from,”

Frowning, Mike came out of the car, slamming the door with force to alert the two of you. He crossed his arms around his chest, scatters of snow crunching under his boots as he made his way towards you.

“Is there a problem?” 

“Mike,” Steve said, any specific emotion unreadable in his voice. He looked the man up and down as if to intimidate, but Mike didn’t budge. “…What’re you doing here?”

“My job,” He said sternly, to which you smirked. His eyes darted between the two of you, and he cocked his head. “Is there an issue here, or?”

Steve cast you a frosty glare, to which you rolled your eyes. Shaking yourself off, you assumed a stricter posture before focusing your attention onto the smaller man in front of you.

“Mike —“ you said, matter of factly. “Be a dear and give me a ride to the leisure centre. I need a masseuse… I have a knot that just won’t go away,”

There was nothing but fury in Steve’s eyes as Mike nodded, stepping to the side to allow you to pass through to the vehicle. As he opened the passenger door for you, he could feel the older man’s stare, burning a hole in his neck and seeping out his insides. Shutting the door, he walked round to the other side of the car, jaw ticking and lips pulled into a straight line. He barely knew Steve, but what he did know was that he was an asshole.

The car ride was silent for all of two minutes when Mike perked up, clearing his throat whilst his eyes remained on the road. He’d only snuck occasional glances at your thighs, and even then he was unable to rid the image of you nude.

“…Who’s Vanessa?”

You scoffed, slumping back in your seat as you lay your head against the car window.

“So you did hear,” you chuckled defeatedly. “His daughter. He doesn’t want me to see her,”

“Oh,” was all Mike could say, and he decided to let you draw the emotion out of your body yourself.

“I hate when he does this!” You exclaimed, arms folded. “He makes me feel so dirty! Like, what the fuck is he saying? That I’m not good enough to meet her?!”

“I’m sure that’s not the case…” Mike said softly. “I mean, if it were down to me, I know I’d love for my daughter and girlfriend to hang out, especially during the holidays,”

The statement caused you to smile, and you shook your head defeatedly. 

“I’m shacking it up with her father during the best time of year…” you said incredulously, looking out onto the icy white paradise around you. “She probably hates me…”

The thought of a girl being without her father on Christmas was enough to make you sob, salty tears pricking your eyes and eventually running down your cheeks. Covering your mouth, you let out a little whimper that alerted Mike, his kind brown eyes briefly leaving the road to watch your face. He wasted no time in pulling over, making sure the car was locked in position before he placed an arm on your shoulder, the sudden contact making you break down even more. Before he knew it, you were crying on his shoulder, hiding your face in the fleece-like insides of his jacket. The man remained quiet, but rubbed your back, narrowing his eyes as he tried to piece together your relationship.

He was beginning to lose himself in your scent when you pulled away, eyes red and slightly watery. Your faces were close, and you stared at him in a way that both made him feel guilty and aroused, eyes wide but enigmatic. He followed your gaze to his lips, and he slowly parted his own to exhale, hyper aware of the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

Brushing your fingertips across his cheeks, you leaned up to plant a kiss on his lips, your taste bittersweet as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper. He certainly hoped Steve wasn’t close behind, as he didn’t let go, instead parting his lips to whisper your name as your tongues began to dance against the others’. His hands were all over your body, and he was fairly certain that your hand had made his way to his pelvis, threatening to brush his cock.

He cursed himself when he gasped at the motion, which had caused you to pull away. As if you’d been under a spell, you felt flushed, stuck between wanting to leave the car and staying with Michael.

“Thank you…” you whispered, glancing down before looking out of the windshield. The reception to the rest of the resort wasn’t far from here, and you decided you needed to clear your head. “You’re a great guy, Mike.”

FRIDAY

It had been twelve hours since you’d shared a kiss with Mike, and he was beginning to think he’d known you forever. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, even when they’d received a severe weather warning at midday. Needless to say, he was excited to ring your particular lodge…Just as long as Steve didn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s Mike…We’re expecting a snowstorm in a couple of hours and we’re instituting a 7PM curfew,”

“Shit…Really?” You’d said, somewhat muffled, and Mike could hear you biting down on the fingertips of your thumb. “ I didn’t hear anything about this — Steve’s down at the casino…”

“I’m sure word will get to him,” he insisted. “Stay safe —“

“Wait, Mike? C-Can you come over? I want to make sure everything’s reinforced…”

It was apparent that you and Mike both knew that the lodges, especially the ones you were living in, were more than secure. You’d smiled and let out an exasperated, somewhat overdramatic ‘Thanks’, and had clasped your hands in front of you, leisurely strolling around the building as he confirmed the obvious. You seemed more free, whimsical even, dressed in a deep red couture tracksuit, perfectly painted toes on display. Perhaps the kiss, and Steve’s absence, had brought out the real you.

He didn’t know he could have such an effect on someone. 

As he clicked off his flashlight, he smirked at you, to which you returned, and drummed his hand on the countertops.

“Is everything okay, Officer?” you lulled.

“A-Ok,” he hummed, watching as you walked closer towards him, a mischievous grin in your eye. He froze slightly when you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his front, but found himself relaxing into your touch, his own hands finding your hips.

“We have the house to ourselves…” you purred, beginning to stroke the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. He was simply too cute. “…And the view is lovely. But the company’s better…”

He nodded, lost in the way you began to pepper kisses to his neck and breath gently into his ear, that he hadn’t realised that the snow was beginning to fall…and it wasn’t about to stop.

“Shit…” he said under his breath, ruining the mood as he scrambled for his radio. He should’ve been back to the base a while ago.

“This is Mike calling in. The storm came in earlier than expected. I’m holed in at Lodge 305 waiting it out,”

“Received,” the static said. “Keep us updated.”

You could barely contain your enthusiasm at the fact, and Mike chuckled as you excitedly raced to the wine cabinet. It was going to be an interesting few hours.

LATER 

“…Part of me hopes Steve never comes back,” you slurred, wine bottle in hand as you sprawled out on the king bed, your tracksuit top since stripped, leaving you in a vest. It was obvious to Mike that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, neither. 

Mike snickered.

“You’re still mad at him?”

“Yup,” you said, popping your ‘P’. “Asshole tried to propose to me at dinner yesterday. I said no,”

He was astonished that you said it so casually.

“Woah…”

“I know,” you grinned. “Wine?”

He looked up at you uncertainly. Not necessarily because it was wrong, but because he had no idea where the night would lead him if he took even as much as a sip. “I-I can’t, I’m on the job,”

“Just a little?” You whined. “For me?”

You watched him intently as he gave in, sipping the drink and holding it on his tongue. When he realised you were staring at him, you broke into a smile, edging closer to him on the bed.

“I love that you take your job so seriously,” you cheesed, running your finger down his arm.   “Was this a boyhood dream?”

“Far from it,”

“Hm,” you said curiously, cocking your head. You’d been trying to figure Mike out for a while now. “So what’s the goal?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just to see my sister happy, I guess,”

Your heart fluttered, and there was an incomparable sensation in your loins, biting up towards your stomach. Whether it was the alcohol, the heating, or something else - your body swelled, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“You’re so sweet,” you cooed, in that oh-so famously position in front of his face, arms entangled in his.  “I love that about you, Mike,”

“Love?”

“I wish all guys were like you,” was all you said, and you thrust yourself on top of him, his back flat against the mattress. He didn’t stop you; letting you take charge as you straddled his torso, pressing your breasts against his chest as his hands found your body. He was insatiable, greedy yet very needy, and found himself succumbing to your every whim. 

Mike let out a whimper as you rubbed yourself gently along his clothed cock, growing irritated at the layer of fabric between you two. You nipped at his ear and giggled, dancing your hands along his body before you reached his bulge, giving it a gentle squeeze before you went back to teasing him with your hips.

“D’ya want me, Mike?” you purred. “Say the word and I’ll be yours…”

“Mmfh…” he grumbled, trying and failing to pull himself away from you, particularly as his hands found your hardening nipples, desperate to take one between his teeth. “What about Steve?” He said from below you. “I could get fired, I —“

Cupping his face in your hands, you stared him down, voice almost emotionless as you spoke.

“Mike, you may not know it, but when you’re rich, you can get away with anything…”

That was enough confirmation as he needed as he arched his back, angling himself up into your kiss. He was both surprised and aroused at how firm your grip was on him, legs quite literally locking him down below you. Your wanting mouth was wide as your chest heaved, grinning down at him as you slid your arm back, down his pants to touch his hardened cock. 

Mike shut his eyes and groaned as you tugged on him, expertly sliding your hips down his body, fixing yourself into position so that you were level his penis, your ass in his face.

“Touch me, Mike,” you slurred as you took him in your mouth, giddy as he pulled down your sweats a crack so that he could massage your ass, fingers lingering by your lacy underwear. His touch sent chills down your spine, prompting you to take him further, tongue flat against the underside of his organ. His index finger slipped into your crevice, stroking your walls before he slid a finger into your pussy, making you whimper. It had been so long since Mike had been touched - and had touched someone in such a way - that he wasn’t planning on letting go of the feeling any time soon.

Even if your boyfriend came in.

“Babe? I’m sorry, I got caught up in —“ 

“Steve!” You said sweetly, releasing Mike from your mouth with a ‘pop’. “How nice of you to join us!”

The wording struck Michael as odd, but he chalked it down to the thick layer of condescension in your voice. 

Steve stared right past you and towards Mike, narrowing his eyes. The younger man swallowed, wanting to push you off of him, but found himself drawn to the silent aura of the man, much more the way a bulge was visible in his pants also. 

“I can explain—“ he stammered, exasperated as you played with him in your hands, index finger and thumb squeezing the tip as your eyes darted between the two men. How were you so relaxed about this?

“No need to worry about it, Mike,” Steve said, his tone surprisingly sympathetic as he zipped down his own pants. “I don’t mind sharing her...In fact, I love showing my darling off,” he grinned, almost sadistically as he bared his teeth and dimples. Steve placed his larger, calloused hands on your neck, his thumb brushing your cheek affectionately as he did. Mike felt somewhat betrayed by the way there was a glint of happiness in your eye; much more the way he pulled you into a sloppy, passionate kiss as you stroked the older man instead of him.

Once the pair of you pulled apart, his blue eyes were clouded with lust as he patted your cheek, thumb tracing your lips before he pulled away. You kissed the digit tentatively, chin in the air as you glanced down at Mike, silent, but smiling. 

Ironically, you were a healthy couple playing a twisted game, and you’d been in on it all along. 

Steve cleared his throat, loosening a button on his shirt as you span around, your own pelvis holding down Mike’s own. Mike should’ve despised the situation in its entirety, but the way his cock twitched was undeniable. It was as if this fucked up situation were unlocking something within him, and he didn’t know for how much longer he could hold it back.

“…I love the way men like you look at her and want nothing more than to fuck her brains out. Do you know what it feels like to win? To know that she’s yours?” Steve drawled, watching almost in admiration as you pulled off your sweats, sliding your underwear to the side as you lined up Mike’s cock with your entrance. 

“Of course you don’t,” he said condescendingly. “...Your life is about to be hell, Mike. You deserve something good…” The older man hissed, coincidentally aligning with the hiss from Mike’s own mouth who was too much in a state of ecstasy to register the comment. His precum was dribbling on your wet folds, and he longed for a bit of friction. 

You placed a hand on Mike’s chest, smiling down at him with the same expression he’d come to fall for in the first place, paired with your soft, unsuspecting voice. 

“Do you wanna fuck me, Mike? I bet you’d make me feel so good…”

“Y-Yeah..” he whimpered lowly, and he moaned as you sunk yourself onto his bare cock, gripping your body at the tight, wet pressure of your gummy walls. Steve hummed in amusement as he watched you begin to ride him; slowly at first, giving him enough leeway to insert himself into your mouth. 

He’d had you a million times before, but he never grew tired of the sensation. He gripped the back of your head as he moved your face up and down his shaft, groaning as he fucked your mouth in tandem.

“You’ve always been a maneater, haven’t you baby?” Steve cooed. “My little slut,” he spat, and Mike furrowed his brows, feeling his cock twitch in you at the statement. You were clearly just a few rich people with a perverted pastime, and he’d been taken as collateral. He’d probably feel disgusted in the morning, but as of right now he was in heaven.

You steadied yourself on Mike’s cock, pressing down a hand into his pelvis as Steve’s grip tightened on your face, greedy as one hand reached down to grope your breasts.

“Go on, Mike,” he chuckled arrogantly. “Give em a feel,”

You took Mike's hand in your own, throwing your head back at the sensation of being fondled and prodded by two men simultaneously. Steve’s cock was hitting the back of your throat, your nose buried into the fabric of his clothes, stray grey pubic hairs tickling your nose as he did. Mike’s dick was buried in you, and you were 99% sure you’d sheathed himself to the hilt. You hadn’t even needed to move your hips for that long, and Mike had begun to take agency as rock his hips up into your own, the skin-on-skin sounds borderline pornographic.

“Shit,” Mike whispered, feeling his stomach begin to knot up, and you gasped, talking around Steve’s cock that sent vibrations through the spectacled man’s lower half.

“Are you gonna cum, Mikey? You wanna fill this pussy up?” you teased, circling your hips uncontrollably, Mike’s penetrative thrusts becoming shallow but frequent. He groaned in response, and Steve chuckled, one hand your back so he stabilised you, making sure your lush lips were still attached to his shaft. Mike may have been getting the goods, but he owned you, and his pleasure came first. Even in a group of three. 

Feeling closer to your own orgasm, you slammed your hips down onto Mike, holding him in position as he came; desperately clutching the sheets as he spilled into you, mumbling to himself incoherently. Steve was gracious enough to pull himself from your mouth, a bridge of spit connecting you two as he did. Instinctively, you jerked him off, your warm hands sliding up and down effortlessly on his sloppy dick, still grinding your hips on Mike as he was beginning to come down from his high.

Steve came with a grumble, and it wasn’t long until you followed him after, grinning mischievously as fresh white trails of his seed painted your face. Glancing over at Mike - who looked totally spent - you ran your tongue along Steve’s pink shaft to clean him up, writhing as you stimulated Mike’s softening cock, producing a groan from the brunette. 

You were light headed as you fell back onto the sheets, smiling as Steve stroked your semi-nude body adoringly, lulling you off to sleep.

THE MORNING AFTER

Mike was awakened to a banging on the door, swearing under his breath as he contemplated how this looked. Sitting up, he scanned the room for a sign of you, or even Steve, but to no luck. 

He looked out of the window. The snowstorm was over.

Perhaps you’d just gone out for breakfast.

He hurried his clothes on, placing his hands on his hips as he tried to shake the hazy memories of the night before. He was just in time as an officer entered, worried as he saw his colleague enter with guns.

“W-What’s going on?” he asked, squinting. 

“We have a warrant for a visitor's arrest,” he drawled. “A Mr William Afton…?”

Mike frowned. The name wasn’t familiar.

The officer raised a brow, leaving the room once the coast was clear. As he did, Mike caught a glimpse of the poster in his back pocket, the face painfully recognisable. 

WANTED: Child abduction and murder.

[hildeeveraert]

Ernie Eetak (ᑮᓈᓕᒃ ᐅᓂ ᖃᑲᒥ), Arviat Waiting for seal and bearded seal. I wear all caribou, including caribou antler sun glasses

[dvchvnde]

You woke to the muted sound of a hunting knife sliding across a whetstone. The metallic, hollow grind pulling you from your slumber instead of the usual murmur of a song you've yet to unravel. Johnny barely looked up from the table when you called out his name. 

“Leavin’,” he grunted, taking his hand off the stone to dig the heel of his palm sharply into his eye socket. Grinding hard into his bones. “Gotta hunt.” 

He caught a big caribou the other day that have up enough meat to last a few months. Still. You hold your tongue, and let him leave with nothing more than an okay spilling from your lips. 

It'll be fine. He just needs to clear his head, escape for a few hours—

But the minutes drag on. 

The raven caws in his absence, pecking for food just outside your window. He lingers in the mid-morning fog, when the sky yawns with soft peony lips, and a lavender tongue. Blinking golden flecks of sleep from its eyes that rain down in ochre smears across steel blue. 

You pick at the bannock Johnny left. Sip from the glass of still water. 

He'll be back. 

The raven’s caw is mocking today. She laughs at you from her perch, beady eyes drilling holes into the side of your head. You try to ignore her, but she's all you have for company today. Her—

And this rot inside of your head. This poison.

The cabin is quieter when he's gone. An unnatural stillness lingers in the old wood, in the corners that feel bigger without his presence to fill them. You feel it in the air, too—an oppressive weight subsumes from the rotting wood, leaking out in the absence, the vacancy, he leaves behind. 

Without him here, everything has a moment to breathe. 

It slinks out into the hush, spurned on by the silence. Thoughts rear. Ones that are easily pushed back into the gaping recess of your mind when he places his hand on your jaw, thumbing away the knot of anxiety bubbling in your chest. 

It blooms now. The soundlessness entices it to sneak from the place he tucks it into, keeping it prisoner. This awful knot shifts itself into a burning restlessness that itches under your skin, festering. Your joints ache. Your leg trembles. 

It'll be fine, it says, full of succor even as it throws your loss of agency in your face. Makes you resentful of the lack of freedom you have, angry. 

Shame pools in the gaps of your ribs when you lean back in the bed to stifle the surge of panic that beads up as the hours drag by. Without him—

No.

He'll be back soon. 

He has to be. Has to. You'll die here if he doesn't come home. If something happens to him out there. You'll—

Outside, the raven trills again. 

“Shut up,” you hiss, words daggered at nothing. “Shut up, shut up—”

[bossymarmalade]

Melaw Nakehk’o, “Free Palestine” (2023), traditionally smoked moose and caribou hide, glass beads, embroidery thread, sinew 

“We really need to take a look at silencing as being a core failure of the decolonization and Indigenization platforms these institutions claim to be incorporating into their spaces,” Aylan Couchie said, adding that communities “need the freedom to speak to settler colonialism everywhere, including in Palestine.” [x]

[starburstsystem]

👑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎🖤🤍

⋆꙳ •̩̩͙ ❅*̩̩͙‧ ͙ ₊ ˚｡⋆ ❆ ⋆｡˚ ₊ ‧͙*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

NAME: Ranboo Beloved

NICKNAME(S): Ran, Boo, Mr Boo, Beloved

AGE: 18+ (early 20s)

GENDER: nonbinary, sleepinertiac, endergender

PRONOUNS: he/him, they/them, boo/boos/booself

ORIENTATION: MLM, aroace (queerplatonic attraction)

⋆꙳ •̩̩͙ ❅*̩̩͙‧ ͙ ₊ ˚｡⋆ ❆ ⋆｡˚ ₊ ‧͙*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

SPECIES: Enderman

ROLE: Anxiety holder, cooking alter

TYPE: Fictive introject

SOURCE(S): DSMP

⋆꙳ •̩̩͙ ❅*̩̩͙‧ ͙ ₊ ˚｡⋆ ❆ ⋆｡˚ ₊ ‧͙*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

BOUNDARIES:

- do not force him to talk/speak

- prefers not to engage in or discuss dsmp discourse/creator drama

- Ranboo has exomemories but prefers to (for the most part) keep them to himself. Please do not purposely try to trigger his memories. He is rather connected to his source.

- you CAN however tag/send us fanart of dsmp!Ranboo, Tubbo, or Michael, RESPECTFULLY <3

- flirting is a huge no ❌ Ranboo is happily married.

♡ LIKES: Winter, snow, his family (his queerplatonic husband, Tubbo 🌼, and his zombie pigman son, Michael 🩷), Snowchester, walks, piano, journalling, books, libraries, poetry, stained glass, exstistentalism, purple yellow or red flowers (specifically alliums, dandelions, sunflowers, or red spider plants), deer and caribou, cats, the colors purple, red, yellow, black and white, sweaters, ghost motifs, minecraft, hot tea, dark academia aesthetic, sleeping and naps.

X DISLIKES: loud noises, too many people talking, big crowds, being forced to speak, Mellohi.

FAVORITE SONGS:

- Fallen Down • Toby Fox and the cover by Ricky Not Montgomery

- Fallen Down on Old Piano • BaileyPiano

- Amnesia Was Her Name • Lemon Demon

- Look Who's Inside Again • Bo Burnham and the cover by LON3RR

- Stuff Is Way • They Might Be Giants

- Ghosting • Mother Mother

- Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist • Rory Webley

- Ramblings of a Lunatic • Bears In Trees

- We'll Never Have Sex • Leith Ross

- j's lulluby (darlin' i'd wait for you) • Dalaney Bailey

EXTRA:

-> not super verbally talkative but writes a lot

-> anxious and very awkward, but also very gentle and careful and kind

(ALL ART GOES TO ITS RESPECTED OWNERS!! I DID NOT DRAW ANY OF THESE!! I AM MERELY ADDING THESE TO BETTER SHOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT MY IDENTITY AS AN ALTER)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

🍷The Heir of Evil🐉 AU Reader Lore, Part Two: IceWings and Other Tribes Edition:

• IceWings in this AU aren't well known amongst the dragons, due to living in the Ice Kingdom, where it is cold all year round and is cold enough that other dragons could last maybe a day or two, as long as they are are not too far in their territory, but no longer than that...

• IceWings are regarded as strange and unnatural due to being the only tribe of the ten existing tribes to like the cold, need to be cold, and radiate coldness from their scales...

• IceWing blood is blue, but if their blood is rich with iron, it can be almost indigo in color. The lighter blue their blood, the more anemic and sickly they are...

• IceWings have slightly odd voices, high-pitched in some notes and low and soothing in others; their voices and tones seem to match the wintery environment they live in (when mad, their voice is thick and roaring like a blizzard, when sad their voice is like soft snowfall, when happy their voice is like twinkling icicles, when panicked their voice cracks like breaking glaciers-)

• IceWings wear different pendants and charms for good luck, health, love, and happiness. Circles represent and are supposed to draw in good health, a predator's teeth or claws or talons symbolize good luck, cute animals like seals or foxes or puffins or penguins are thought to bring happiness, twined branches or tails or antlers symbolize love, and three moonglobes represent the tribe's resilience and love and loyalty to their kingdom (there are more pendants and charms and symbols, but I'll explore those at a later date)

• It is traditional for an IceWing dragonet at age three (about 6 in human years), to have caught at least three pieces of prey, one from a circle of subsistence, one from the snowy tundra, and one from the ocean/coast...

• IceWings have festivals dedicated to the Great Ice Dragon, ones for arts and crafts and inventions, ones for ice carving, ones for poetry and literature, festivals for feasting, festivals for fasting, even festivals to honor the dead and to celebrate dragonets and families...

• IceWings drink frozen lemonade, berry slush drinks, iced coffee, and cold sweet tea. They have to use cups ands glasses and goblets carved from ice, made from metal, or a specialty type of porcelain or wood that won't shatter in the freezing climate of the Ice Kingdom...

• IceWings eat a variety of cold and raw dishes, such as: salmon and tuna carpaccio (thinly sliced meat), lightly sautéed reindeer, fish larb (fish salad), caribou and lobster surf and turf, sashimi, shrimp sushi, prawn cocktails, crab and lobster bisque, crab cakes, elk/oxen/hawk jerkey, whale fins served with whale and seal blubber, shark steaks, orca filets wrapped in seaweed, seal and moss salad, puffin served whole, stuffed hawks...

• Reader wears a pendant/pouch necklace, gifted to them at hatching by their late parent. No one saw Reader's hatching, save for their aforementioned late parent and an old "friend" of their's...

• Reader shines their scales at least five times a day, as they like to feel clean and to shine like a polished diamond. Part of it is because they have to look and act perfect at all times, so if they were dirty, it might reflect badly on them and their tribe...

• Reader donates any food the palace can't eat to the outer villages of their kingdom. This has earned them a reputation among the IceWings outside of the palace as a benevolent ruler, one who cares about them. Reader also goes to festivals thrown by those villages, and pays respect to each village elder and bard, as well as their monuments to the Great Ice Dragon and ice spirits...

• Reader doesn't remember much about their parent, and they don't know who their other parent/s were. Neither do the nobles, generals, or advisors who knew the royal family before they disappeared or died or were executed...

• Reader's army of pet foxes adore them, and Reader has more-or-less forbid eating any foxes that have a collar, as those are pets of either Reader or someone who was gifted a pet fox/kit...

• IceWing hybrids are sometimes looked down on outside of the IceWing tribe unless they (seemingly) hate the IceWings (or at least the royal family and nobility) and embrace their other tribe fully...

• A few of the platonic yans are IceWing hybrids or IceWing hybrid descendants (can you guess which ones?)

• Reader wears a few ceremonial pieces of IceWing jewelry, but prefer to wear anything that isn't too flashy or gaudy. They like colorful gems and charms, but prefer pastels or lighter shades; anything too bright or even (-IceWing gasp-) neon is politely refused (IceWings might be chromophobic? Afraid of too many different colors? It kinda makes sense, as the Ice Kingdom doesn't have a large variety of colors)

• Reader is the last surviving royal of the IceWing Royal Family; all their other relatives have either been executed, died of mysterious causes, or disappeared without a trace...

• Reader loves different foods from other tribes, but mainly avoids anything too spicy...

• Reader likes to wear silver, pale gold, or black metals, and likes shiny objects: teacups, earrings, glasses, stones, beads, bones, ice carvings, etc. ...

• Reader will meet their other parent/s eventually, but... a few defining moments happen before then...

•Reader adores teapots and teacups, and when they were little, always wanted to have a tea party, but never did. Even as an older dragonet, they still (deep, deep down) kinda want to have one...

And have some different teas and teacups, all of which 🍷Heir of Evil🐉 Reader would want:

(Imagine that last one is their main pet fox sleeping in a large teacup😊🫖🍵☕)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 5: Sabotage]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: With the completion of Chapter 5, we are officially 1/3 of the way done with this fic series! In my opinion, things start to get really interesting in Chapter 6 so I am sooooo excited to have reached this little milestone. Thank you so so so much for reading and for your enthusiasm, questions, rants, analyses, theories, memes, and general emotional investment in NTTF. I go back to re-read your comments/tags ALL the time and they help keep me motivated to get new chapters out asap. 🥰💜

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, discussions of sex, questionable decisions, Kimmie-related chaos, Trent flexing his athletic skills.

Word count: 5.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @meadowofsinfulthoughts​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @b1gb3anz​ @hinata7346​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​​​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

It’s November 29th, the Monday after Thanksgiving. It’s also your lunch hour.

You yank open the glass front door of Caribou Crossings, the souvenir shop where Heather works. It’s mostly abandoned now that tourist season has ended, and the unloved relics stare at you with cold, oddly sentient eyes: the owls carved out of cedar wood, bears carved out of jade, Russian dolls, miniature totem poles, plushie salmons. You climb over the counter and sit on the floor behind the cash register, your back pressed to the wall and your arms linked around your knees. Heather is breaking open rolls of coins to restock the register, probably unnecessarily; you are the only two people in the store.

She asks, wrestling to get quarters out of a particularly stubborn wrapper: “How’s it going?”

“Not great.”

“Have you fucked British Kurt Cobain yet?”

“We’re not speaking.”

She puts down the roll of quarters and looks at you. “What happened?”

You shrug, trying to act casual, trying to not let your voice crack. You don’t think there’s any threat of tears; you’ve cried so much in the past four days that you seem to be out of them. Your eyes are perpetually pinkish, puffy, exhausted. Despite your herculean efforts to remain hydrated, you have a constant low-grade tension headache that throbs like a bruise, misery trapped beneath the skin like blue-violet blood. “It’s a long story. He came over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Okay.” Heather is perplexed. “And then he, what, drunkenly dropped the turkey on the floor? Tried to hook up with your mom? Offered to show you his collection of murder supplies?”

You smile wearily. “No. I told him that he had to get sober. And he freaked out, he was yelling, he was saying I don’t have any right to try to control him because he’s not mine and never will be. He said I was trying to use him to bail myself out of my spineless, unfulfilling life.”

She scoffs. “Well that’s not true.” Then she observes your face. “Is it…?”

You shrug again, feeling like you’re back in high school, petulant and powerless. “There are a lot of things I want to experience, a lot of places I want to go. But I haven’t done anything yet. Because I can’t tell my parents that I don’t want to stay in Juneau forever and run the vet clinic.”

This must shock Heather, but she doesn’t show it. “I can’t imagine that they would want you to stay if it made you unhappy.”

“No, they wouldn’t try to stop me. But it would break their hearts.”

There is a long, uneasy silence. At last, Heather says: “I think you should come to Ursa Minor tonight.”

“I don’t want to see Aegon.”

“I mean, Dale would probably kick him out if we asked.”

“No!” you shout, too quickly. If he doesn’t have his preferred place to drink his demons away, he might leave Juneau long before the six month deadline.

Heather raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to see him or do you not want to see him?”

You glower at the wall strewn with large, framed photographs of the Northern Lights. “I want him to apologize.”

“I have many talents, but I can’t make that happen for you,” she says. “Look, is it possible that Aegon will be at Ursa Minor? Yeah, totally. But other people are going to be there too. Me, and Joyce, and Kimmie, and Trent and all his dimwitted muscley friends…there are going to be people who care about you. There are going to be people who can help you through this. We can comfort you. We can distract you. We can curb stomp that Greek boy in the parking lot if he doesn’t behave himself. There are a lot of options.”

Lyrics from The Distance, unexpected and unwelcome, spin around in your mind like a vinyl record: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I interest you in a complementary Juneau-themed trinket? Glacial mud mask? Moose nuggets? Birch syrup? A slightly sinister-looking stuffed salmon?”

“No. I’m good.”

Heather asks with a straight face: “Do you want me to kill him?”

You laugh, your first real laugh since Thanksgiving. “No, thank you very much, but no.”

“Seriously. I could make it look like the Ice Fisher did it. No one would ever know.”

You gaze up at her from where you sit on the floor. “I love you.”

“I know, bitch.” Heather grins. “Wear something slutty this time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve spent a lot of time in your bedroom since Thanksgiving; you don’t want your parents to see you upset. They know something, of course, but they don’t interrogate you. They don’t intrude. They probably assume that you’ve broken up with Aegon—not that we were ever dating to begin with, you think sullenly—and, furthermore, that this is a painful yet indisputably wise course of action. It is a productive sort of pain, a necessary pain; it is like the deep maroon ache of a healing bone. It hurts less now than it would if you had stayed with him, married him, had children with him, attempted to build a life with him like a sandcastle razed again and again at high tide. It hurts less than if you had let yourself fall in love with him.

Oh, but didn’t I?

Alaska was purchased from Russia in 1867, just two years after the American Civil War ended, and was soon widely regarded by the still-recovering nation as a hopelessly remote and burdensome error. This impression was reversed only by the discovery of gold and the subsequent mass migration of miners to the territory beginning in the 1890s. After the booming gold industry came fishing and logging and oil and military bases, but gold was Alaska’s first saving grace. This is what you are thinking as you pencil on your black eyeliner, dust your eyelids with sheer gold glitter, paint your lips a vivid, glossy crimson. You stare at your reflection in the bedroom mirror, surrounded by photographs of your family and your friends, high school and college and vet school. There’s one image that doesn’t quite belong. It’s a cutout from one of those infinite travel magazines, a Ford Mustang convertible soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California. The man behind the wheel—tan, beaming, carefree—is wearing sunglasses and a neon green tank top. The convertible is bright red; it is nearly the same shade as your lips.

You slip into a dress you haven’t worn in years: black, short, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Ever-practical, you opt for black boots instead of heels. When you arrive at Ursa Minor, Heather is wearing a sequined hot pink tube top and white leather pants. Joyce is wearing—to Heather’s abject horror—overalls, a rainbow striped T-shirt, and a massive mustard yellow scarf that nearly swallows her into oblivion. By a pure and unfortunate coincidence, you and Aegon match. He is sitting at the bar in all black: black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, black combat boots, black sleepless shadows under both of his eyes, a black mood that sweats out of his pores like a fever. Randomly, you remember the gold chain necklace he was wearing on Thanksgiving. It didn’t look fake, and it didn’t look cheap. To your knowledge, it is the only thing of significant value that he owns. It is a peculiar luxury for him to possess.

So what? Maybe he stole it. Maybe he traded drugs for it. Maybe he got it off a corpse that he strangled and then sank into cold, silent darkness beneath an ice-covered lake.

But no, you don’t believe that. You never did, and you still don’t.

Heather slurps down her Sex On The Beach. “Is this your revenge dress? Are you invoking the spirit of Princess Diana in this fine establishment tonight?”

You gaze miserably at Aegon. He is peering down into the caramel-colored bubbles of his rum and Coke. The stereo is playing Shania Twain’s Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? “He told me he’s an awful person. That’s the worst part. Like he told me over and over again exactly what to expect and I didn’t believe him, because I was just…just…I don’t know.” Infatuated. In love. Blind. Naïve. Hopeful. “Stupid, I guess.”

“I hate men.” Heather glances to the bar. “Except Dale, he’s okay.”

“The fictional ones aren’t all bad,” Joyce says, flipping a page in her newest fantasy novel. This one has a pirate on the front, his billowing white shirt mostly unbuttoned and his long hair flowing in the wind like a hero’s cape.

“I’ve had a horrendous fucking day,” you moan. “There’s the Aegon thing, there’s the I’m never going to get out of Alaska thing, there’s the I’m going to die alone thing, and then on top of all that, I had to euthanize Ms. Ruland’s cat right before we closed.”

“Sylvester Stallone?!” Heather cries. “Sylvester died? That black and white homicidal little maniac? With the super long whiskers? Jesus, that’s tragic. I’m sorry.”

“In all fairness, he was like a gazillion years old. He probably remembered when dinosaurs roamed America. But it was still awful. Ms. Ruland was a mess. I felt totally unprepared, totally useless. I’d practiced in vet school, of course, but I’d never euthanized an animal I knew before. It was horrible trying to comfort Ms. Ruland. It was horrible seeing someone walk into the clinic with someone they loved and then walk out alone.”

Heather and Joyce nod with sad, sympathetic eyes, wanting to help but not knowing what else to say. You gulp down your pineapple-flavored Bacardi Breezer. Aegon must have complained about the Shania Twain music; Dale switches out the CD and the opening notes of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys rockets out of the stereo.

Kimmie throws open the front door and blusters into Ursa Minor, shaking the snowflakes out of her hair and wearing a sleek, skin-tight, metallic silver dress and matching platform heels. She looks like a disco ball; she looks like a mirror. She canters to the bar like a racehorse and orders herself a Miller Lite. She says something to Aegon. He mumbles back, still peering into his rum and Coke. She tries again. He shrugs and downs the rest of his drink. He glances at you—almost glaring, almost sad—and then orders another rum and Coke.

“Oh no,” Heather mutters. “Oh no, oh no, Kimmie, no.”

The front door opens again, and Trent and his friends spill inside in a loud, riotous swarm. They order beers at the bar—Trent fist-bumping Aegon, several of the other guys descending upon Kimmie to make bungling attempts at seduction—and then they migrate over to the pool table like a honking, brainless flock of geese. Trent breaks off to make a pit stop at your booth.

“Hi,” he says, smiling as he sips his Heineken.

“Hi,” you reply. Heather and Joyce’s eyes dart between you and Trent.

He points to the spot beside you, which is presently vacant. “Do you mind if I hang out for a while?”

“I think you’ll regret it. I am currently extremely depressed and boring.”

To your surprise, Trent doesn’t act like a dumbass. His voice goes gentle. His face collapses into soft, attentive pity. “What’s there to be depressed about?”

Well, you see, I accidentally fell in love with your maybe-murderer alcoholic homeless friend and in a completely unforeseeable turn of events he ruined my life. “I had to euthanize a cat today.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Trent says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my job. I should get over it.”

“No, seriously, I’m sorry.” Trent tosses his hair off his forehead in his patented horse-like maneuver, and then his gaze comes back to you. “Your job is to help animals, so I get that not being able to fix one would be really tough. But I know you’re still great at your job. I know you did everything you could.”

You stare up at Trent. Heather stares up at Trent. Joyce, having completely forgotten about her fantasy novel (a rare occurrence), stares up at Trent. Trent swallows a mouthful of Heineken; stray beads of it drip down his full lips and stubbled chin.

I couldn’t fix the cat. I couldn’t fix Aegon. I can’t fix myself.

“You can hang out if you want to,” you tell Trent, scooting over to give him space. He grins and slides into the booth, tall and broad-shouldered and tossing his hair around again, looking like goddamn Seabiscuit. You steal a glimpse of the bar. Aegon’s jaw has fallen open; he’s gaping at you with scandalized disbelief, with something like horror. You move a little closer to Trent. And Aegon, at last, turns his attention to the dramatic, irritating, captivating Kimberly Barbieri.

“So, Trent,” Heather begins slowly, apprehensively, then picks up steam. Beside her, Joyce picks up her book. “How is the salmon genocide business going?”

As you half-listen to Trent talk about fishing, which somehow—as all topics seem to do with him—leads back to football and his high school glory days, you drink your Bacardi Breezer and watch Aegon with sharp, narrowed eyes. He has relocated to the barstool next to Kimmie. He appears to be asking her questions—tentative, stilted questions—and she replies with animated laughter and calculated little touches: her fingertips grazing his wrist, her palm briefly pressed to his shoulder. You hate the way Aegon talks with his hands, those gestures which had been becoming so familiar to you. They put an ache in your chest like a nest of barbed wire.

“Bro!” one of Trent’s friends is calling from the pool table. Others are waving encouragingly. “Bro, come play! Come play! Broooooo!”

“Looks like you’re being summoned,” Heather says.

“Oh, wow, I guess so.” Trent turns to you, nervous. “Do you…uh…would you…maybe…like to join me?”

“What, playing pool?”

“Yeah.”

You try to consider this in earnest; your mind is so tangled up in Kimmie and Aegon and everything that’s transpired over the past week that the words barely sound like English. Playing. Pool. With Trent. “I don’t think I know how.”

“I’ll teach you,” he offers, quite willingly.

“Okay, maybe. Give me a few minutes, I need another drink first.”

“Want me to grab a Bacardi Breezer for you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll do it. I haven’t decided which flavor I want next yet.”

“Cool,” Trent says. He slips out of the booth and gives you one final, mock-stern, smiling warning. “Remember, I’m going to teach you how to play. Meet me at the pool table. Don’t forget. Don’t disappear.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise. He departs. You say to Heather: “I probably won’t be there.”

“Why not?” Heather asks. “You’re hot. You’ll be even hotter when you’re bent over a pool table lining up your shots. The Greek boy is already sad, but I want to see him devastated.”

“I don’t think I have that power.”

Heather smirks and wiggles her slender eyebrows. “I disagree.”

Across Ursa Minor, Kimmie leaps off her barstool and leaves Aegon to guzzle his rum and Coke in peace. She approaches your booth sheepishly, like a dog that knows he’s chewed a considerable hole in his owner’s favorite La-Z-Boy recliner. “So,” Kimmie says to you, nervously kneading her glass bottle of Miller Lite. She’s so fucking cool, you think mournfully. Cool girls drink beer, cool girls are lighthearted and fun, cool girls don’t take guys too seriously, cool girls never ask about the future. “You and Aegon.”

You drink the last of your Bacardi Breezer moodily. “What about us?”

“You aren’t…like…together, are you?”

“No. No way. I’d rather date O.J. Simpson.”

“Well…” Heather begins, and you kick her under the table. Bitch! she mouths, rubbing her shin.

“Okay,” Kimmie sighs in relief, a smile breaking across her face. The Christmas lights reflect off her silver dress; she glows, she radiates. “Good. I was hoping he wasn’t off-limits, but I wanted to check with you first. You know, in accordance with Girl Code.”

“How courteous,” you note.

Kimmie marvels dreamily: “He looked so freaking good strumming that guitar.”

“Um, Kimmie…” Heather begins again. You glare at her ferociously. Heather pivots. “He’s probably the Ice Fisher, so you should keep your distance.”

Kimmie laughs. “Aegon? The Ice Fisher?! I don’t think so. You have to be sober to meticulously kidnap and murder people. Besides, from what I’ve heard he’s slept his way through like half the souvenir shop cashiers, and none of them ended up dead.”

You stare down at the table despondently. Heather, floundering, puts her fist through the figurative In Case Of Emergency Break Glass box. “He has syphilis.”

Kimmie gasps. “Really?!”

Heather deflates. “No. Well, actually, I don’t know. Maybe. It’s certainly possible. We should assume the worst.”

Kimmie, for once fully in on the joke, winks. “I’ll let you know once I’ve investigated.” She strolls back to the bar in her short mirrorball dress, shimmering and lithe like a snake’s skin.

“To be clear,” Heather tells you. “I was not in the half of the souvenir shop cashiers that Aegon boned.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! Why didn’t you tell her that…that…?!”

“That what?” you snap. “She asked if we’re together. We’re not. We never were. He made that crystal clear. And if he’s not going to get sober, I’m not going to get involved with someone like that.” Someone like Jesse. Someone like the man my mom still carries scars and bruises from, not in the flesh but in the soul.

“But…but…” Heather frowns at you with pained, condoling eyes. “You…you love him. Don’t you? You look like you love him. You look…and I mean this in the most compassionate way possible…you look fucking terrible. You look like someone died, and I’m not talking about Sylvester Stallone the geriatric cat. Joyce?”

Joyce gives you an evaluative glance. “Yeah, you look terrible.”

At the bar, Kimmie is leaning all over Aegon and giggling about a story he’s telling. His hands move in dramatic, expressive gestures. He is, for the first time tonight, smiling. There’s a jolt like knuckles jabbed beneath your ribs. There’s a profound, inky despair. Kimmie grabs Aegon’s hand—he has callouses on his fingertips, you think randomly—and leads him over to the pool table. As soon as they have vacated the area, Heather drags you to the bar.

“Dale?” she says. “My good bitch needs a Bacardi Breezer. Maybe two Bacardi Breezers. Maybe three. I think I’ll be driving her home tonight.” She turns to you. “What flavors do you want?”

“Apple,” you reply morosely.

“Okay, one apple, what about the rest?”

“All apple.”

“Goddamn, you really are fucked up about this. Dale, three apple Bacardi Breezers, please.”

He lines them up on the counter. Heather sits with you as you drink them one after the other, gradually feeling warm again, feeling a little lighter. When you peek back at the booth, Rob has appeared there and is discussing—politely this time—the plot of Joyce’s fantasy novel with her. She looks almost vaguely interested in his existence.

“Hey Dale,” Heather prompts. “What’s the secret to everlasting love?”

Dale chuckles huskily and runs a hand over his thick, wiry beard. “You’re asking the wrong person. My wife ran off with a cruise ship singer, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Heather says apologetically. That was around six months ago, at the start of tourist season; the guy was an Elvis impersonator. “My bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m better off, I think. Now I don’t have to pretend to like her soap operas anymore. Or her tuna casserole.” He guffaws and ambles away to serve a pair of middle-aged locals seated at the other end of the bar.

When you’ve finished your last Bacardi Breezer, Heather slaps your shoulder encouragingly. “Alright, you ready?”

“Yup,” you say, swaying a little as you hop off the barstool. You stumble and bump into Heather, laughing. She steadies you with a massive grin. She’s delighted; she’s relieved.

“Good. Now get your ass over to the pool table and do your best impression of Demi Moore in Striptease.”

You have no intention of doing that. But you do—with Heather’s stabilizing grip on your waist—make your way to the pool table. There is a crowd pulsing around it: Trent, Trent’s assorted jock friends, Aegon, Kimmie. Aegon is standing in the background and nursing his—fourth? fifth? tenth?—rum and Coke. His face is vague and his eyes groggy. Still, he is beautiful. He’s so beautiful you almost blurt it out before stopping yourself. Kimmie is lining up a shot to break the balls out of their triangular configuration. Her silver hoop earrings glint under the Christmas lights. She is covered in male gazes like the sheen of ice on a lake. The white cue ball collides with the pyramid-shaped conglomeration; the balls go flying in every direction. The solid green ball—number 6—disappears into a pocket.

“Booyah!” Kimmie cheers. There are claps and whistles. Aegon just stares blankly, gnawing on his lower lip, that chronically disobedient lock of hair resting on his cheek.

“You’re majorly talented,” Trent’s friend Gary swoons. Kimmie bats her eyelashes at him and then checks to see if Aegon noticed. He didn’t. Kimmie, flustered but trying to hide it, takes another turn but doesn’t manage to sink a single ball.

“Hey!” Trent welcomes you warmly. He slings an arm across your shoulders, which ordinarily you would shy away from. Now, you lean into him, your body melding with his, your muscles loose and sinuous. Aegon does notice this. His eyes are a dark, dangerous blue: riptides, maelstroms, trenches miles deep. Good, you think. Maybe I can get him jealous enough to reconsider. Maybe I can make him want to change. “Want to shoot for me? I’ll show you how.”

You smile up at Trent. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He passes you a cue stick with large, rugged hands. “So you’ll need one of these…and then you have to chalk it…” He presses a tiny blue cube into your palm. You rub chalk onto the tip of the cue stick, feeling ridiculous.

“And what’s the purpose of this part? Superstition? To give me false confidence?”

Trent chuckles. “To help the stick get better contact with the cue ball.”

“So you’re an expert, huh?”

“I am athletically gifted.”

“Does pool count as a sport? I’m skeptical.”

“Pay attention,” he teases, flipping his hair out of his face. Seabiscuit strikes again. “Now Kimmie sunk a solid ball, so the solids are all hers. Ours are the striped ones. If we can sink all the striped ones before Kimmie sinks all the solid ones, we win. And you don’t want to sink the black 8 ball until all our balls are already gone. That’s the very last step.”

“Sink striped balls. Don’t sink solid balls or the 8 ball. Okay. Got it.” You take aim, your sights set on the striped blue ball, number 10. This is somewhat difficult; thanks to your plentiful Bacardi Breezers, the pool table feels like it’s listing like a ship. The tapered shaft of the stick is balanced awkwardly on the back of your hand. “Am I doing this right…?”

“Here,” Trent says, and then he gets to work repositioning you. He touches you without asking, which you don’t object to under the circumstances; Aegon’s face is flushing a gory, wrathful red. Trent spreads your fingers farther apart, adjusts the angle of your elbow, pushes you between the shoulder blades to lean a bit lower over the pool table. The hem of your black dress creeps up your bare thighs, fluttering like a whisper. Aegon aggressively chugs the rest of his rum and Coke, the ice cubes clanging in the glass.

You take your shot, and the white cue ball whizzes across the pool table. It ploughs into the number 10 ball and sends it down into the abyss-like pocket closest to where Aegon stands.

“Yes!” Trent roars. He swoops in, picks you up with startling ease, whirls you around once before setting your unsteady feet back down on the floor and accepting thunderous back-slapping from his hoard of friends.

“Wow,” Heather murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Ugh, you whore!” Kimmie jeers, but she’s clapping and giggling too. She’s still the main character tonight, and she always will be, and she knows this like she knows the lines in her own palms. She’s just that kind of girl.

“Another round, another round!” Trent’s friends are chanting, and then they stampede together off to the bar to procure more beer. Kimmie, tottering in her silvery platform heels, moves to join them.

Abruptly, Aegon catches Kimmie’s forearm and pulls her to him. He whispers in her ear; her eyes go wide, her breath hitches, her glossy lips split into an exhilarated smile. And then they dash out of Ursa Minor together, stopping just long enough to grab their parkas off the coatrack by the door. They’re gone. They’re both gone.

You sputter to Heather: “What…? How…? No, they can’t! They can’t—!”

“What do you want me to do?!” she hisses back. “Tackle them before they can make it off the premises? Tie Kimmie to a chair? Force her to take a vow of celibacy? You didn’t tell her that he was off-limits when you had the chance. This is the consequence that we all have to live with.”

“Oh my god.” The room is spiraling around you. You feel nauseous; you feel ice cold. He wasn’t supposed to leave with her. He wasn’t supposed to…

“Uh, are you okay?” Heather asks.

“No,” you choke out. Aegon and Kimmie! Aegon and Kimmie!!! “I have to get out of here.”

“Well you can’t drive home like this—”

“I know. I’ll be back.” You push by her, snatch your parka off the coatrack, dive out into the starless, frigid night.

There’s no one in the parking lot, no one on the street. You make a hard left and walk with no particular plan down towards the harbor, your shaking hands jammed into your parka pockets, tears streaming down your face. The wind whips at you, howling and old, older than the creaking wooden planks of the dock beneath your boots, older than all of humanity. You pass bobbing sailboats and fishing vessels until you come to the end of the pier, sit there cross-legged and sobbing, gaze out through blurred vision over the Gastineau Channel. It separates mainland Juneau from Douglas Island, which began—like so much of Alaska did—as a gold mining settlement. You remember the sparkling gold eyeshadow that you applied in your bedroom just a few hours ago. You don’t feel very valuable at the moment. You feel unworthy. You feel alone.

It is silent except for the waves and the wind. It is very dark; the sky is clouded, and the illuminations of Ursa Minor and the streetlights are faraway. When you hear the footsteps behind you on the pier, your stomach drops; they’re too heavy to be Heather’s or Joyce’s. But when you twist around, it is Trent that you see in the dim, shadowy light.

“Hi,” he says, raising a hand. “Heather told me that you ran away.”

“Hi. I guess I did.”

He hesitates, flips his hair, drops down beside you at the edge of the pier. “You okay?”

You sigh heavily and swipe the tears from your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m just having a really bad day.” Like an absurdly, phenomenally, exponentially bad day.

“I know what that’s like.”

I doubt it, Trent. I really do.

You sit there together in the quiet, watching the sparce light flick off the crests of waves, staring at the bright dots of houses and shops across the channel on Douglas Island. Trent puts his arm around you. You let him, and—partially for the warmth, partially for the healing sensation of being desired, being cared for—lean your head against his chest.

After a very long time, you ask dully: “What do you like about working on a salmon boat?” It’s almost enough to make you wince. It’s the kind of pedestrian, unimaginative question that Aegon would make fun of. But Trent seems to consider it carefully.

“I like being outside,” he says. “I like the fresh air, I like the scenery. And I like how working with my hands helps me get all my frustrations out. I’m a better person when I stay busy. Commercial fishing can be intense sometimes, don’t get me wrong, that’s why I’m trying to get into the Forest Service. But I like it enough.”

“What do you like about me?”

You can hear the awe in his voice. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. There was a time when I didn’t care so much about things like that. But now that I’m older and I’ve started to think about settling down…I feel like you’re the right kind of girl to do that with.”

You look up at him. He beams down at you like a full moon. And then he kisses you. He’s warm and strong and handsome in that obvious sort of way, but he’s something else, too: a little forceful, a little rough. Rough isn’t always a bad thing. But it’s like you can glimpse the silhouette of someone else beneath the surface, stars veiled by clouds, the shadows of fish under ice. He doesn’t feel anything like Aegon. He doesn’t patch the wound that Aegon left in you at all.

I wonder where Aegon is right now. I wonder what he’s doing to Kimmie.

When Trent breaks the kiss, you tell him that you have to go. He walks you back to Ursa Minor, his mighty palm on the small of your back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heather drives you home, shellshocked. She asks, in reference to your confession about the kiss on the pier: “So…uh…do you want to talk about it, or…?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Are you and Trent…like…a thing…?!”

“I don’t know. He seems to think we are.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god.” She rubs her forehead with one hand, her astonished eyes on the indigo-black horizon.

When you get home, your dad is already asleep. Your mom is straightening up the kitchen, wiping off countertops and scrubbing dishes in the bubble-filled sink. When you ask if she needs any help, she bursts out laughing.

“You’re the one who looks like she needs help,” she says. “What happened at the bar?”

You grimace down at the floor. “A lot of things. A lot of things.”

“Nothing you feel the desire to share?”

“No. Not quite yet. Can you drive me back to pick up my Jeep tomorrow?”

“Sure. Why don’t you take a nice bubble bath and then go to bed?” she suggests. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Do you need a snack? I could make pancakes. Or a grilled cheese.”

“That’s really kind of you, but no thanks, Mom.” I’ve completely lost my appetite.

You sulk in a bubble bath for a while, drag yourself out, brush your teeth and hair, try to rub the night off every part of you like smoothing rough edges off a gemstone. When you wander out into the hallway, your eyes catch on the door to the attic, a rectangular outline in the white ceiling. You are mostly sober by now, and yet still the idea that strikes you seems ludicrous at first. It’s a muddled, disjointed thought. It might be a dangerous one.

If I can learn more about Jesse, maybe I can understand Aegon too.

The box of journals is up there, you know, dusty and untouched and waiting. The rope hangs invitingly. You pull the door open and unfold the ladder. You climb up into the attic, turn on the single naked lightbulb, and push aside bins of holiday decorations and family heirlooms until you find a small, unlabeled cardboard box that’s sealed shut with duct table. You peel back the tape and peek inside the flaps. The box is filled with thin leather journals in a variety of colors: olive green, navy blue, rust red, earthen brown. You gather the cardboard box into your arms and carry it down to your bedroom, slipping it discretely beneath your bed to live beside childhood stuffed animals and mounds of old yearbooks. You close up the attic and then venture downstairs to get yourself some water to stave off a blossoming hangover.

Your mom is at the kitchen sink, washing a plate with a green Scotch-Brite sponge. “Did I hear you up in the attic, ladybug? Do you need help finding something?”

“No, I got it.”

“Okay.” But she studies you, puzzled. She’s going to worry unless you explain.

“I don’t want to make you talk about it,” you say. “And I don’t want to upset you. I’ll never mention it again. But just so you know, I want to read the journals. For my own reasons. That’s why I was up in the attic. I was bringing the box down to my bedroom.”

“Oh.” She freezes, stares out the window over the sink, goes vacant. “That makes sense. That’s fine.”

“Mom, are you alright?”

“Of course, ladybug.” There is nothing outside but night. You can see her reflection in the glass like a mirror. Long, slow seconds tick by. “It seemed like he was getting better,” your mom says, her voice faint and weightless, an untethered balloon, a feather on waves. “That’s the strange part. At the very end, it seemed like he was getting better.”

Then she lets the plate sink beneath the pearlescent bubbles, wipes her hands dry on a dishtowel, and goes to bed without another word.

[mothpawbs]

WINGS OF FIRE FASHION HEADCANONS

i've been working on lists of headcanons for how the different tribes approach accessorizing for quite a while, and I think my list is finally in a good place to post it! headcanons are sorted by tribe. These are free to use if you would like to implement them in art or writing! if you have any suggestions, inputs or questions, please comment, reblog, or send me an ask!

Mudwings

because of the mud they spend a lot of their time in, a lot of accessories aren't very feasible for them

like to use woven cords made of jute or other natural fibers. sib groups will often wear a cord around their neck with a coiled knot that has a ring representing each of their siblings.

higher classes wear jewelry made with gold and gems, and often inset gems into their scales so they're harder to lose in mud and water

textiles almost never used in accessories because of how hard they are to keep clean

love tattoos, like to get tattoos on their wings membranes and underbellies. clutches tend to get matching tattoos representing their group, and a first tattoo is considered a right of passage by mudwings

Sandwings

known for their opulent weavings and textiles, like to wear scarves, shawls, and capes for functionality as well as aesthetics. hoods, veils and masks are common to protect their faces from the sun and from flying sand

also wear a lot of gold, in the form of earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, septums, and tail rings

sandwings have very skilled glaziers, and often implement glass in their jewelry

occasionally wear gemstones, though not as common. onyx, topaz, sapphires, obsidian, and diamonds are popular

enjoy tattoos, often on the scales but especially on the wing membranes

dye their textiles and crests with natural materials, usually created from plants

motifs of desert animals, such as snakes, lizards, foxes, owls, and coyotes common in accessories

Seawings

prefer more organic materials, such as pearls, coral, seashells, pebbles, bone, and even seaweed

use very little metal, but usually gold (as it doesn't corrode in water)

love piercings, but don't often wear necklaces (or anything that has to go around the neck) as they tend to constrict both the gills and the back frills, which can be very uncomfortable.

gems are less commonly used in jewelry and are often restricted to upper classes. sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds are favored.

try not to wear anything that may conceal their glowscales, as this can make speaking aquatic difficult

motifs of fish (& their scales), shells, ocean waves and currents, and aquatic mammals popular

Skywings

LOOOVE treasure

wear lots of intricately wrought metal, usually gold but also silver and bronze. Skywings are famed for their metallurgy skills

during scarlet's reign/the war, accessories fashioned after armor (ex. scarlet's mail vest) became very popular

also very fond of gemstones, especially rubies, topaz, amber, and diamonds. the more, the better!

adopted gem insets in scales from the mudwings and consider them very attractive, in a "beauty is pain" kind of way, as it is a painful process to get them inset. as well as a symbol of wealth, it can also be considered a symbol of strength

sometimes wear capes or shawls, but prefer not to as they tend to restrict wing movement and can catch on fire if one is careless

Icewings

prefer elegant, minimalist fashion

wear a lot of furs, including seal, polar bear, caribou, lynx, and fox.

often wear silver or black metal, as it compliments their scale colors.

gems are less common, but diamonds, amethyst, opal, crystal and sapphires are favored. glass imported from the sand or sky kingdom are also popular, but became less common during the war.

upper classes commonly display their circle status in the form of pendants, rings, earrings, or bracelets

Rainwings

don't really understand the appeal of jewelry, as they can make their scales whatever color they want and don't need jewels to add vibrancy to their appearance

like wearing flowers, carve wooden tokens and pendants that are made into earrings or hung from necklaces, and sometimes wear cords woven from plants.

ultimately pretty minimal accessorising, but then again they're pretty naturally flamboyant in appearance anyways.

textiles are beginning to gain popularity as younger nightwing generations explore the continent and return with fashions from all over

Nightwings (pre-darkstalker era)

nightwings had lots of skilled crafters who made fabric, crystal, and metal items, which were common in the tribe

metal items, such as earrings, chains, bracelets, rings, and armor, were often made of silver or platinum to complement dark scales

crystal, diamond, moonstone, amethyst, and opal commonly used to accent jewelry or textile pieces

motifs of moons and stars were very common, with the three moons being sacred to the tribe

textiles were often diaphanous material in cool tones, with scarves, shawls, capes, and veils very popular. fur was also commonplace, especially in lower classes, and are either from prey animals or animals specifically raised for that purpose. some of these include foxes, wolves, bears,

nightwings had skilled glaziers (learned from the sandwings), and glass was very common in jewelry and spectacles as well as in architecture

Nightwings (post-darkstalker/island era)

many materials became scarce, and lots of skills were lost to time and lack

jewelry was simple and uncommon, and rarely made from metal (which had to be imported from the mainland)

most jewelry is carved from aluminosilicates (especially kyanite) and obsidian

textiles are practically nonexistent, and very ineffectual, as they get singed and stained with ash.

Silkwings

used to wear lots of silk items, which they prized as an art form unique to their tribe

never really wore much in the form of metal or gems, basically had the same conclusion as rainwings that their scales were so naturally beautiful they didn't really need a lot of accessories

don't really have the option of owning much jewelry (if at all) under hivewing rule, the main exception being ornamental silkwings in the jewel hive

Hivewings

depends on the hive, but love jewelry and textiles.

wear gem-encrusted gold pieces and fine silk items woven by silkwings

jewel hive dragons are big show-offs when it comes to their outfits and accessories

multiple dragons seen to paint their claws, could also do this to their horns??

insect motifs common

Leafwings

almost never wear metal jewelry

often use organics for accessories, including carved wood, dried leaves, and woven cords

stones are sometimes used, with jade being prized for its color

amber very common as well

motifs of leaves, flowers, and fruits popular

non-useful accessories became uncommon post-tree wars, replaced by bags made from leaves and fibers (especially with the poisonwings)

[otterlyotterott]

"Lynx, I'm concerned about the balance of power in our...bond."

And those words coming out of her Snowfall's mouth made Lynx lift her head up from Queen Glacier's notes on Fifth Circle village legislation. Snowfall hated talking about their relationship, so she always avoided using the word 'relationship' and replaced it with some synonym that meant the same thing. Lynx tucked every word about We-Remember-and-Venerate-Caribou's secret SandWing weapons black market that wasn't very secret since Glacier seemed to have known it like the back of her claw, into the place in her head where she kept law and politics and such, and she looked over at Snowfall.

Her Queen was in bed with a scroll and a glass of ice wine. She was frowning, which wasn't out of the norm for Snowfall, but there was a glisten in her fierce eyes that Lynx wasn't quite used to.

"What do you mean?" she asked Snowfall, even though she was clever and already knew.

Snowfall was such a—a girl sometimes. She wanted to provide and protect and rule, and she ruled and protected and provided very regally and very beautifully, but she never let anyone do anything for her back.

Except for Lynx.

"Do you really feel okay with having to—" Snowfall's words shrunk in volume as she looked away.

Lynx had heard her clearly, but she grinned and said, "Can you repeat that, Your Spikiness?"

"I SAID," Snowfall growled, whipping her head back to glare at her, "DO YOU REALLY FEEL OKAY WITH TAKING CARE OF ME ALL THE TIME?"

Surprise washed over Snowfall's face, and her spines bristled as she turned around and quickly downed the rest of her wine.

Lynx, still grinning, knew exactly what to do. She stared at her Queen's butt.

"Your tail is looking so shiny and lovely today, my Queen."

"YOU INSOLENT—" Snowfall turned back around. "You're torturing me, you know that?"

"I was just telling my girlfriend that she looked pretty," Lynx said.

"You're not—"

"My Not Girlfriend," Lynx corrected before Snowfall could finish. "You worry too much."

Snowfall sighed, and Lynx was glad that she maintained their eye contact, even though Snowfall was definitely feeling very tender right now.

"Do I?" Snowfall asked. "But you know why, right? Why I'm worried that..."

"You're a Queen and I'm a lowly peon and you think that I only love you because you're a cool princess and that I feel like I have to do everything for you because of all of the power you have, right?"

"Yes?!" Snowfall squeaked.

"That would be true in many cases," Lynx said. She took a breath, and she let her grin soften into a fond smile. She had learned early on about the importance of smiles. Wide ones were like shields. The real ones, the ones that weren't quite so big but were twice as warm, were the ones you saved for the ones you loved. "Not this one. I was—I am—your only real rival. Sometimes I was your better, and sometimes you were mine. I don't need protection from you. And you know, even if you weren't a princess, I'd still be in love with you. I'd still trip over myself bringing you food and affection and kisses and I'd still never ask for any of it back. You don't tell birds to stop chirping. You don't tell Mink to stop being cute."

"I do both of those things a lot, actually," Snowfall said.

"Well, stop," Lynx said.

Snowfall frowned. "Maybe."

"I love you either way," Lynx purred.

"Good!" Snowfall said. She began to read her scroll, and a minute later, realized something, and looked up to see that Lynx had never stopped lovingly staring.

"I love you too," Snowfall said.

"Thank you," Lynx chirped. She looked back down at her scrolls. We-Remember-and-Venerate-Caribou sounded so cool.

[ateriblewriter]

Date? (m.b)

Enjoy!

Matt felt like he was on fire. Everything was falling into place right now. His line was clicking, the Wild were hot and he had just gotten his second hat trick of the season. And she was there to see the game. His best friend since coming to Minnesota was there at the X, wearing his jersey, sitting next to his family, watching him have an amazing game. What more could he want? Well there was one thing. Her.

He first met her waiting for coffee at Caribou, she loved the sweeter things in life. He doesn’t remember what he said that made her giggle, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. In those few moments Matt had already fallen for her, only he couldn’t have her, not yet anyways.  But he still needed to have her in his life, even if it would be just strictly just as friends. She needed to break up with her boyfriend, which at that time was going to happen sooner than he thought but he wasn’t going to be that person who pursued someone right after they broke up with someone.

But in the meantime he was going to hang out with her as much as he could. He helped her study and in turn she went to his games. They listened as each other obsessed over things they both liked. She visited him in Massachusetts in the summer and Matt made many trips back to Minnesota to be with her. Matt even asked the Hugheses if he could bring her to the lake house for the week he was there, to which they of course said yes. They were perfect together in more ways than one. Now all he needed was to gather enough bravado to ask her out on a date. He had an idea, and it was going to be perfect.

After he was announced as the first star of the game and he tossed a puck over the glass to a kid, he skated over to where she stood. He waved at her to get her attention before tossing a second puck with something written on it to her. Her eyes went wide and a big smile spread across her face as she shook her head yes, once she was able to read what was written on it. Matt’s heart fluttered at her reaction. He blew her a kiss before skating away. He couldn’t wait for what followed the clean up and post game interviews.

“Hey Mr Hotshot Hockey God.” She smiled referring to the nickname she gave him after the first game she ever went to. She was beaming with pride over the success Matt had that night and was more than thrilled to be asked to go on a date with him.

“Hello Pretty Pretty Princess.” He wrapped his arms around her pulling her close to him. On a whim he decided to take a chance crashing his lips on hers and sparks few between them.

“Oooo looks like someones gettin laid tonight.” One of the chaos children chirped at the couple as they passed they passed them kissing. They were probably not far off of what might possibly happen in  a few hours, but Matt still felt the need to flip them off.

“Shall we get out of here?” He interlocked their hands together, leading her towards his vehicle. No matter how the rest of the season turned out, this summer was going to be the best yet.

Please let me know what y’all think. I’d love to hear your thoughts, comments, and complaints!

[northmountainpost]

To Sadren the Poet... do you enjoy a good beverage? What kind? Would you be open to grabbing one with a fan some time? (Return address is stated to be :just throw it bottled inta the ocean)

My friend,

What they don’t tell you about immortality is that your body forgets how to want. You won’t notice what you’ve become numb to until it’s too late. You will go months without eating or drinking and wonder why the things that once brought you joy have emptied themselves of meaning. My friends in the younger generation tell me that this is called “depression.” When I learned this, it came to me all at once, as if in a dream—why the gods of my ancestors slaughtered one another, why Old Mora chases disaster, why the Io must have their tyrannical heart devoured each summer. None of them have had a fruity drink in what I imagine to be hundreds of years.

It’s perverse, and wrong, and I won’t stand for it. I am a hedonistic street-rat at heart and I believe this is my only moral calling. The moment god forgets the taste of honey mesquite is the moment god decides all other creatures are meaningless noise. What awful delusions we suffer when eternity stares us down!

I am writing to you now while nursing a glass of non-alcoholic cidrecane. Addiction precludes me from the drink. I’m aware of the irony. After reading what I have written, my boyfriend sampled my cup and said “This is just apricot cider,” and then advised me to send this letter “without the diatribe,” which means that I will send it as it is.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I enjoy a little bit of everything. My latest vice is vaatlil, a fizzy juice of berries, bitters, and caribou blood that comes from West Scaiuq. This is what they serve foreigners who can’t keep pure caribou blood down. It’s delicious, but even still I can’t drink much, because I have the “thin stomach of a farmer” in the words of my boyfriend. (I’m not young anymore. After my last brush with lichen cheese, I know better than to try to prove my “Sarikote-ness” to him.) 

When I’m in the city, molchi and cha yen satisfy my sweet tooth. Herbal teas satisfy my need to seem sophisticated. I also enjoy coffee and maté, but I rarely drink them, as they cause me to become very stupid. I am now being teased because I drink “disgustingly sweet mocktails that would stop the hearts of lesser men.” This is untrue. I have made myself ill before and I will make myself ill again. “Spoken like a true masochist.” Can a man not write a letter without the dawn chorus crowing about his inability to distinguish love from pain?

I digress. These days I am spending more time on the East Coast, where I grew up. Many things have not survived these past hundred years, and what hasn’t died is doomed to meet a more mediocre end. My favorite teahouse, for example, serves a tepid mockery of what I drank in my youth. Nahe. I miss it, but only a little. This is the other thing they don’t tell you about immortality—what grows in spring is watered by your winter tears, and it will be sweeter than you remember. I never had Sati-Xanti food until an elderly couple opened a bodega at the end of the street. They serve a miawe-flavored molchi that would make me forgive Motu.

You must come visit sometime and try it. (The molchi, not forgiving Motu.)