#I would enjoy it so much more if they didn’t have eyeballs

[toonzxy]

TMNT 2003 Seaon 7 Donatello’s Arc is something I will never recover from

[mostly-marvel-musings]

The green-eyed monster

A/N: This was super random. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed this fic!

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ jealousy induced smut, lil choking and breeding kink?

Word count: 1941

Tony Stark Masterlist

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“Shit!”

You cursed under your breath as you checked your watch, you were running late. Later than fashionably late would permit. But you had a good reason to be. Your stylist and hairdresser had done you up to perfection, all the efforts were worth it because you looked stunning. The dress you chose hugged your curves like a glove, a bold lip, fine jewelry and hair that complimented the outfit beautifully.

The charity event was merely an opportunity to remind a certain someone of what he had been ignoring for the past few weeks. You had to teach him a lesson.

Reaching the venue at record speed, you stepped inside feeling the best version of yourself, immediately grabbing eyeballs of almost everybody present there. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the man of the hour. Anthony Stark. Looking dapper as ever in a custom-made tux, he was deep in conversation with several who’s who of the society, oblivious to your presence.

That would change soon, you thought.

Heading straight for the bar, you got yourself a glass of champagne, letting your gaze roam over the sea of people to find yourself a distraction. Lucky for you, you didn’t have to make much effort as a man from your past caught your eye and made a beeline in your direction.

“Y/N Y/L/N, as I live and breathe.” he exclaimed, wrapping you in a hug, his hand lingering on your bare skin.

“Noah Bennett. Since when did you start thinking about someone besides yourself?” you jested, celebrating on the inside as his eyes dipped down your body, letting you know your plan was working. From the corner of your eye, you saw a couple of people part to reveal Tony Stark with a curious look on his face.

“You look hot, Y/N. I’m sorry if I’m being too direct here but wow. Look at you!”

You laughed as he twirled you, placing a hand deliberately on his bicep.

“Always the flatterer. Honestly, it is so good to see you here, Noah. I hope you’ve made a sizable donation today. If not, I’m here to persuade you.” you winked, allowing him to get you another drink.

You spoke for quite some time, keeping the conversation light and flirty, you knew exactly what you were doing. Your boyfriend watched the whole scene from a distance, staring daggers at the man who had his hands all over his girl. He had zoned out of the conversation happening around him, focusing only on the two of you. You leaned over to whisper something in that man’s ear, all while his gaze dropped to your cleavage shamelessly, the guy chuckled before he did the same, making you shake your head and blush. It made his jaw tick, irritation bubbled within his chest watching the two of you.

A part of him wanted to intervene and pull you away from the creep, but another part who spoke on behalf of his pride refused. He remembered that man, he’d made a generous pledge for the charity. But right now none of that mattered as much as the fact that he had his arm around your waist, where it didn’t belong. ‘

As time passed, you chatted your way closer to where Tony was, not sparing him much of a glance as you worked your charm to get more rich people to donate for the good cause. Normally, the two of you would be inseparable but given the little fight you had had last week, it made sense for you to make separate appearances. Plus you had your little entry planned to teach him a lesson.

“Oh Y/N, the event is already a success. Well done! You’ve managed to charm everyone into emptying their pockets.” an elderly gentleman complimented you, making you giggle. Ulterior motives aside, the evening truly was a big win.

“When the hostess is easy on the eyes, I guess it helps a lot, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Stark?”

You felt his presence before you saw the man, the familiar scent and aura that he carried enveloped your senses before a protective arm slid around your waist, pulling you to his side.

“And here I thought I’d have to undo a couple of my shirt buttons to make you guys cough it up.”

His statement earned him laughter from the crowd, his thumb rubbing the bare skin on your back in a way that made your breathing hitch. Turning to look at him, you were met with eyes that ogled your decked up form, the gaze was hungry yet mixed with a hint of annoyance.

Tony leaned over and pressed his lips against your ear, making it hard for you to ignore the excitement you felt.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

You feigned confusion, shrugging nonchalantly before taking a sip of your drink, further adding to his irritation. It seemed to be the last straw as Tony grabbed your hand and hastily made his way out of the venue, leaving the guests perplexed.

He remained silent the entire ride back home, keeping his eyes focused on the road. You noticed his knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel tightly.

This would be a lot of fun, you thought. Winding Tony up had an effect on you, you couldn’t wait for him to have his way with you. Pretty confident that sooner or later he would. The night wasn’t over yet.

“You slept with the guy, didn’t you?” he asked out of the blue, still not sparing you a glance.

“Which guy?”

“Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” he seethed, putting his foot on the gas and sped up.

“Oh and where did you get that idea from, may I ask?” you suppressed a grin, keeping the tone of your voice light.

“I have eyes. I can see. Someone was way too touchy back there. I don’t like it when others touch my stuff.”

This made you scoff and look out the window as your home came into view. You didn’t move from your seat until Tony opened your door and grabbed your hand once again, taking determined strides up to your house.

“Are you jealous?” you were slightly out of breath keeping up with his pace, the smirk in your voice pretty evident.

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Oh no, you’re right. You just get territorial, and protective. And just a tad needy, right?”

Clicking his tongue, Tony shoved you inside your bedroom, slamming the door behind him before crashing his lips on yours. This kiss had fire, brimming with passion but laced with anger as he walked you back until your back hit the wall, eliciting a gasp. Taking this opportunity, his tongue made it past your lips, clearly winning the game of dominance.

“I think you forgot that you have a partner who needs all your attention before any of your ‘friends’ do.” he murmured against your lips before letting them trail down your neck, nipping at your skin.

“So you were jealous.” you smirked, tugging on his hair as he bruised your skin with a hickey, his fingers grazing up your leg to reach between them, growling when he realized you weren’t wearing panties.

“Fuck yeah I was.” his hand cupped your sex, fingers brushed along the slit that had gathered slick already. Without warning, two of his fingers pushed past your entrance, assaulting your walls by stretching them out.

“Take off your dress.” he commanded, his left hand wrapping itself around your throat gently, his brown eyes darkened with lust.

“You don’t get to order me around.” you didn’t sound convincing at all, given that he chose the moment to curl his fingers inside your tight heat, you gasped.

“Slow down, Tony.” You breathed.

“Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”

The pressure on your throat increased ever so slightly, causing your walls to tighten around his thick digits as he continued pumping. Your eyes were shut in pleasure when you heard the fabric of your dress rip, falling at your feet in shreds. The dress you spent thousands of dollars on was destroyed in seconds, not that you were complaining. If anything, you were counting on this to happen.

Tony made you open your mouth and fed you his fingers, the taste of your desperate arousal evident on them as you rolled your tongue. His cock twitched in his dress pants, eager to be freed and buried deep within your pussy.

You fumbled with his belt, undid the zip and shoved his pants down, earning a chuckle from him. Your eyes flashed victory before arousal took over completely, your body ached for him.

Holding the back of your knees, he entered you in one swift motion, a synchronic moan echoed in the room. Tony didn’t hold back after that, his thrusts set a brutal pace that made you see stars, the line of pleasure and pain thinning as he continued to plough into your sopping heat.

“You like being reminded who you belong to, don’t you sweetheart?” He grunted, every thrust sent you closer and closer to the edge.

Fervently nodding, you held onto his shoulders as cock threatened to split you in two, unable to comprehend much else.

“Cat got your tongue? Use your words, baby.”

“Yes! I wanted you to get jealous tonight, Tony.”

He paused momentarily, making you whine which he swallowed in an instant, slanting his lips on yours. The kiss that contained everything, from dominance to love and everything in between. While he felt guilty for ignoring you these past few weeks, a part of him loved you for your antics, especially ones which ended like this.

His cock twitched inside your walls as he resumed.

“What if I come inside you, huh? What if I fill you up with my seed, get you pregnant? Show them all who you belong to..what do you say, sweetheart?”

He breathed against your skin, his voice muffled in your hair. You answered by clamping your walls around his length, pulling him further inside, tugging on his hair to signal you were close too.

“I’m gonna fill you up, Y/N.” he panted, watching your hand reach down to rub your clit as you brought yourself pleasure.

“Come for me, Tony. Come inside me.” You cried, burying your face in his neck as your walls fluttered around his length. Tony followed with a final twitch of his cock, ropes of cum painting your walls as he filled you up, giving you all he had.

He carried you to bed, still snug inside you and laid you down, littering soft kisses along your shoulder. You grinned victoriously, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell him we’re together? He was all over you.” He kept his voice soft, tugging at your heartstrings as always.

“You did what you did to get my attention, and I did what I had to to get yours. Now we’re even.”

Tony looked up at your face, his expression incredulous with a hint of pride playing on his lips.

“You little minx. Have I told you I love you?” He pecked your lips a couple of times, slowly resuming to thrust inside you with his soft cock, pushing his cum further inside and keeping it there.

“Not that I recall. No.”

[riovidalupdates]

LAST GIRL STANDING - ii.

previous part

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: minor cursing.

a/n: apologies for taking so long for an update. my job is about 10+ hours for four days and on my off days i'm working on set designs so i'm usually sleeping when i get the chance. please go back and reread the first part of this series as i had revised and edited parts of it while adding more to it. I will be adding a taglist soon, if you wish to for me to add you, let me know! with that, enjoy!

You headed to the library, your mind still racing with the remnants of your conversation with Wanda from last night. You had a few hours before your film history class started, and you needed time to clear your head before facing Agatha, the insanely attractive TA, who had unknowingly occupied a corner of your heart for the past semester. You didn’t really know Agatha well enough (or at all) to say much about her, aside from the occasional conversation about coursework. Yet, you had spent countless hours thinking about her, imagining what it would be like to know her beyond the confines of the classroom.

There was a familiarity to her presence that was both reassuring and nerve-wracking. The few times you’d spoken outside of lectures never seemed to work in your favor. You were unable to get more than two words out before something catastrophic occurred like spilling coffee on yourself, stepping in a pile of dog shit, and maybe tripping over a tree branch into a pit of mud(you are not god's favorite).

You'd scurry away before Agatha could do anything. In fact, you'd just barely hear a quiet but polite, "Goodbye?" You only glance over your shoulder when you were far enough away, seeing the outline of her body still in the same place but with her stare directly at you.

Getting lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the presence of another leaning over the table and whispering, “Careful, y/n. If you think any harder, you might accidentally unlock the secrets of the universe.”

You blink, glancing up and see Wanda. “Or I might just discover where all my missing socks go. That’s probably a more realistic goal.”

The redhead giggles, pulling out the chair next to you and sits. “Hey, I’d argue that’s an even bigger mystery. You’d probably get a Nobel Prize for solving that one.”

“I fear that will only end with me having more mismatched socks and even more questions. And maybe a headache.”

Wanda smiles, tilting her head to the side as she always does when you humor her. You can’t help the warmth of blush creep up on your cheeks and ears. It was a habit when you had that type of attention from her. It was never necessarily a bad thing. More so, weird because you don’t completely understand it. You do, yet you don’t at least.

You continue to watch the way she falls into a fit of giggles as she scrunches up her nose and leans forward, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. There was always elegance surrounding Wanda. Wherever her presence was, it followed.

You are never one to deny how objectively gorgeous the shorter girl is, but there’s more to her than just physical features. More to Wanda than what you and everyone else around her knew, though, her soul radiates an amplified aspect of exactly how natural her beauty is. What you may not know, may be the one thing that fuels it all.

“So, what’s got you in a deep thought?” You hear her ask.

“The fact that we as humans grow limbs. We start off as an egg and then we grow. We grow arms, legs, fat, eyeballs, bones. Everything. We do that. We start as nothing and then boom! We have these…” you frail your arms around in front and Wanda has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“How about we go get some snacks before you head to class? I hear thinking causes hunger and existential crisis.”

You smile, nodding your head. “I think you need to start reading again. All those romcoms are getting to you.”

And so what if you’re are going through a form of crisis? Wanda is here. It may not be as easy as flipping a switch, but her presence is enough for you to feel 2% of sanity.

-

Today is no different. You stayed after class, lingering just long enough to ask Agatha a question about the upcoming exam, hoping it might lead to a longer conversation.

“Do you have any suggestions for additional reading?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Agatha looked up from the papers she was grading, her expression thoughtful. “There’s a great essay on sexuality and gender within horror films if you’re interested in some extra insight. I can send you the link if you’d like.”

“That would be great,” you replied, and for a moment, your eyes met in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

But then, just like that, she turned back to grading, and the moment was gone. It was always like this—brief glimpses of something deeper, but never enough to grasp. You couldn’t tell if you were reading too much into it, or if there really was a chance that Agatha saw you as more than just another student.

It really shouldn’t be much of a shock to you. The two of you are nothing more than just a student and a teacher assistant. You aren’t friends. She has no need to delve into her personal life with you.

While Agatha has checked out from the conversation, you hadn’t. There’s more that you want to say. Though, the longer you stand frozen in place, the longer the moment has passed. It would be weird to say anything else now.

“Have a good day,” you bid. While leaving the classroom, you  tried to shake off the disappointment that seemed to linger, refusing to be ignored. It had been easier when you could write off your feelings for Agatha as a simple crush, a harmless admiration for someone who probably didn’t know you existed beyond the realm of academia.

You weren't sure what you wanted from her, exactly. A part of you longed for more than the polite interactions, yet another part feared what would happen if that boundary was ever crossed. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you found yourself second-guessing if you should do anything.

“If you would hold for a minute, L/N!”

“No.”

You’re halfway out the building when he steps in your line of vision. You grip onto the strap of your bag, clutching it close. Must he always act like you two are buds?

Vision chuckles, stopping in front of you and a bit too close than usual. Then again, he’s never been good with boundaries or personal space. He’s like a parasite. Constantly attaching himself to someone and sucking the life out of them if it benefits him, he happens to have a talent of hiding it well enough for it not to be noticed.

While you have negative emotions towards the man, you don’t entirely resent him in ways you wish you did. So what if he does forget about the dinner plans that you spend hours on for him to impress Wanda? Or gets too annoyed for how much time she spends with you (ya know the person who walked in diapers with her)? Or when Wanda mentions that she doesn’t need riches, she only needs sincerity and he gifts her a new car?

Okay, maybe he’s got one too many poor attributes to his character, however, there are aspects that make him not inherently the douchebag you desperately want him to be.

Like—“You are rather a chirpy one, aren’t you?”

You stare at him with no amusement written on your face. “My interests lies anywhere but you.”

He shares the ‘boy next door’ charm of a smile, shoving his hand in his pocket, and kicks the toe of your shoe. “I am here to request a favor,” he starts, “I have upset Wanda by overstepping her boundaries. Before speaking your mind, I have apologized to her this morning—“

“—what is your favor?” You asked annoyed.

“I wish to give Wanda a formal apology. Do you recall when she and I were to attend that music festival a couple years back and then we were unable to for unforeseen circumstances?”

You nodded your head, motioning him to continue on.

“Well, I remember you had mentioned that you knew one of the bands performing because you have a friend apart of it. I just-Wanda was and still is a massive fan. You know our 3 year anniversary is coming up-“

“—you can’t buy tickets?” You snickered.

You could tell he was getting slightly irritated by your interruptions. Good. He should for disrupting your semi-peaceful state of mind.

“Forget it. You’re such a nuisance.” He huffs, walking off and all you can do is give him a wave.

You knew what he was going to ask and you weren’t sure if you would have said yes to it or not..

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's odd rn but VERY PRETTY

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 4 of 12 - I love Joke so much! And I love War in this role so much. It’s great. This is a great show it’s such fun. The comedy is somewhat leaving me flat. But that’s normal for me in this kind of Thai BL. I also like Hope. I shouldn’t, but I do. I love the little girl character as well, and I do believe that Joke has found his scion in her.

(As per usual the grandma of this BL speaks for all of us.)

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 5 of 12 - Coils be coiling. Mummy dearest is v hot. I do like the twist on the henchmen. It would’ve been really gut-wrenching if Q had put the rope around his own wrist the night that he slept by himself (or tried to). And they have now made "the promise that is destined to be broken" waves at trope. Meanwhile, great flirting. Next week being episode six we should be getting our kiss.

(Was GMMTV gently poking at Jack & Joker with that play-within-a-play reference to Jack as Min's stunt part?)

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 1 of 16 - Sampler pack university BL from Wabi Sabi that's trying to be a gay Boys Over Flowers (4 older med student hot boys + frosh) and it’s exactly what I want right now. Is it good? No, not really. Do I care? Not at all. It is, in fact, boys over flowers... only boys no flowers. I really couldn’t want anything more than that. What can I say? I’m easy. I love a pining seme. I guess what I am saying is, I am trash for trash. Inject this shit directly into my eyeballs.

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 3 of 15 - At least in this version they talk bit more with each other about what’s going on. (Then again in the original we didn't need it, the acting was so good.) Still it’s a lot more modern to see representation of communication, but but the previous version felt more honest to teen behavior. This open communication entirely changes the push pull dynamic of Phun & Noh's whole relationship. I actually LIKE that change because it makes it very different from the original. I’ve been hoping that this one would veer in a different direction. I'm enjoying that they've made it Phun with the long term crush, and that he’s sort of testing himself with heterosexuality. It is selfish, but it is also a very rich kid thing to do. I love the shouted confessions and the decision to not date. This is a really good twist on the original. I’m liking this a hell of a lot more now that it’s substantially changed in direction, if not in tone.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 11 of 12 - It’s very sweet and wholesome. And everyone kisses pretty. And I do like the communication and green flag aspects of this show. But I'm also finding it a touch dull. 

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 9 of 12 - I don’t know. The pretending to be blind thing is weird. This whole show is weird. I’m kinda weirded out by it. I like the two side couples well enough, but we get barely any time with them at all.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 12 fin - I like that they did come around to the dreaming thing as a major plot point in the end. Even though it felt like they forgot about it in the middle. And I liked that it was an inherited family trait. I didn’t expect that (should have, but I didn't). And I thought it suited this kind of drama, even if it was a little pat. The whole family helping at the very end was very sweet and a nice full circle for the narrative. (Like the Ae's family sort of adopting the next-door kids originally. 

Summation

A cute friends to lovers romance, that’s a little bit like the stepbrothers trope since these two grow up next-door to each other and in and out of each other’s lives. The paranormal element is about prophetic dreams, and it is threaded through the narrative even if it gets somewhat lost in the muddy middle. All in all, a sweet fun little series with decent chemistry. 8/10

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 8 of 10 - I've totally forgotten what’s going on. There was another kidnapping. Maybe they’re actually dating now? I don’t know. Honestly, it won’t really matter cause everything will change by the end of this episode... again. That said, I did love the parental confrontation sequence. It’s not as good as in the original because it’s a lot more direct and modernized, but it was pleasingly aggressive. Which I weirdly appreciated for the military angle. The cross-dressing thing was odd. The dolls advertising thing is even odder. Jealous baby on sports day was good though.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - Why did I feel like I’ve seen this entire episode already. It’s just different characters saying the same thing to the main characters or flirting the same way or whatever. 

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 5 fin - I did not like this ep at all. Fully half of it was evil backstabbing and some bullying and some sort of trying to engender sympathy for a friendship betrayal. And I was not on board. (Wouldn’t mind seen Hali and that cute kid in something together tho.) 

Conclusion

Basically this was a story about online relationships and how they interface with the real world, and in personal friendships, plus bullying of all types and some backstabbing and shipping. The acting was weak, the sound was terrible, and generally it was an old style pulp offering. It tried to deal with some interesting issues, but was awfully clumsy about it. 5/10 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 9 fin - Such a great confession, so truthful and earnest and honest. And he’s also like that with his friends. And such a nice answer. I love that during the cool off they both realize how very much they both act like are boyfriends to each other all the time. Ooo running of the gays! And we even got a cute little smile kiss!!!! and an adorable boyfriend montage at the end. How unexpectedly satisfying of you, Japan!

Summation 

This is a phenomenally charming and adorable little romance about a forlorn university kid and the police officer who adopts him. They are relentlessly kind to each other, in fact it’s an extremely kindly show over all (everyone in it is so nice to everyone else including us) so there’s very little tension. But what it lacks in drive and complexity it makes up for in earnest acts of service and simple affection. These two are basically boyfriends from the get-go, it’s just one of them acts like it and doesn’t realize it and the other one realizes it and has to figure out how to make it a reality. It’s incredibly sweet and incredibly wholesome, nourishing but delicious. Everybody who can should watch this show. It will make you feel better about life. 

Easy 9/10 on this one from me.  

GO WATCH IT  

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 2 of ? - We have some semblance of a plot! Yay! Our BV tsundere character is secretly an online judge who whistleblows and exposes corruption in the school system. How very Pump Up the Volume. I am not mad about it. Also 2 of the prettiest seme bullies EVER. The epic pout-off with these bad boys. Be still my heart.

Our Golden Times (Hong Knong ??? YT) 1-4 of ? - Billed as a BL from Hong Kong I’m not sure we can trust this one to a get finished or be cohesive or have an HEA. But the optics are good. Everybody’s very pretty. It’s chaotic and clumsy and a little odd. But most of the stuff on my dash is these days, so what the hell? And ya know what, I kinda like it.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 4 of 10 eps - It remains entertaining but off kilter in that way that indicates 50% chance of ultimate dissatisfaction in the JBL pantheon. 

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - I wish we knew a little bit more about Sea's background/family. Neil should just tell him what the hell is going on. Why wouldn’t he? Instead they artificially wedged the main couple apart for most of this episode and Orca wasn’t there at all? = Not a good episode IMHO.

It's airing but...

My Damn Business (Korea Sat ????) 7 eps - supposedly airing on Saturdays starting 10/5 have no roleand I found the trailer but nothing else.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Oct 2024:

10/7 Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) 10 eps - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.)

10/10 Eccentric Romance (Korea Thurs Viki & Gaga) 12 eps - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab, that has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world. I'm worried but I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER.

10/10 Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea Thurs ????) 8 eps? - Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Okay both a movie (already out) and a series. Neither one is likely BL and I can't imagine it will end happily. I'm giving both a pass but here's your synopsis.

Cynical fun loving student Young pinballs from home, to class, to on night stands. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju and hookups.

10/23 See Your Love (Taiwan Gaga Viki) 10 eps? - Zi Xiong, a third-generation heir, attempting to flee from taking over their family business, meets and falls in love with Shao Peng, who works as a hearing-impaired nurse. From the same production house as Kiseki Dear To Me in partnership with Shinehouse Theatre, funded by Taiwan’s BIGART + Japan's Rakuten (Viki). Show includes Lin Chia Yo (Be Loved in House: I Do). Director Chiang Ping Chen’s childhood experiences with his deaf uncle have inspired the drama.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I kinda love it when someone else does the prophetic claiming. Our Golden Times

Crumbs in Summer Nights but they very cute crumbs. We didn't even really get to see them get together but I'm glad that they are.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[poundingprincess]

Blushing and Beeps

Here’s another, much, much longer piece about a cardiophile couple below the cut! It might be slightly unrealistic because I don’t know if vital sign monitors actually have audio or not, but oh well!

Summary: a cardiophile woman who’s just had an operation (successful - we love fluff over here) and her cardiophile boyfriend enjoy how the vital signs monitor has an audible ECG. (Mostly fluffy, somewhat smutty? Nothing explicit.)

Ryan can tell when the anaesthesia has worn off because Jessie is no longer slurring her words, but the biggest giveaway is how her wide eyes dart back and forth between the vital sign monitor and her boyfriend’s face.

“You good, baby?” he chuckles, amused at how her eyeballs seem to be playing ping pong - up to the monitor containing her heart rate, blood oxygen saturation and respiratory rate on her left, then up to him sitting in the chair on her right.

“I didn’t- I didnt realise it was audible,” Jessie stammers, referring to the high pitched beep, beep, beep in time with each heartbeat.

“You were pretty out of it, but I didn’t expect it to affect your hearing too. You seemed to reply to me pretty fine.”

His eyes study her face - she’s avoiding his gaze, a telltale sign that she’s feeling shy. He fights the urge to smirk - it would be pure evil in how flustered she’s getting, right?

“Well,” he snorts, “not exactly fine, you were saying some weird things…”

“Shit,” she hisses, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I didn’t mention… you know, did I?”

He laughs, a little too loudly, then covers his mouth, not wanting to wake anyone.

“No, baby,” he smiles, leaning in towards her ear, “you didn’t mention your raging heartbeat kink.”

He pulls back, relishing the sight before him - a bright red paints her cheeks. Their gaze remains locked for half a dozen or so rapid beeps before he averts his eyes over to the monitor.

“85 BPM, huh?”

“Funny how you said it was my you-know-what,” she teases, “I haven’t looked at the number once.”

“Liar,” he scoffs, “now that you’re not preoccupied with your surgery worries, I’m sure you have space in that kinky little brain of yours to indulge while you can.”

Jessie realises he has a pretty good point - she wasn’t able to enjoy the ECG and the pulse oximeter earlier because she was so tense. But now the stakes are practically zero, so indulging in her cardiophilia kink would be a low risk, high reward activity. And a good way to relax.

But is it ethical? And how, exactly? It’s not like she can rub one out or fuck in the middle of a ward.

She glances down at her boyfriend’s crotch and is greeted by what’s at least a semi peeking through his sweatpants.

“Uh,” she giggles, “Ryan-”

“Don’t,” he groans, being the one to blush now, “I know.”

“Sooo, how come?”

“I-” he sighs, leaning in again, not wanting anyone to hear, “I promise you I wasn’t like this before. I couldn’t be, not when I was stressed - I promise that I am turned off as fuck when there’s a genuine medical reason as to why your heart is being monitored.”

“Trust me,” she smiles, feeling strangely relieved and even more fond of him (if that was possible), “I couldn’t be either. It’s funny how context plays a big part.”

“I think it’s because I know you’re okay now. Like you normally are when your heart’s the focus of my attention.”

She bites her lip. “I can’t lie, knowing that you can hear every beat right now is so fucking hot.”

“God,” he groans, and she shivers from his hot breath against her ear, “it is. It’s making me want to make it even faster.”

As if they’re both thinking the same thing - what effect did that have? - they glance at the monitor in unison.

83 BPM.

“I really wanna see a PVC on the ECG in live time,” she whispers, “but I don’t know if that’d set off the alarm.”

“Tr-”

Before he can agree that it might be risky, the curtain is pulled open by a too-cheery nurse.

“Jessie!” he smiles, “good to see you more alert. I’m just going to run some obs if that’s alright.”

Ryan flashes a discrete wink in her direction as the nurse reaches around his neck to retrieve his stethoscope. Stethoscopes have always been his girlfriend’s kryptonite.

“O-Okay.”

“Is that a Littman?” Ryan asks, moving his hands in front of him to cover his semi.

Fuck, Jessie thinks, I am going to kill him. His tone of voice would be perceived as innocent to anyone else, but only Jessie - just as intended - is able to hear the air of ‘I enjoy flustering you, my love’ that his question is laced with.

“Uhhh,” the nurse murmurs, turning over the bell (but thankfully not his face towards Ryan), “yeah, it is! Do you work in healthcare?”

“No,” he says, before a hearty laugh escapes his throat. “No, I, uh- it’s a cliché, right?”

“I mean, they’re the best of the best,” the nurse shrugs, “clear heart sounds are essential for diagnosing things like heart murmurs-”

He clears his throat, interrupting himself. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I forget that I can’t nerd out to people like you guys.”

“Yeah,” Jessie says shakily, forcing herself to laugh a little.

If only the poor nurse knew.

“Alright,” he sighs, “it looks like I can’t get this under your annoyingly long gown without the bottom being lifted up. Is that okay?”

Jessie nods, her tongue darting out of her mouth to wet her suddenly dry lips. She hikes up her gown to the middle of her torso, grateful that she’s wearing underwear - the only man who’d ever be allowed to listen to her heartbeat whilst she’s naked was not the one currently holding the stethoscope!

It takes everything in her to not whimper as the diaphragm touches her chest.

She wonders if the nurse can still hear the beeps of the vital signs monitor, then realises that both her and her boyfriend can hear just what he can, minus the lub-dubs of the valves. Knowing that they can both hear how fast her heart is racing makes her clit pulse.

Jessie looks at the nurse and prays he doesn’t see her eyes widening. When she realises he’s looking past her, she lets herself quickly look at the BPM displayed on the monitor.

85 BPM. Real cool, Jess, her inner monologue tuts.

Her eyes dart back over to her smirking boyfriend. As smug as he’s trying to appear right now, his cheeks are also flushed, which amuses her.

“Take a deep breath in for me and hold it, please.”

Jessie’s cheeks burn as she complies.

As she holds her breath, she can feel her heart beating harder against her chest. Against the diaphragm. Her clit throbs again - it’s all becoming too much for her, and she’s sinking into that sweet, fuzzy headspace of submission.

“And exhale for me.”

Her exhale is embarrassingly shaky, and she hopes it isn’t picked up on.

The nurse pulls the diaphragm away, and Jessie is reluctant to let herself relax. Surely he’s going to auscultate her chest throughly, or go to her back next, but he doesn’t.

“Sounds good,” he nods. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The couple watch him put the stethoscope back around his neck and smile at them before walking out and closing the curtain again.

The second the curtain closes, Ryan stands and stares at Jessie in disbelief.

“I didn’t know “some obs” meant a brief listen to tricuspid before fucking off.”

“Ry!” she gasps. “Don’t be so rude.”

“I’m not!” he says, throwing his hands up in the air, “I’m just saying that I would’ve done a much better job at listening to you and making sure you were okay.”

The look in her boyfriend’s eyes - a stern gaze of lust and possessiveness - combined with his words makes Jessie swallow. She feels so small and protected right now.

“I know,” she whispers, as he walks towards the bed.

Ryan sits down on the bed and leans forward, brushing a few stray hairs behind Jessie’s ear. He leaves a long, gentle kiss on her cheek, then leans back and stares into her eyes.

“Listening to your heartbeat is a fucking privilege, Jess. It’s the thing that keeps you being you - my beautiful girl.”

Jessie can’t fight the smile that tugs at her lips in response to his affection.

“I know it’s silly, but I was worried while you were under. You know, like, what if you didn’t wake up or something.”

She giggles. “You know that’s rare, right?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “couldn’t help it though.”

A warm fondness fills Jessie’s chest - her boyfriend wasn’t usually one to be so lovey-dovey and vulnerable, so he must’ve really been worried.

It’s the worry that’s making him so affectionate… right? Surely not being able to hear every beat of his girlfriend’s heart?

Ryan places his hand in the centre of her torso, a hesitant look on his face. “Can I?”

She bites her lip. “You know it’ll probably make me… you know… right?”

“What?” he whispers, “horny?”

Jessie nods.

“Are you comfortable with being horny here? It’s totally okay and understandable if not.”

“Yeah,” she gasps, “I mean, I already, uh…”

She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut, suddenly shy and unable to finish her sentence.

“Awww,” Ryan laughs, “does being stethed really have that much of an effect on you?”

“Mhmmm,” Jessie squeaks, her eyes still closed.

Ryan taps in time with each beep of Jessie’s pounding heart against her sternum. “Can I move my hand up, love?”

Jessie frantically nods her head, and Ryan’s heart skips a beat at the view - his girlfriend looking utterly adorable and flustered, her cheeks bright red.

He drops his voice to a low, quiet rumble. “Use your words, princess.”

“P-Please,” she murmurs, “please feel my heart racing for you.”

Ryan beams at her, and wishes she could see how precious he thinks she is.

“Open your eyes, baby,” he coos as he places his hand over her left boob.

Jessie does, and is flooded with complete overwhelm that sends a warm pool of pleasure straight to her lower stomach.

Her boyfriend’s bright blue eyes filled with love, the rapid beeps of her heart rate filling the space between them, his hand placed firmly over her heart… it’s all so much, making her involuntarily whimper.

And then they both feel it - her heart stumbles against his hand.

If they weren’t so caught up in the moment, they would’ve heard it too - a very messy beep-beep, beep.

Their heads both immediately snap over to the continuous ECG on the monitor, and there it is - a tall peak followed by a pretty little dip in the graph, along with a reading of 90 BPM.

Jessie’s cheeks burn at the sight - she feels like she’s just been caught doing something utterly filthy. Her boyfriend just gave her a PVC, and there’s undeniable proof in front of them both.

And he’s going to milk this to tease her with forever.

“What was that, hmmm?” he teases.

“Oh, God,” Jessie groans, burying her head in her hands. “At least it didn’t cause some kind of sound like I was worried it would.”

“Nuh-uh,” Ryan says firmly, gently pulling her hands away from her face, “you’re going to look at me and tell me what that was.”

“You know what that was!” she whines. “You’re so evil!”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grins.

“PVC,” she huffs in a hurry, unable to make eye contact.

“I guess I’ll accept that,” he chuckles, “what caused it, huh?”

“I-I don’t know! I just feel so…”

“Exposed? Vulnerable? Observed?” Ryan offers, repositioning their hands into Jessie’s lap.

“All of those,” she breathes, “how’d you know?”

He can’t help but smile. “Because if I were you, I’d be feeling the exact same way. I’m fucking dying to get home and listen to her beat for me.”

“You kinda already can, though.”

“I can hear how fast she’s beating, but I can’t hear her.”

“Put your head on my chest?” Jessie asks.

“That’s an offer I’ll never refuse.”

Jessie shuffles to the right side and Ryan walks around the bed to lay on the left.

“I wish the monitor was on the other side,” he groans as he gets comfy, “I’d love to see the electrical activity as I listen.”

“I think we should buy a portable ECG,” Jessie muses. “Hey, watch the electrodes! You’re not supposed to even be in this bed.”

“Sorry, baby,” Ryan laughs, “I don’t know where to put my head. I kinda forgot about these because they were covered.”

Jessie pulls up her gown, making Ryan accidentally moan at the sight.

He clamps a hand over his mouth. “I hope no one heard that,” he grimaces.

“So… you like?” Jessie asks, her voice coming out smaller than she’d have liked - she was going for sexy, and ended up seeming timid instead.

“Fuck, baby,” Ryan breathes, “I love. Can I take a picture?”

“You can take a video if you want. Of all of this.”

Ryan jumps up from the bed and grabs his phone from the chair. He stands at the foot of Jessie’s bed and nods as he hits record.

Ryan walks over to the viral signs monitor.

“86 BPM,” he hums, “babygirl’s been loving this. We witnessed a PVC on this a minute ago too.”

His phone pans over to Jessie who doesn’t know what to do with her face or her hands. She settles for a wave.

“Pull up your gown, princess. Show me how pretty you look with the electrodes on your skin.”

Jessie complies, her clit throbbing at his praise.

“So gorgeous,” Ryan murmurs, “looks like we’ll be buying ourselves a portable ECG.”

He then pans his phone down to the outline of the boner in his sweatpants.

“I’ve been loving all of this too,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper, “I wish we could listen to her heartbeat as she cums for me.”

Ryan locks his phone, throws it on the chair and climbs back into bed next to a speechless, blushing Jessie.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Jessie gasps and nods, already breathless.

His hands cup her cheeks as he pulls her head towards his.

Jessie wishes she could focus on both the rapid beeping of her heart rate and how soft and warm his lips are, but the latter seems to be winning.

Ryan softly sucks on her lower lip, and Jessie gasps into his mouth.

“You like that, baby?” he murmurs against her lips.

“I’m so wet,” she whispers, “I need you so badly.”

“Not today, princess, I’m sorry,” he whispers back, “you have to be a good patient, don’t you?”

Jessie shivers at “good patient” - somehow it hits just as much as “good girl” does for her. Probably because she’s spent countless hours fantasising about Ryan being a pervy doctor who rewards his good cardiophile patients with lots of praise and attention on their hearts.

“Can we roleplay this? When we buy the portable ECG?” Jessie asks, eyes still closed and lips still touching Ryan’s.

“If you’re a good patient.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, “stop calling me that.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, “will you have another PVC for me?”

“Maybe,” she giggles, before closing the distance again.

One of Ryan’s hands travels up to Jessie’s neck - a safe place to feel her pulse, since there’s no electrodes there. He pushes his pointer and middle finger against her carotid vein in classic fashion.

Jessie can’t help but whimper at how awfully clinical that, and all of this is.

Ryan pulls away and admires the mess he’s turned Jessie into - her parted lips slightly swollen, heavy breaths escaping them, and her eyes wide and desperate, screaming I need you.

“I’m not risking us getting caught,” he laughs, fondly. He glances over at the vital signs monitor and smiles.

“20 breaths a minute, huh? Do I really make you that breathless, baby?”

“I guess so,” Jessie pants, both loving and loathing his constant (and secretly successful) attempts at flustering her.

“Well, you know what I say - good girls get to breathe, so breathe for me, sweetheart.”

“I already am!” she laughs.

“No, no,” Ryan playfully tuts, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Look into my eyes and breathe when I tell you to, like a good girl.”

“Fine,” Jessie whines, squeezing her thighs together.

“Breathe in and keep looking at me,” he says.

Jessie complies, butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“And out.”

Jessie exhales, but Ryan tuts again.

“That was too quick of an exhale, my love. We want to slow your breathing down, don’t we? Try again.”

Jessie breathes in again and waits for Ryan’s instruction to breathe out, but it seems to be taking a while.

He has a cheeky grin on his face, almost testing his girlfriend’s ability to be obedient. The longer she’s holding her breath, the more prominent each of Jessie’s heartbeats are, which doesn’t help with her horniness.

“And breathe out.”

Jessie tries her best to exhale for as long as possible, but she really wants to complain, so she second she thinks she’d exhaled for long enough, she groans.

“Fucking hell, Ry, I’m not a swimmer! I can’t hold my breath for that long.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I was only messing with you, I like you alive and breathing, and you could’ve breathed whenever you wanted. But look, it worked.”

Jessie looks at her respiratory rate, which now reads 12 breaths a minute.

“Much better,” he says softly, “good girl. That heart rate is looking better now too - 68.”

“You know that talking about it makes it higher, right?”

Ryan can’t contain the massive, cheesy smile that stretches across his face at her cuteness. “I love you so fucking much.”

He never thought he’d find someone like him - someone with such a niché turn on. But he did, and she’s his, and she’s okay.

“I love you too,” Jessie purrs, “I wish you could always see just what you do to my heart.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Whose heart?” he jokingly asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Jessie giggles, “my bad. Your heart.”

Suddenly, the curtain opens again.

“What’s all this about hearts?” the nurse from earlier asks.

“Oh, you know,” Ryan says, trying to play it cool, “the usual romantic shit, nothing medical.”

The couple lock eyes, Jessie’s sending a silent plea of my heart rate’s about to go up if he steths me again and Ryan’s saying I hope you’re getting discharged.

[ghostlychief]

Don’t Blame Me

Pairing: MW2 Ghost x f!reader

Summary: They say love makes you crazy, so can they really blame you?

Warnings: mentions of blood, knife usage (stabbing, stabbing people’s eyes, eyes being ripped out of socket); mentions of combat fighting; hints of torture and injuries from torture; typical MW2 lore

NSFW, MINORS DNI: blowjob, fingering, eating pussy; missionary; creampie; aftercare

WC: 7k+ (IK IT’S LONG)

A/N: hello hello! here is the long awaited ghost fic that’s been in development for quite awhile. Thank you so much for participating in my pole, and i hope you enjoy!!! I really let myself indulge in more of the gore this time around, so please read with caution if that kind of content bothers you.

ENJOY🫶🏻🖤

--

You didn’t know blood could be this thick.

But, as you cut through the swarm of your opponents, you really don’t care how much of it gets on your clothes, seeps into your crevasses, and splashes on your face. No, you really don’t give a shit. Your only objective is to get to Ghost, and quickly.

All you see is red, literally.

Before you even fully process what you’re doing, the knife in your hand has already sunk into a neck, blood spurting everywhere, drenching you further.  You carry on, the one person you’re trying to reach at the forefront of your mind.

Should you have felt some remorse for the lives you ended? Probably, but it was like you brain was turned off. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. It was like your brain was wired differently, like it was wired to focus on one thing and one thing only: retrieve Ghost.

You can’t recall when you two got separated, or when he got captured in your last mission. All you remember is the pain you felt when you noticed he’d been taken.

You could blame yourself for his capture, but you decided to turn your fury towards someone else rather than yourself. You realized over the years that self-loathing wasn’t very efficient. It tends to waste time.

It was easy after all; it’s not hard to hold contempt towards the people that stole your lover away from you.

This was their doing. I’m only showing them the consequences of their actions.

It’s what you had to tell yourself. Otherwise, you didn’t see how you were going to come out of this alive. You had to redirect your rage, your frenzy. You had to channel it through your veins, making sure it heated you, and coursed through in a way that burned.

It had to be this way. It was the only way to help you be relentless against your opponents.

You were pretty proud of your knife skills; it was your favorite weapon after all. You always made sure to carry at least two with you at all times.

Today, you strapped on four and you were lucky, since you lost your first two about ten minutes ago. They were no doubt lodged into someone lying on the ground, pierced through their eye. That was your sweet spot, never failing you to effectively take down your opposition.

By this point, it felt like you had sliced your way through a hundred men and yet you still haven’t reached the door of the facility Ghost was being held in. Hope was on the horizon though because you could faintly make out the top of the door frame, which egged you on further. Your muscles worked tirelessly as your arms continued to swing at the men attacking you.

Occasionally, you would move your arms in a quick jabbing motion, repeatedly stabbing the opponent in the stomach and then you would land one last finally blow to their eye, your signature move some would say.

One of the downsides of this move was that sometimes, it took a lot of strength to pull your knife back out of the eye (hence your missing knives), which resulted in pulling their eyeball clear and out of its socket.

Not the best outcome of this tactic, but it is what it is.

Unfortunately, for your last victim, this very thing happened. You were thankful when his screams died down quickly.

You had a moment to catch your breath, hanging your head, quivering hands resting on your upper thighs. You looked up just in time to see someone charging at you, yelling, and with their own knives in their hands.

You noticed that they were the only one alive left outside.

One more. I can take care of him.

You swiftly moved to the side, but could hear the whisp of his blade cutting through the air. That was no good- he got too close.

Time to fix that.

Since you were so deft in your knife wielding ability, you also had a knack of being light on your feet and quick. Something that certainly benefited you.

While the man was no doubt taller and heavier than you, you were faster and anticipated his movements with ease. Sooner than later he too was on the ground, finished, with a sliver blade in his left eye, your red hand-grip the only thing you could see sticking out of his head.

You decided to leave it there, as a parting gift of course.

That’s where you got your nickname, Red Eye, seeing that your weapon of choice was wrapped in a blood-red grip that blended in with the blood that seeped out of your victims’ eye sockets. You thought the nickname was silly at first, but you just grew to accept it over the years. What can you say, you like the fancifulness of it every once in a while.

While you always had reputation, this name made your reputation grow into something almost bigger. While your peers and opponents knew you as the women with the red soaked blades, this name gave you a more, how should you put it?

Eerie reputation.

After stepping over your last remaining victim, you finally reach the double doors, leading into the building Ghost is being held captured in.

Before you entered though, you heard a voice through your comms. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Red Eye.”

Fuck me.

You hear Soap over the comms, “Wait for backup. We’re detecting three bodies via heat signatures”

You let out a groan, but made sure that your comms didn’t pick up on that.

“We don’t have time for that. I need to engage now.”

“You will do no such thing.” You hear Price’s voice cut through, stopping you from opening the doors.

“It’s a miracle you made it this far without any back up. Don’t test my patience.”

Ok, so you may have left without anyone knowing and got a two-hour head start before the rest of your team caught up to your location.

It’s just- they were taking, what it seemed like, forever to develop a plan to get your boyfriend out of captivity. You get it, logistics need to be air tight. But this was Ghost, Simon. Your Simon out there.

You knew he could handle what was given to him, but that didn’t ease any worry or hurt left in your heart, and it made you see red with anger.

That’s how your more or less ended up here, alone, slicing through about 30 men all by yourself. Not the smartest move you admit, but you had to get to Simon. You knew his time was running down, like a sand timer, each minute gone left him more perilous than before.

You were definitely going to get your ass kicked tomorrow at debrief.

You were just about to go in, thinking to hell with listening to orders, when you hear at least two sets of feet jogging across the gravel.

“Jesus, Red Eye. Leave any for the rest of us?”

You just roll your eyes at Soap, ignoring his comment. “C’mon guys, we need to hurry. Let’s take the last of the fuckers out and get Ghost back home.”

“Roger that.”

You go in first taking point, Soap and Kӧnig flanking you.

This time around, you have your handgun out, but your knife is safely held with your left hand, resting on the underside of the muzzle.

The hallway is dark, but it’s to your advantage. You think you see a light source coming from the hallway on the left that you’re coming up to, so you raise your left hand and point in that direction, signaling to Soap and Kӧnig.

This is where you come across the first person.

We must be close.

You let Kӧnig take him out. He comes up swiftly behind him and locks an arm around the man’s throat. First knocking him out, but then ultimately, finishing the job.

You three continue down the long corridor. They seem to go on forever. Sweat drips down your temple, and you hastily swipe it away, not wanting anything to obstruct your vision.

As you come closer to the end of the hallway, you start to hear something.

You raise your hand to signal Soap and Kӧnig to stop, and turn around so they can see you raise your pointer finger up to your lips.

You listen for the sound again, and you realize what it is this time.

Your blood runs cold, and goosebumps form on your arms, freezing you in place as you listen to the deafening sound that doesn’t seem to stop.

Ghost is screaming.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this loud, let alone sound so full of pain. You have to pull it together though, you’re almost to him.

You continue on, making a right this time, and Ghost’s screams become louder. It’s good and bad of course. Good because he’s near you and you’re close, bad because he hasn’t stopped screaming.

You wonder how long this has been going on for.

You feel a heavy weight float down your chest, that takes its resting place in your heart. You find it hard to breath, and it takes every fiber in your being not to go into full panic mode.

You get closer and closer to the room Ghost is in, but you don’t hear him anymore. There is no one outside guarding, so the remaining two people must be inside with him.

Your stomach churns over.

You hadn’t realized it, but you fell behind both Soap and Kӧnig, but without a beat, they took your spot at point, leading you to the door.

They bust in first and immediately go after the two men that were standing by Ghost, who is strapped to a chair. It’s your job to get Ghost free of his confines.

But when you look at him, you freeze all over again.

He’s slumped in the chair, hands and feet bound by thick ropes that are no doubt leaving crude burns in his skin.

His pants have rips and holes in them and from further examination, you realize it’s from cigarette burns and cuts from blades.

You can’t see any damage on his arms but you’re worried what his shirt is hiding on his torso. You realize he’s slumped because he’s knocked out cold, probably from a concussion. But you know he’s alive because you see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s ever so faint, but it’s there.

You look around the room and notice a medium size table with different kinds of weapons and tools splayed out along the length of the table. You notice some have dried blood on them, while other tools are still dripping red. Rags litter the table as well. They’re dirty and also have traces of lingering blood.

Once again, you feel the embers burning through you, and you feel like you’re about to explode into a fury of rage.

You turn towards the two men that Soap and Kӧnig took down.

The two bodies lie on the floor and before you realize what you’re doing, you crouching over the first man, and with your blade, you start stabbing both of his eyes, switching on and off between the left and right. While you do this, a blood curdling scream leaves your lips.

It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking; a fine line dances between the two.

You snarl at the now eyeless man before you crawl your way over to his counterpart and release the same anger and revenge onto him. Your screech never faltering.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel strong arms come up behind you and lift you off the dead man.

You start fighting their hold and it’s then when you start crying, your scream turning into a sob. The exhaustion finally getting to you.

“We got him. He’s going to be ok; it’s going to be ok.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

--

When you wake, you notice you’re lying on something soft. When you come to, you realize you’re on a bed, under a thin layer of covers and your head rests on a firm pillow.

You squint because the lights are overly bright but when they adjust, you notice the infamous florescent glow, meaning, you’re in the medical ward of the base.

You sit up, and you notice no aches or pains outside of your regular soreness you felt after fighting for an extended period of time. Your head also hurts, but you don’t really care.

You want to know where Simon is.

You notice a nurse a few feet away and you wave her over.

“Excuse me, but why am I in here?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that she’s nervous. She fidgets with her hands before answering you.

“Well miss, you fainted on your last mission. They brought you here to be examined.”

She moves over to the end of your bed and takes out the clipboard that resided in the pocket.

“Here, let’s see.” She looks over your paper before looking back at you, still with a trace of uneasiness.

“Seems like everything is OK. Your vitals are normal, and you have no major injuries, just some light bruising on your arms and hands. You are welcome to leave when you want.”

You glance down and notice the light purple that spans across your knuckles.

Before she can scurry away, you ask, “Wait, where are they keeping Ghost?” You shake your head, “I mean, Simon Riley.”

A look of pity crosses her face before she answers, “He’s in Ward C miss; the intensive care unit.”

She leaves before you can ask her anything else.

What the fuck was her problem?

You jump out of your bed, but immediately regret that decision when your head starts to throb right above your left eye.

Now is not the time for a migraine.

You make sure you have all of your belongings before you rush over to Ward C. Right before you are about to enter through the doorway, Price comes through and stops you with a hand placed on your shoulder.

He looks down at you – you’re really getting tired of being the shortest on the team- and squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Before you go in there, guns-a-blazing, he’s doing ok, alright?”

You just stare up at him and nod. Although it was good to hear Simon was doing ok, whatever the hell that meant, you still had so much anger left in you. So much you were hoping that just the sight of Simon healing would help quell you.

You walk past Price, a determined spring in your step, ready to be reunited with Simon. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he was gone, and you thought he was never coming back.

The intensive care unit is unusually empty so it’s not hard to find which bed Simon is occupying.

You quietly walk up to the side of the bed, and you are finally by his side.  

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me bug, I’m awake.”

Simon’s voice startles you and your head turns towards his. You notice his left arm is in a sling but a lazy smile graces his lips.

If you weren’t in a medical facility on base, out in the open to the prying eyes of the public, you would have immediately burst out crying just at the sound of his voice.

Instead, you let out a breathy, “I thought I lost you.”

Unlike Simon, your face has no hint of happiness. Your lips are slightly turned down, quivering and your eyes start to well up with tears, but you will them not to drop.

Your hands are balled up in fists but you bring yourself back down. You are here for him after all; it’s not the other way around.

You slowly unclench your fists and then gingerly sit down on the side of Simon’s bed, right at his hip.

That’s when you bring your hand up to trace down the side of his face, feeling the familiar stubble that never fails to tickle you when he kisses you.

Your hand comes back up to rub his cheek and you say again, “I thought I lost you, Simon.”

He brings his hand up to cup yours that still rests on his face. “I know, I know. But I’m here, and I’m ok.”

“Are you though?” You can’t fight it anymore, the tears stream down your face, their streaks burning your skin.

His hand that was resting on yours comes up to rub your head. “Promise.”

After that, you and Simon laid in his hospital bed for the remainder of the day. He fell in and out of sleep, but you were just thankful he was alive and breathing next to you.

--

It’s been about three weeks since Simon’s been back. He’s out of his sling and most of his bruises and wounds have healed. Expect for the deeper lacerations on his thighs. He also has some scarring from the cigarette butts. But over all, you would say he’s doing pretty alright, all things considered.

You’re both currently on base, since you needed to attend multiple meetings today, and you’re eating lunch in the cafeteria.

“So, I heard you went kind of, feral, when you came to rescue me.” Simon has an innocent look on his face, but you see him trying to hid his shit eating grin.

You narrow your eyes at him, “And who did you hear that from?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No one in particular.”

You scoff. Fucking Soap.

You knew he must have told someone, if not Simon himself. He was quite the gossiper.

What a fucker.

“Well, did you want me to ask them to be friends?”

Simon lets out a low laugh. “That would have been funny.” You look up at him and see his eyes are lit with amusement.

You let out a sigh, but a ghost of a smile dances across your lips. You know he’s feeling better since he’s joking around.

--

Another three weeks has passed and you find yourself in the typical meeting room. The one you all use before a mission. That means this will be your last debrief before you jet off to where ever the location is in a few days.

The meeting goes well up until the part where Price says “And Ghost, you will wait here at the rendezvous point.”

You interrupt him, “Wait what?”

The room goes silent as you stare down Price.

“There’s no way Simon is going on this mission. Nope. Not happening.”

“Well, y/n, you don’t really have a say in this. Do you?”

The trace of condescendence has you short circuiting but you keep your cool. You glare at Price, “If Simon’s going on this mission, then count me out.” You don’t notice the slip of his name. Usually at work you call Simon Ghost or LT, but never Simon.

You storm out of the room and head back to your desk to gather your things to leave.

You hear someone lightly jogging behind you, and you have a hunch about who it is that followed you out.

You feel a hand softly grab your elbow and you hear Simon plead, “Wait.”

You sigh and turn around. Looking up at him you confess, “Look, I need to cool off for a bit. We can talk at home, ok?”

You see Simon contemplate whether to let you go or not, but he just gives you a curt nod. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze where his hand still rests, “Ok, see you at home.” --

You basically scowl your whole way home. Listen, you know you have some slight anger issues, but you’re working on it.

You get home after the long day and quickly make way to the shower, needing to feel the hot water run down your head and back. That will calm me, you think.

Once you step out of the shower, you already feel better. You’re clean, and you smell like your favorite soap. You change and do your normal routine after a shower then head to the kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea.

Evening tea is one of your favorite treats and it always seems to quell your nerves. Because that’s what you are right now, nervous.

You don’t want to fight with Simon, no, not at all. But you can’t help but feel frustrated at Price, and subsequently him, for deciding that he’s ready to go back in the field. Because from your perspective he’s not. Hell, it’s barley been a month and a half, and you think he needs more time to cope with what happened to him.

Sure, he’s seeing the base’s therapist, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his physical body healthy, yet you can’t help but the ball of worry that has formed in the pit of your stomach, fester. Something keeps nagging at you, and you don’t know what it is.

You just don’t understand how Simon can bounce back so quickly.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait too long for Simon to get home. And when he does, you find yourself perking up on the couch when you hear him come through the door.

He lets out a soft “Hey,” in which you respond just as softly back.

“I’m going to go shower and wash up, but then we can talk, yeah?”

You give him a nod, but also confirm, “Sure, that sounds good.”

His shower felt like eternity, but you know you only feel this way because you’re on edge. Again, you don’t want to fight with him. You just, you love him so much, you can’t stand to lose him again. No, it can’t happen again.

You hear soft footsteps on the tile as Simon makes his way through the kitchen to the living room where you’re still seated on the couch.

You look up at him before he sits down and grant him a quiet smile, and reach out your hand to his. His large hand grasps yours in his, and his thumb traces your knuckles. He then sits down next to you, and now his fingers are tracing over yours, relaxing you just a smidge.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of you instantly, and it takes ever thing in you to not glue yourself to his side.

You both slightly turn to each other, and funnily enough you each say “So,” at the same time.

You giggle and he lets out a low chuckle that makes your insides swarm. You miss him.

“You go first, bug.” The hand that has been tracing yours pulls you closer to him, and he embraces you in a warm hug as you both sit on the couch.

Before you start, you simply just bask in Simon’s embrace, not wanting to let go just yet. You begrudgingly pull away, but still keep your fingers connected in their little dance.

“I’m sorry for storming out today at our meeting. That was unprofessional, and uncalled for, but I just don’t see why you have to go on our next mission.”

“Aren’t you still hurting from what happened to you on the last one? I guess I just don’t understand why you want to go back in the field so soon.”

There’s a pause before you add, “How do you know you’re ready to go back?”

One thing you appreciate about Simon is that he never interrupts you, and he always lets you finish your complete thought before adding his.

When he can tell you’re done, he sighs and says, “Because, y/n, that’s what we’re trained for.”

“I wouldn’t have this job if I couldn’t put the pieces back together after every mission.”

You guess that makes sense, but you’re still concerned about him.

“Listen, I get that, I really do. I guess what I want to make sure of is that you’re actually doing ok and that you’re working through whatever happened to you.”

He’s told you the gist of what happened, and he confides in you whenever he feels like he needs the extra support, but you know that there are some things he’s still hiding. Which, you’re not going to push him to tell you, but you hope at some point he does.

He gives you a slight smile, “That’s why I love you. You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it so much, but I’m really doing fine, ok?”

He shifts so he’s leaning in closer to you, and now it’s his turn to cup your jaw with his hand. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod at his answer. “I love you too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You grant him a smile in return and then he pulls you in for a kiss.

--

The kiss deepens and before you know it, you’re straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his thick torso. You’re a mess as you straddle him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, if even possible.

He wraps his arms around you and subconsciously pulls you closer to him. His large hands span across your back as he holds you close to him. Your center brushes against his you let out a moan when you feel this contact. You run your hands down his neck and shoulders, feeling the taught muscles underneath his black t-shirt. As you rock your hips against his, you hear him let out a moan, which only eggs you on further.

“Fuck, y/n. Keep doing that again.” His hands travel down to hold you hips, almost as if he’s trying to help you move against him.

Your hands move in tandem and they come to rest at the base of his t-shirt, your fingers playing with the hem. You’re itching to take it off of him, and he seems to understand what you want, because he pauses kissing you to help you take off his shirt.

Now shirtless, you bring your hands up to his shoulders and then trail them slowly down his torso, nails ever so slightly scraping against his skin. You can feel each ridge and bump from his abs before your reach the hem of his sweatpants. Your fingers graze over his happy trail before you start toying with his sweats.

You run one finger along the hem of his grey sweats, then ever so slightly, your finger enters his pants, you run your finger under his sweatpants. You’re teasing him, and you can tell he’s getting antsy by the way he shifts as your finger runs along the band of his briefs.

As you continue to tease him, you trail or lips over his chest. Your lips wrap around one of his nipples, the unpierced one, and you softly bite him before you run your tongue over his nipple, suckling.

He moans out a gentle “Fuck,” and one of his hands comes up to grasp your hair.

You move over to his other nipple, the pierced one to be exact, and you once again softly bite him then suck. You make sure to spend your time here because you know this is one of Simon’s favorite thing during foreplay. Once he’s taken care of there, you continue to trail your lips down his abdomen, and now you’re finally at his center.

You get off his lap and sit on the floor in-between his spread legs. You place your hands right above his knees, and you look up at him with your swollen lips.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, right?” You rub your thumbs in soft circles on his legs, waiting for his answer.

You see him gulp as he looks down at you, and then his lips quirk, in a smirk.

“What do you say?” Your hands stop their ministrations and you tilt your head, understanding what he wanted.

“Please.”

His smirk deepens, “Good girl.”

At his greenlight, you come up on your knees so that you can reach him better. Your trail the hem on his sweatpants one last time before you start pulling them down off his hips, making sure that his briefs come off too. He lifts his butt to help you, and now you’ve successfully taken his pants and underwear off.

You greedily take in the size of him. His dick is hard and slightly curved as it lays against his stomach. You wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick that your hand doesn’t close around it the whole way. You pump him slowly, as you look at him. His eyes are blown out and he leans his head back against the couch. You smile at him before you lower yourself. You link one strip up his dick, making him squirm underneath you. You then you bring up your hand to start pumping him. As your hand moves up and down, your lips come up to kiss the to crown of his dick.

You look up at him again, locking eyes and then wrap your lips around him. Once your lips make contact, he lets out a low moan. You continue to sink down on him. You move your head up and down, trying to adjust to his size. The part of his dick that you can’t fit into your mouth, you cover with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Your hair falls around you, and at this, Simon carefully takes your hair into one hand, putting it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good.”

You continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks. You know he’s close when you see his abs start to clench and his legs start to stiffen.

The moans he lets out has your getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and you squirm, trying to ease some of the pent-up tension you’re feeling.

Your unoccupied hand comes down to play with his balls, gently squeezing them and that is what does him in. He lets out a louder groan and you feel his warm come shoot down your throat.

You keep your mouth on him, cleaning him up before you slowly take yourself off him. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and you sit back on your heels, smiling at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a low chuckle.

“Damn, you really did a number on me there.” You laugh yourself and you come up to the couch, sitting beside him so you can turn his head to give him a lingering kiss.

You give him a few pecks, “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” Your eyes are bright as you look at him, and his hold the same amount of affection and adoration.

His low voice cuts through you, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, alright?”

You give him a brief nod, “Please.”

He pulls you back into him, and then starts to push you back so you’re lying on the couch under him. He’s kissing you frantically now, his tongue entering your mouth.

“Take your pants off for me, would you?” His hands make their way to take your shirt off, and while he does that, you slip out of your shorts, underwear gone with them.

“Thank you, baby.”

He keeps kissing you as his hand comes down to your center. He first cups you, and then brings his pointer finger to rub against your clit. As his pointer is stimulating your clit, his middle and ring finger run along your slit, gathering up all the wetness that formed over the course of the last half hour.

You see him bring his coated fingers up to you. “Taste for me,” he breathes. And without any hesitation, you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, making sure to look at Simon while you lick his fingers. He watches you with fire in his eyes.

“Good girl.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing him call you that.

He brings his hand back down to your pussy and then enters two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously. You whine as his fingers enter you; they feel so good inside you.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend has quite large hands, which equated to long, thick fingers, and he always knew what to do with them.

He starts picking up the pace, and the squelching sound his fingers make is deafening, and the only thing you can focus on as they move in and out of you.

You didn’t even have to ask before he’s adding in a third. You feel yourself clench around him, and you’re already losing your mind and he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet.

He’s hitting you right in your sweet spot, and your hands come up to hold him by the shoulders. He moves down ever just a hair, and you’re not sure why until he lowers his head. He spits, and then connects his lips with your clit, moving his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The addition to his lips on your clit has you seeing stars and you start to feel that familiar build up. You tumble over the edge, a bright warmness spreading through you.

Simon removes his lips and fingers from you and you’re both panting heavily. He’s bracing himself with one arm as he looks down at you.

Your hair is messily strewn across the couch behind you, and your eyes are bright. Your chest moves up and down as you try and catch your breath. You smile up at him, this time your teeth showing.

He gives you a peck on your lips. “How was that?”

You sigh, “Amazing.”

Another kiss is pressed on your lips and you can faintly taste yourself on him.

“I want to properly fuck you, and that can’t be done on the couch. Bedroom, yeah?”

You nod up at Simon acquiescing to his suggestion.

“Alright, up you go then.”

He swiftly pulls you up and off the couch into his arms. You squeal at the sudden movement but it turns into giggles as Simon carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wow, my night in shining armor.” You lazily loop your hands around his neck as he leads you both to the room. He just laughs at your statement.

Once there, he gently deposits you on the bed, and wastes no time picking up where you left off.

He crawls on top of you and starts to kiss you up your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth. His kiss leaves you burning, and your hands eagerly reach for him, pulling him down further into you.

You wrap your legs around his torso, and feel his dick brush up against your center, hard once again.

He pulls away to look at you, eyes connecting. “Do you need any more prep?” He brings a hand up to brush away some of the flyway hairs that covered your face. His hand lingers, cupping your head, and his thumb brushes your cheek in a soothing back and forth motion.

Smiling you answer, “No, I’m good.”

“Ok.”

Bracing himself above you, his hand trails down to grasp his dick. He gives it a few pumps before running it along your slits, and lightly taps it on your overly sensitive clit.

He then slowly guides it into you, the stretch much bigger than what his fingers could offer. You both let out a sigh as he fully sinks into you, eyes connecting at this very moment. Once he’s fully inside, he gives you some time to adjust, his hand moving to hold your hips, thumb moving in circles.

“You okay?” He asks, looking down at you. You look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good, you can start moving.”

At your consent for him to move, he does just that. He pulls his hips back before he pushes them back into you. He starts off with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You’re surprised he’s not pounding into you relentlessly like he usually does. This time his thrusts are much more calculated, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world. The slower drag of him against your walls makes you roll your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of him.

It’s only him, that’s all you can think about, all you can feel. You let go of the heaviness you’ve been feeling to focus on being with him now. It’s not hard, he makes you feel like you’re floating anyways.

Your fingers run down his face, down his shoulders, taking in as much as you can of him. Then you run your hand down his tattooed arm, mapping the intricate details of his tattoos and running over the protruding veins due to him propping himself up. Simon watches you as you run your hand across him.

He gives you a particular harsher thrust, eyes trained on you when you moan and clutch his arm a harder. He picks up the pace just a little, loving the way you look beneath him, taking his cock so well.  

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you breathe. He hits that same spot again, but this time you move up the bed a little from the force of his hips. Your breasts jiggle as you shift up the bed and Simon’s eyes are travel to your chest. He brings his hand up to up one of them, rolling his thumb over your nipple. Simon keeps this faster rhythm with his hips, slamming into your now quivering pussy, showing you no mercy as he pounds into you with force.

His thrusts are powerful that leave the breath knocked out of you.

He removes his hand from your breast to wrap it around your leg. He positions your leg so it’s resting on his shoulder, now giving him a new angle into you. This position allows you to feel him move even deeper inside you, now feeling the tip of his dick hit your cervix, which makes you whine. His thrusts continue their hard motions, but his pace starts to slow down.

Simon’s hips start to falter a little bit in their smooth rhythm, a telltale sign he’s close. At his praising, you unconsciously clench around him, making him breathe out a silent curse as his hand tightens on your leg that is propped up on his shoulder.

“Si, I’m close,” you whine. You feel so full, so consumed by all things Simon, the only thing you can focus on is him and the building orgasm that threatens to spill over.

“Me too.” Simon removes his hand that’s been propping your leg up and moves it down to your clit, and starts to rub slow circles on the bud, making you squirm. You bring your leg down from his shoulder to wrap it around his torso once again pulling him closer to you. You drag your hands down and up his back as his thumb continues to abuse your clit. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a few more thrusts from Simon and the quick movements of his finger on your clit, you feel the coil in you snap, and it snaps hard. Your orgasm washes over you, a blinding white light that makes you feel like you’re going to pass out, and you call out his name one last time.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you see stars, as your pussy clamps down hard on Simon’s dick. He’s a moaning mess above you as he feels your orgasm that’s traveling through your body, your walls contracting around him.

He curses out a soft “fuck baby” and then he’s following just a hair behind you, traveling over his precipice as well, emptying inside of you. You feel his come paint your walls as your pussy continues to clench around him, as you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

He collapses on top of you but is careful not to crush you completely. You’re breathing heavy as you both come down from your highs, both sweaty messes.

He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a soft smile on his face and you smile back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

Your smile falters, “I never want you to leave me like that ever again. Got it?” Your voice is firm, but there’s an underlying trace of tenderness. Your hand comes up to push his hair back, waiting for his answer.

“Never.”

“Good.” You pull him back down to you for a kiss.

He slowly peels himself off of you and whispers out, “Wait here.”

You lay on your back, legs bent as you wait for Simon’s return. When you hear him entering the bedroom, you slightly sit up and you notice a washcloth in one of his hands.

He kneels back on the bed and gingerly pries your legs open so he can clean you up. He delicately starts wiping your center, his first few strokes making you writhe due to oversensitivity. His hand rests tenderly on your knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he wipes you clean. He must have run the washcloth under hot water because it’s wet and feels warm against your skin.

When he’s done, he pecks the inside of your knee and gets up off the bed to go throw the washcloth in the hamper. When he returns to you, he’s in his boxers, and he has a t-shirt in his hand.

“For you, my lady.” You laugh at him and take his shirt, pulling the soft material over your body.

You both clamber under the covers, and are now wrapped up in Simon’s arms.

There’s no place you’d rather be right now, and you’re so thankful the universe allowed you another chance to be with him like this.

If he didn’t make his way back to you, you don’t even know what you would have done. Probably would have gone mental, but who could really blame you?

[tobifuyu]

Shopping with the Haitani Ran goes wrong!

RAN HAITANI x f!reader

Ran thinks you're too cute to be dressing this badly. He takes you shopping, finally gives in to his own desires and touches you in the dressing room. Chaos ensues.

cw: nsfw, mdni, smut, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial.

words count: 5,398

a/n: this is actually my first time writing smut, or anything at all, so bear with me. the one shot is part of a longer fic that I will start posting pretty soon, set in the Bonten timeline, I just wanted to put out something in the meantime, mostly as practice. english is not my first language! enjoy.

If you think shopping with a man such as Haitani Ran would be an enjoyment of sorts, well, you’d be wrong.

If your damnation could be encased in a day it would be today out of all of them.

Haitani Ran is already a handful as it is, put him in a store-filled street, already dressed to the nines and parading around like he owns the motherfucking moon and stars and what comes out is a big ass headache and a lot of self-deprecation.

In theory, the idea was not half bad. Ran knows a lot about this kind of stuff: fashion, styling, brands… at least more than you do, no matter how much you’d like to keep up. And the amount of money in his bank account is – well, still a mystery to you – you can only imagine a lot, considering what he is wearing and the place he’s dragging you to with a big hand wrapped around your wrist.

So in theory him helping you pick out a few pieces of clothing you could buy with your weekly allowance didn’t sound too bad. Considering how extravagant he and his brother are, you were expecting to head over to Harajuku, and maybe try to dig out something he could style for you from a cool vintage store.

You didn’t think he would bring you to a mall.

You don’t even think you’d be allowed in such a place, normally, not in the way you’re dressed anyway.

I mean, you did try your hardest to look somewhat presentable, knowing you’d be running around with the Haitani Ran, but with your laughable budget and a very confused sense of style, you look like Ran had just picked you up from the sidewalk like one of those lone puppies you’d see in a sad movie and brought you around to keep him company while squatting at his feet and wiggling your tail.

You’ve just always liked too many trendy styles, buying a few pieces here and there and leaving you with no basics and nothing to match them with, and so y ou look out of place, walking into a brand store practically hand in hand with one of the most handsome guys those judgy store clerks have probably ever seen, with a timeless and classy outfit that makes him look like he belongs there.

And most importantly, that he can afford it.

Maybe the only thing that makes up for it is his crazy two-toned braids. Doesn’t make him look nearly as bad as you, but at least you know how to use a toner.

He spends some time looking around the racks after shooing the shopping assistant who tried to approach the two of you away, and you trail behind him like – yeah, you guessed it – a lost puppy with eyes cast down, as if trying to disappear, maybe then they’d stop staring holes through your bland white cardigan that’s a little too big for your frame since you eyeballed its size and then found it too comfy to size down.

And that’s because you and fitting rooms just don’t click. You find the whole process a little too tiring, both mentally and physically.

Who enjoys spending that much time undressing yourself to wear clothes that have been worn by god knows how many others and have yet to see a washing machine, just to cry the moment you get them on because fast fashion sizes don’t fit people but want people to fit in them? Also having to recollect yourself and patch up your makeup while redressing as quickly as possible cause a line has already formed outside the door, you can hear them, and you can already feel their judging stares the moment you are gonna leave all the clothes you tried on with the clerk, nonetheless, cause everything looked like absolute shit on you–

Draining, that’s what it is.

But it’s dread that you feel creeping up on you while approaching the said fitting rooms with one of Ran’s arms now circling your waist, the other doing the most to hold up a bunch of clothes that you can barely make out but you know he has picked out, just for you.

“We can skip this part.”

You had tried reasoning, just to get hit with a “Skip this part my ass, there’s no buying clothes without trying them on. That’s how you end up with that cardigan. And I’m paying for this shit, so we’ll do as I say, princess.”

Ouch, what a little bitch.

Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling remorse, after he’s reminded you so kindly of why he’s decided to do this in the first place, knowing he wants to pull out his wallet to soothe his pretty eyes from having to see you dressed like a mess all the time.

But you’re better than this, so you decide you’ll only pick something you can afford.

He’s nothing to you but a new acquaintance, after all.

A means to an end, you like to remind yourself. You’re not using him, not a hundred percent at least, cause he’s getting your shining company in return. But yeah… you just need him to get to Manjirou. Nothing more. Nothing fun… you swear to yourself.

You’re doing Toman a favor, continuing Draken’s underground work now that he’s gone. You know Takemichi and sweet Chifuyu don’t add up to much when it comes to planning.

You’ve heard about Ran’s little fixation on you from the grapevine. His own brother had admitted to him relentlessly talking about you. And now, with Kantou Manji looming over the future of you all, you knew you had to get involved.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Ran’s lazy lavender eyes have had you in a chokehold from the very first time the two of you met, years ago.

He and Rindou wanting to fight you and your brother – only the latter, really – just to find out that you don’t back down from a challenge.

(From that day onward, if you were to ask Rindou, he would say that’s when his brother started talking about you.)

So you let him lock you in the fitting room, one of those cool ones with mirrors and lights all around you but, most importantly, a sturdy door.

One you know, in a store this expensive, no one will start knocking on if you take too long squeezing into one of those tiny dresses.

Not that it does anything to stop Ran once you’ve declared you’ve tried on the first one.

A pretty lilac piece, that would complement him and his eyes more – you mentally decide you’d like to see that – but you would look pretty (for once) standing at his side.

If it weren’t for the fact that it’s a tad too little on your frame, as expected, squeezing all the wrong places, skin spilling over and all that (you can’t possibly know he’s picked it a size or two too small on purpose).

Especially your cleavage, meaning this is all but a dress you could just wear to parade around the streets with a gang member. It would send the wrong message. And god knows what would happen if that message were to reach someone from Toman. A blond-haired guy in particular.

Shame on you.

But you can’t dwell on it too much, with Ran bursting through the door, then closing it behind his frame with all the nonchalance in the world, as if it isn’t quite scandalous the way you’re half clad and enclosed in a tight space with a man older than you (not by much, but still), in a luxury store, with clerks circling the both of you like hawks.

He approaches your body, and you can tell he’s making a decision his head while scrutinizing the dress, or rather you, from over your shoulder.

You’re facing forward and can feel the heat of his body approaching way before you feel his front touch your back, his hands momentarily settling at your hips.

They then move lower, trying to smooth the fabric of the dress as if it would make it fit better, and you feel a shiver run through your spine at the contact.

The tips of his fingers are cold where they brush your naked thighs, so you blame it on that.

“Looks perfect on you.” his warm breath hits your neck as he speaks with that low voice of his.

Focus, goddamnit.

“I hope you’re joking. I can barely breathe, and I think my ass might be hanging out.”

You can feel his body shake with giggles, and you know he’s trying to contain them for your sake, even though he’s never been the one to shy away from public shaming, especially when it comes to you. Sigh.

“Mh, I don’t know about that, but the front looks good.” His hands make a b-line for your waist, squeezing the fat there before moving upwards to rest a breath away from your tits. The dress is so tight you didn’t need to wear a bra with that. “Gosh, would you look at that? Fucking perfect.”

“Ran,” you warn him, you know he’s just teasing you again, or rather, testing you.

You meet his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and you don’t want him to win one of the many little challenges he poses you with daily, so you hold his gaze, leaning the back of your head against his left shoulder.

He’s sure you’re the one tempting him at this point, deciding to play along in his little game that’s gonna ruin the both of you sooner or later, cause with that movement alone you’ve exposed your neck and cleavage like a white canvas, only his to paint.

“Fuck baby,” he groans and you feel yourself shivering once again, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you? Or maybe you do, you little vixen.”

You laugh, “Is that all it takes to bring down the Haitani Ran? A dress that’s a little too small?” you want to hit his ego back, at least, for the way he’s making you feel.

So exposed and vulnerable.

And little, which you’re very much not, but the way he’s encasing you with his bigger body is making you look ridiculously tiny.

“Paired with these tits and hips yeah, might just be the one thing that’s gonna put an end to the Haitani’s reign.”

It’s mesmerizing, his tone of voice, the deep baritone laced with a hint of teasing and sass that drips from his lips like honey straight to your pliant ears and reverberates through your even more pliant body.

One of his fingers creeps up to the neckline of the dress and drags over its seams with such a delicately that you wouldn’t even have caught it if you weren’t so busy trying to follow his every move and breath, leaving the haze of his purple eyes that split second enough to record the very movement.

“Ran, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You try to hide your smirk as you say that, knowing that is not gonna stop him but rather rile him up.

He smirks back, grabbing you by the chin with his free hand so he can turn your head to face him. “Since when have you become such a prude, uh?”

“I have always been, you’re the one trying to taint my innocence, remember?”

You’re not completely joking at this point, he’s been trying to get a reaction out of you since you’ve started hanging out more frequently.

He knows you shouldn’t, but he’s adamant in getting you to admit he can rile you up just as easily.

A dark set of lashes shade his lavender hues as he stares down at you, pondering over what to do next without scaring you too badly.

“Can I kiss you?” There he goes, he just couldn’t resist himself, could he?

You just look so good, dressed in something he picked for you, standing in this tiny space with him draped around you. He wants to eat you up.

“No.”

Ouch. That hurts. How could you say no to him? Look at me, he thinks, and as if you can read his twisted mind, you do just that.

He is so irresistible, with one of his long braids slipping past your shoulder, hair tickling your skin the same way his hand is still doing over the hem of the dress. Pink full lips shaped in a pout you think he’s sporting more to get pity out of you rather than because he cares. But you’re a woman of great self-control.

Or so you thought.

“Just– you can touch me. To fix the dress.”

You two are so close, practically glued to each other, it’s not the first time it’s happened but your body still reacts like it’s being shocked every time he touches you.

And Ran thinks it’s more than he thought you’d allow yourself to go, so he does just that, to fix the dress, that is.

It’s to fix the dress that he grasps the fullness of both your tits in his big palms, no need to use one hand to hold your face to him anymore as you instantly rotate towards his frame to hide your face in the curve of his neck, soft lips pushed against his pale skin to muffle the sighs that you’re letting out at his bold move.

He doesn’t hesitate to squeeze them, pushing them up to prop the fat against the hem of the dress as if to make it fit properly, or as properly as the set image he has in his head, which is everything but proper.

“Fuck, you have such pretty tits.” He’s groaning in your ear at this point, enjoying the way you’re letting him touch you a little too much if the way he starts rubbing against you from behind is of any indication.

You can’t help your body from trying to mold to his touch, back arching and pushing against the hands caressing you over the skimpy fabric of the dress.

One of them is heading lower, running over the hills of your torso and hip before grabbing onto the flesh of your right thigh. The other keeps teasing you with precision and reaches over the hem to pull it down and expose your skin to the cold of the fitting room.

A perked nipple is encased by his long fingers, nails scraping over the bud to tease a soft moan out of your mouth. You grab onto one of his braids, slightly pulling before blindly looking for the hair tie. It’s removed with swift hands that you then run along its length to free it from the twists, so you can bury a hand at the back of his nape, pulling him towards you – as if he could get any closer – scratching the skin there as payback.

“R-Ran” your body is starting to heat up, the cold air surrounding the two of you doing nothing to cool you down. “‘Need more, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” At that the hand that has been massaging the fat of your thigh creeps under the bottom of the infamous dress, making you unable to see his next move even from the reflation of the mirror.

But you can feel him skimming over your panties with his fingertips, pressing against the wet patch that has formed there.

“You got wet just from this? Must be really desperate, uh. ‘ve barely touched you.”

What a piece of shit, you think.

But your body likes this side of his, the degrading and teasing, and it especially likes the way the pad of his finger is now pressing against your clit, unexpectedly making you let out a moan that you didn’t think you’d be capable of. Always the quiet one.

“Shh, you wouldn’t want them to hear us, now, would you?” He’s rubbing circles against the bundle of nerves, touching it just right, just like you would, alone in your room (while thinking about him, probably), making it hard to think or even remotely feel shame. “Maybe you’d like that? Mh? Want them to know making you feel good, right, pretty girl?”

When you don’t care enough to answer he pinches your clit over the wet fabric of your underwear, the whimpering noise you let out like music to his ears.

You just really want to feel his skin on yours, but too shy to ask for it you decide to do the next best thing. With the hand that is not too busy pulling the back of his head, you reach between your legs and push the fabric of your panties aside, exposing your pussy to the air without a care in the world.

If desperation had a face, at this point, it would most definitely look like yours.

“Ah shit, pretty-“

“Touch me, Ran.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He finds your clit once again, not before running through the dripping folds and collecting the wetness with the pad of his fingers, just to rub it over your soft spot with careful precision.

His hand gives one final flick to your nipple before joining the other between your thighs, raising the lower hem of the dress to fully expose your wetness under the bright lights of the fitting room, just so he can take a good look in the reflection of the mirror.

You’re no saint, but also no one has ever touched you like this before, and the pleasure is pushing you to do things you probably would never even think of when the two of you are apart (but maybe you will, from this day forward).

That is why you reach down to grasp the wrist of his other hand, redirecting him to where you want to feel his touch, before slipping your fingers through his as if to show him what to do to you.

You feel his lips move against your ear before you register him talking, “Princess, you want my fingers? Hm?”

At that, you couldn’t nod faster, waiting for his touch to finally skim your opening, and once it does, you know he understands how much you need him, cause you see him raise his fingers as if to take a double look at the viscous liquid now wetting his skin. He rubs it over you then, spreading it on top of your clit to make his other hand work smoothly.

He stops right before he could slip in, making you whine in disagreement. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

All these pet names are new to you, he usually sticks to one a day, trying them out on his tongue before throwing the chosen one at you with the most annoying tone he could muster to, simply put, annoy the fuck out of you, as he does with pretty much everything else.

But the way he’s saying them now, between rushed breaths and a voice so strained that nearly makes you believe he’s the one being played with, does unspeakable things to you.

So you give in like you’ve learned to do with him lately. “R-rannie, please, want you… to touch me.”

“What do you need me to do, pretty? Speak up, use your big girl’s words.”

“Need your fingers. Inside me.” You feel like the air in the dressing room is thinning out, and you need to get this done as fast as possible.

That’s until his pointer slips past your hole. The moment his other fingers resume their rubbing over your bundle of nerves, while he’s opening you up, that’s when you actually start praying for time to stop.

Maybe if his hands were to leave your frame now you would crumble to the ground and die. That’s a new fear you have just unlocked because you don’t think you could ever go back to how life was before he made you feel what you’re feeling right now.

Alive.

Like every nerve ending is tingling and responding to the sweet sounds he’s making, or maybe the ones he’s pulling out of you. You don’t know what makes you more turned on, the effect you have on him, or the grip he has on you.

He starts moving his lone finger in and out, gently, testing out how far he can reach before you clench around him in pain.

He rubs over the ridges of your walls looking for something, trying out different patterns, and bumping against the outside of your hole with the palm of his hand to stimulate all of you once he slips completely inside, reaching as deep as his long digit permits.

At first, it doesn’t feel like much, you can tell he’s an expert but he’s just getting to know you. You think the feeling of fullness alone is enough to get a kick out of you, as long as he keeps massaging your clit in a, now, slower motion, as if he has nothing to rush about, not one care in the world. But it creeps up on you when you least expect it.

You thought he oversold himself with that oozing confidence that he sports 24/7, but as he starts laying open-mouthed kisses over your neck, running up its column, until he finds your sweet spot nested just below your ear and right by your clenching jaw, so does his finger.

“Fuuck. Oh my fucking god.” you heave.

Yeah, his lips are a godsend, but the way he’s bumping against that one spot inside of you with the tip of his digit just now is downright delicious.

He builds up a rhythm then. Fucking into you with more force and confidence, not forgetting to hit that patch of skin even for a single time.

“You like that, uh?” he asks like he doesn’t know, pressing his mouth against the underside of your jaw to drag his tongue along your salty skin, moaning at the taste. He asks as if you’re not clenching around his finger like your life depends on it, as if you want to capture it and hold him inside you to never feel empty again.

He realizes you need more, and he wants to give you his cock. Wants to stuff you full to the brim, cause he can feel how greedy your cunt is, so he knows you would eventually take him all inside, no matter how big.

You’re thinking the same, imagining how good it would feel to have him fuck you against the mirror that’s fogging up in front of you. You’re seeing the moon and the fucking stars with the tip of his finger alone. You wonder if his cock is big enough to kiss that little spot just right with his leaky tip.

He leaves you little to wonder, with the way his hips are bumping against you from behind. You can clearly make out the size of his length, now fully erected, as it rubs against your ass.

“Ran, fuck, I need more!”

And you both know that, but he also knows how ridiculously tight you are, how much he would have to open you up to take his cock, how he might need to spend hours with his head between your legs, fasting on your wet cunt just to make you loosen up. He’d do that gladly, but not now, in this fitting room.

So he just joins his pointer with his middle finger, carefully trying to fit in a second one through your squeezing muscles.

“No, Ran-“ you’re ready to beg, get on the ground on your knees, and plead him to have his way with you.

This is so not like you.

Or maybe it was, all along. You just needed someone to free you at last.

“You’re not ready to take my cock yet.” His tone is firm like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “I can barely fit two fingers in, pretty. You need to let me in, gonna make you cream around them, ‘kay?”

You swear the way he’s looking at you through the mirror alone is your undoing. You see his eyes running back and forth to your half-open ones, so you follow the gaze rolling over your exposed tits, heaving with your labored breaths, until reaching the apex of your thighs.

Two of his fingers are now plunging into your wet opening, the squelching sound being so loud to tint both of your cheeks red, and a ring of white collecting around the circumference of his digits, before dripping down your parted legs at the force of his thrusts. Your clit is still being rubbed raw, the intensity increasing with every passing minute, making you twitch in his firm grasp.

The whole picture is insanely erotic, something you haven’t even experienced in your fantasies yet.

It’s so intense that you feel your cheeks get wet from the unexpected tears now streaming down your face.

You’re a cryer, he’s elated.

You’re trying hard to muffle a scream, but Ran has you blocked in his grasp with both of his arms running over yours, so you have to turn and bite at the skin of his collarbone to do so, as you grip over his forearms, leaving behind the half-moon indentation of your nails.

He groans, letting his head lol back as you lick over the bruise; the skin has torn and you can taste the blood. As he speeds up the fingers that are massaging your clit, you realize that both of you might enjoy a little pain mixed with pleasure.

The overstimulation is so overbearing that you know you should’ve come long ago, but he’s taking you to such heights that you just can’t seem to let yourself go when alone in your bed you would have long given up and just taken a shitty orgasm as a win before retiring to sleep.

“Feel so- god, it’s so fucking good, Ran. Don’t stop, please please-“You don’t stop begging and he doesn’t stop thrusting, both his fingers and his hips behind your frame, chasing his orgasm against the plush of your ass.

He wants to pull his cock out of his pants and rub it against your skin. The dress has raised over the globes of your behind, he wishes he could just come all over it.

But he has no intention of ever slowing down his hands, not with the way you’re trembling against him, and not until you come, completely undone and fucked up from just two of his fingers.

You look so beautiful like this, with tears streaming down your reddening face, lips bitten, unfortunately not by him, and your cunt taking his fingers so well. Like the good girl he knows you are under all that sass.

He glances down at the scene one more time.

Your pussy is so pretty, glistening wet, he could finish right here and then.

He wants you to fucking come while screaming his name, no one else’s. He doesn’t care if they hear, he wants them to.

Ran wishes for more than just the clerks hearing you come undone for him.

At that thought something snaps inside of him.

“Who’s making you feel this good? Fucking tell me.” You snap out of the blubbering mess you’ve become, not because of the inexplicably angry tone of his request, but because he’s slowing down his movements and you were not expecting that.

Does he not know by now that you like his roughness? You need to come so badly.

“Please fuck don’t stop, please-“

“I said who’s making you feel this fucking good.” Ran doesn’t like to think he’s a jealous guy.

He’s The Haitani Ran, after all. There has never been any need for him to be.

But now that he has tasted heaven, here in this tiny dressing room with you, he doesn’t think he can stop.

He wants to make you his, and if that means he has to deprive you of your very first orgasm given by someone else so that you can come back running for more, so be it.

“You, Ran! Fuck it’s all you! You make me feel so go-” The slap that resonates in the small space it’s the thing that stops you from completing your praise.

Ran’s fingers have stopped moving inside of you completely, and his other hand has raised to slap your spasming cunt.

A scream of his name finally does rip out of your parted lips. There’s no way you could’ve avoided that.

And the new canting of your hips that are raising to chase a ruined orgasm is to little avail, you just don’t seem to reach the promised land.

Against all odds, Ran doesn’t resume touching you, even his hips are now resting firmly some inches away from yours, not even letting you feel him anymore.

He presses father light kisses from the column of your neck up to the side of your jaw, retracing the path he had run with languish before, until he can sweetly kiss your burning cheek as if to gently bring you down from the orgasm that never happened while he removes his fingers from inside of you, leaving you eerily empty.

“I- I didn’t come.” you’re still trembling at this point, but for a different reason. You think he might have mistaken any of your reactions for you reaching your long-awaited end.

You’ve heard some stories, you know some guys can’t even tell right from left when it comes to a woman's body.

But you’re wrong about him. “I know.”

More kisses are left on the side of your face, you’d think the gesture sweet if it weren’t for the ever-present grin you can feel against your skin.

“What- why?” the way you’re asking nearly breaks his heart, you sound so confused, broken. But that’s exactly what he needs, right? He needs to be the one to guide you.

“Because I’m not letting you come. You’re not my girl.” Your eyes are big like saucers, and you’ve turned your head to stare at him, he thinks this situation is so fun he could giggle.

“But I thought-“

“Just leave him, pretty girl. You’ve already forgotten about him, haven’t you? It was my name you were screaming, it was my cock you were begging for. Leave him, and come back crawling to me. Maybe then, I’ll think about letting you come.”

He takes some steps further away from you then, cold but still careful enough to make sure you won’t fall the moment he lets you on your own, bringing his soiled fingers up to his mouth. You watch in silence as he licks them clean. He’s making a show of it, engulfing the digits in his mouth and sucking around them as he moans. You’re so turned on you could die right there and then.

He then hits you with a “Fuck, you taste like heaven, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Before diving right back in, licking the skin one last time for safekeeping.

And now, you don’t know what’s worse: the cheshire grin stretching the pinkish of Ran’s lips while he’s downright degrading you after depriving you of an orgasm and, honestly, your self-respect;

Maybe it’s the fact that sweet Chifuyu’s face had only flashed behind your eyelids at his mention, after you’ve probably done one of the worst things you could ever do to him, or in your life, really;

… or the fact that you had to walk out of there, and wait for Ran to pay for the stained dress, cause he wouldn’t let you leave without making a scene. Knowing damn well that everyone in the shop had heard the two of you and is now looking with a mix of: reverence towards Ran, and hatred for you, by all women and men who rightfully wished to be in your stand.

At the end of the day, you were right. Fitting rooms would ever only leave you a crying mess, with clothes too little to fit; and shopping with Ran Haitani was hell made on earth.

At least you were convinced this was gonna be the last time you would ever accompany him – anywhere, really – or so you thought…

[markhoffmans-certified-slut]

hii, i was wondering if you could make a art x reader? i would prefer headcanons but anything is fine!! no rush btw <3

Art the Clown x f!reader 

Word count: 1.5K

Notes: Okay, so I technically will be doing a “What it’s like to date Art the Clown” chapter, but this will sort of be in a similar format, if that makes sense. I hope that you enjoy this!! Sorry for the super long wait, I was digging through my asks and saw this one for the first time and I was like “I should do this” 😂

Also, there wasn’t any specification on if you wanted anything smutty as well, so I just kept this one fluffy! 

<>~<>~<>

You met super unconventionally. It was dark out, you were walking home late, and you were wearing a sparkly dress and pretty heels. You were perfect bait for the clown. He assumed that you were leaving a club, a party, etc., but what he hadn’t expected was for you to be so aware of your surroundings. You had heard him, then you saw him, then you fucking bolted. 

Art was so surprised to see the way you ran in the heels that he almost forgot to chase you. 

Almost. 

By time he had caught you, he thought you’d give up. Instead, he got whammed in the head by a loose brick you saw on the ground. His vision went blurry, but he watched you take the heels off quickly before running again. This time you seemed faster than before. For once, he gave up and looked at the sky through blurred vision and let you go.

A day went by, then a week, then a month, before he saw you again. A similar circumstance, but this time you were a bit more disorientated. You wore flats, had a wristlet-purse on, and jeans this time. You were grasping the wall for support, but you were alone. He watched you for a minute, slowly following behind the bushes across the street, remembering before when you had gotten away. 

Did he hold a grudge? Sort of, but he wanted you. To kill? He was unsure. This was the very first time Art had ever seen a pretty girl walking alone and not immediately gotten the urge to stab until she was dead. He waited a minute, trying to decide what to do with his strange emotions, when he realized that the two of you were at the same spot where you had hit him over the head. Truth be told, the rest of that night was slightly blurry for him, and not just because his vision went wonky. 

He was angry, but there was more inside of him than that. Curiosity, a dreaded sense of interest. Nobody had ever gotten away like you had. He wanted to know more about you. he needed to know more about you. 

You were much more coherent the night before. Tonight you were wobbling on your feet. Part of you thought about going back, but you were already more than halfway home. By time you made it to the spot that you had hit that clown over the head, you were too far gone to turn back. Through your still drunken state, you continued to head in the direction of your apartment, holding onto the wall for support. 

That’s when you heard a second set of footsteps right behind you splash in the water. By time you turned around, it was too late. 

He held you in captivity with him for awhile. Occasionally bringing you back an eyeball or a dead mouse as a gift. Sort of like a cat. You would groan in disgust and scoot back against the wall while he sat cross-legged across from you and sent you a deranged smile while he waited for you to take his gift. When you eventually didn’t, Art would move on. 

Slowly, you started to warm up to the strange clown. Never once did he hurt you. Only did he stand or sit there and watch you. It was creepy, sure, but you had a lot to be thankful for. Eventually Art let you out of the chains and showed you around his little workshop-makeshift sleeping area. Did he ever actually sleep? You weren’t sure. 

Time went by fast with Art. Sooner than you thought, you started to actually like the clown. What came after that, you were certain your younger self would have been afraid of and disgusted by. 

Months went by. Eventually you were free to wander the barred up building while he was out. Of course the door was locked from the outside, but truth be told, you were fine staying around here. He started to bring you actual food instead of just scraps he probably found in the dumpster. 

And then, one day, he just left the door unlocked. A test, maybe? You were almost disgusted with yourself, but when the door creaked open when you tried it (mostly out of old habit), you hesitated. Then, you shut the door and went back to the bed you slept on and went to sleep. When Art came back, you could tell he was surprised. 

After that, the rest was history. 

The little gifts Art brought you back started to be less weird. Instead of body parts, dead mice, or metal scraps, he brought you back real food, a bracelet off a victim (shockingly without the arm attached), even a few books to pass the time. 

One day, instead of a wave goodbye, you kissed him on the cheek. You swore you might have seen a hint of embarrassment in his eyes before he turned to leave. 

Years went by quickly. One day Art returned you to your normal life, however he was quick to sneak into your apartment in the middle of the night and start resting with you. However, he trusted you. He allowed you to go back to work, to resume your life as it was before he kidnapped you. To see your friends again and go to bars, but this time the clown wouldn’t be the one stalking you to hurt you. He would follow you almost everywhere you went, watching, waiting for someone to try and hurt you so he could maim them. 

The longer you were with him, the better his gifts continued to get, until one day he brought you back a shiny diamond ring and told you that you could start wearing it (this wasn’t a request). 

Art understands that everybody can’t know who you belong to, but he wants to make sure everybody knows that you belong to someone. 

He doesn’t care how hard this is to explain to your friends. If he sees you without the ring, he finds it and he puts it back on you. 

There’s no reason to fight with him about anything. Art always gets his way in the end. 

Surprisingly, Art really likes dogs and insists on you getting a puppy, even if you’re the one that will have to do all of the training. Art really wants a dog and he shows you which kind to get. However, if you bring home a different type of dog, he would accept that as well. 

Sometimes when Art is sitting beside you, dressed in normal clothes without his clown makeup on, and he has his arm around you and the other resting on the dog, you feel almost normal. 

You never end up actually getting married. The ring is symbolism enough to the both of you. 

When he’s with you, Art slows down on the killing. Mostly because in order to cause midnight chaos, he has to be away from you. And sometimes all he really wants is to hold you while you’re sleeping. 

He’s not entirely sure how you got to him the way you did, but he can’t say he complains. In a way, you hope that maybe Art will one day stop it all together. That he might end up being a normal husband-like-boyfriend-demon-being-thing. 

At the end of the day, Art would choose you over murdering and you would choose him even if he continued with his old ways. 

He loves horror movies and he will always make you watch them with him. If you ever get scared, he’ll make fun of you a little bit, but he will also keep you close and kiss your head. Art likes to watch bloody, gory horror movies, but his favorite is Nightmare on Elm Street. 

He’s seen it over 75 times. 

He falls asleep during regular movies. 

Art is sort of like a guard dog. Every time that something goes bump in the night, even if he’s snoring louder than the devil, he bolts upright and insists on taking a look around. The dog usually goes with him. Because of this, new environments are harder for him to get used to. 

He is like a bottomless pit. Art eats a lot of food. 

Art is terrible at any form of game. He gets annoyed and swats his hand at the air and starts pouting when it gets too hard. Video game, board game, verbal game— it doesn’t matter. He sucks at all of them and 9 times out of 10 will refuse to play. 

He teaches you sign language because he can’t/doesn’t speak. You think it’s funny how he overdoes everything he does when he mime’s it since he can’t talk. 

He loves it when you play along with his miming. Sometimes he pretends that he’s stuck in a box and he likes it when you pretend like you can’t get to him. 

Overall, Art is a shockingly supportive partner. When you’re having a bad day, he’ll ask if he needs to kill someone. He’s a great listener as well. He’ll sit there and hold you and rub your arm while you explain everything that happened. He’s more than willing to sit there for the whole night with you if it would truly help. 

You’re stuck with him for the rest of your life. You can’t ever leave Art. He won’t let you. 

[rosainta]

Team Fortress 2: 12 Flash Fiction Excerpts

('ms pauling' by makani on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/makani/art/ms-pauling-208768568)

(Author's Notes (A/N) at the end. For now, enjoy these slices of TF2 writing cake, baked with the batter of my mind!) * * *

1 "The Runner's a Fool."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Scout’s heart was bursting as he ran through the underbrush.

He didn’t look back; he couldn’t. Not after what he saw. If he had known sooner, he might not have spent so much energy trying to woo her...

Maybe he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself.

2 "Player of The Heart."

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Fine, one more time”, he grumbled.

Pauling gleamed as she turned to the tape player. Changing the song to something more romantic, she hummed along and placed herself into his arms. They began to sway with the music.

Sniper felt his heart racing, but his thoughts raced quicker.

He wondered: would the one he really loved be into this too?

3 "Long Overdue."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Spy knew what he had to do.

He sat down next to the crying boy, gently putting a hand on his back. “Screw off!” the younger yelled, pushing him away.

Seeing him like this broke him; it did every time. But he took a deep breath and said what he should have all those years ago:

“I am sorry, Scout.”

4 "What Happens if You Feed the Machine? (Or In This Case, Water It?)"

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Yer no fun, lad!”

“Come on now, you know how I’ve been goin’ dry...”

“What’s one bottle a’ scrumpy goin’ to do to you?”

“Well, let’s see here. How many eyeballs o’ yours do my teleporters teleport per use?”

“Er, one.”

“Well, expect that to be one less the next time ‘round, pardner.”

He chuckled, and in an instant, he gulped it all down.

5 "Soldier's Solace."

[Written 11-3-2024]

Soldier stared at the grand moon from the roof of the base.

After the day’s fighting and bread teleporting, the other mercenaries were off to bed. But Soldier remained, smiling contentedly from under his helmet without another care in the world.

Somehow, he knew that right then and for as long as he dreamed, everything would be alright.

6 "Буквы говорят о любви."

[Written 12-3-2024]

If Heavy learned one thing in all his years of studying Russian literature, it was that writing wasn’t something you did; it was something you became.

So, picking up the ink pen, he let his hand go and embodied with all he had what meant most to him.

“It is time I tell you, Doktor.”

7 "Like The Warmth of a Fireplace."

[Written 13-3-2024]

Pyro looked at Engineer as a child does a Mall Santa, clapping. “Huddah, huddah!”

“Okay, one more, just for you.”

The technician took a deep breath and began to strum on the old guitar, his low voice singing a song of pink skies. Pyro swayed to the beat in bliss.

And, with every hum, the two grew closer.

8 "A Smile Means A Million Words, That Is Until You Speak."

[Written 14-3-2024]

Scout liked sketching.

While words weren’t his forte, art allowed him to express what he felt but could never say. He licked his lips, furrowed his eyebrows, and furiously scratched at the page with a pencil. Every detail, every form-- they had to be perfect.

When he was done, he proudly smiled at his creation.

And it smiled back.

BONUS!

As he admired his creation, he didn’t notice Sniper approaching him.

“And just what are you scribblin' off today, mate?”

Scout snapped around, flustered. He wasn't expecting company, and especially not from him.

“A-ah, hey, Snipes!", he blurted out. "It's nothing, really. Just another drawing of Spy screwin’ those... stupid French bread swords, whatever ya' call 'em.”

As he stammered an excuse, his face slowly turning red, he didn’t realize that his creation's rough, sketched face-- a picture of the marksman himself!-- was peaking through the corner of the sketchbook in the crook of his arm. Sniper paused for a moment as he stared at the work in awe, its own happily gazing back at him. Then, snapping out of his trance, he wordlessly turned back to smile at the younger man.

“You’ve got some talent, kid," he said, softly. "Please, don’t waste it.”

Then, quick as he came, he ambled away.

Scout was left standing, bewildered, and admittedly a bit confused, and he slowly turned back to look back at his drawing.

He traced the rough face of the man, looking wistfully with a tinge of giddiness in his eyes.

“If only you knew...", he whispered to himself without thinking. "Maybe then I could draw you like one of my French girls.”

Then, upon realizing the stupidity of his own remark (and of its disgusting, Spy-related... Frenchness), he immediately gagged.

“Ew, crap, no!”

Somewhere in the distance, Spy instinctively rolled his eyes.

9 "I Feel Olive!"

[Written 15-3-2024]

Medic pinched his nose, a low groan rumbling from him.

"What is wrong, Doktor? You seem stressed", Heavy asked, concernedly lifting his nose from his book.

Medic turned to him, tired eyes smiling weakly. "Ah, it iz nothing. Just... ze dull, useless legal documents. You know, as per usual."

"Well, if it makes Medic feel any better, Heavy ran out of olive for sandvich, so eating it was practically useless! I could not even digest it without big frown", he said, frowning in turn.

He grumbled, continuing, "What Heavy means to say is... you are not alone in your troubles."

Medic paused for a bit, before laughing and grinning back at the giant. He was grateful for this goofy big old man.

"Oh, you alvays know what to say, Heavy. Come on, let us escape this prison of an office and find you that olive. I am getting quite hungry and ze papers can wait, after all!"

10 "Off-Target."

[Written 29-3-2024]

Scout's mind just. couldn't. think.

His head was jumbled, a puzzle with the pieces too lost in the messy maze of his brain ever to solve. He wished he could crack open his skull like he did the BLUs on the field; maybe that would knock some sense into him.

He really needed to focus. Sniper always did.

So, why couldn't he?

11 "Our Paths Shall Cross Again."

[Written 4-4-2024]

It pained him to see her like this.

So, for the first time in his life, he put his pride aside and took one last glance at the sleeping lady before leaving the room.

Scout wished he could stay all night and marvel at her familiar, sheer beauty, even as she slept so frail. But he knew what she needed most was not him, but help.

Who knew what she went through those 2 years?

He resigned himself to the couch, closing his eyes. His affections for Miss Pauling would have to wait, as they always did, but he was fine with that.

She was safe, and that’s what mattered most to him.

12 "Guess Who's Up For Surgery?"

[Written 6-4-2024]

Medic was practically laughing with joy! Or, in his peculiar case, cackling maniacally.

Ah, it was of no matter— the doctor was filled to the brim with inspiration! So many projects to start and bodies to stitch; oh, what a wonderful feeling!

Heavy smiled as he watched the doctor go about his merry way.

Sure, when he was in this mood, that likely meant imminent danger for all those around him (they’d be his newest experiment, no doubt), but seeing him happy always made Heavy’s heart feel a little lighter.

So, as the doctor bounced up to him with his newest rambling, he didn’t protest!

* * *

Author's Notes: Over the past weeks, I've been working on being more spontaneous in my writing—no planning, just writing with the flow! And what better way to do that than to write flash fiction about my favourite fandom? (Plus, I have been practically absent here (post-wise) for, what, months? So why not use this as an excuse to share them with you? Ehehe... Okay, let's forget I said anything; moving on!) Flash fiction, with its creative liberties and curt nature, is an excellent medium (not forgetting to mention the fact it's a disgracefully UNDERRATED form of media!) that inspires me to write because it sort of... brutally invalidates any excuse of author's block I have... since it is literally spilling the words from your conscience into text WITHOUT the worry of length (ah! My greatest enemies...). Plus, it is... sort of, maybe, kinda addicting because it's just so freakishly simple, and the more you do it, the more productive you'll be and feel! Isn't that wonderful? (It could even be a drug! Er, well, a good one... wait, is there even a thing as a good drug? Ah- nevermind.) Anyway, if you're struggling with author's block, I'd heavily recommend trying it. Of course, it may not work for everyone (and I am not here to legally endorse this like a paid sponsor!) but it's still worth a shot if you haven't yet already. And hey, if it doesn't, you can feel free to blame me for the waste of time! Don't worry, I won't mind. Before we go on, I have to take this moment now to thank the one sweet old woman (whom I've unfortunately forgotten the name of) who first taught me about it a few years back during a summer writing course. She taught me much about what I know and love today, so I owe this and much of my writing happiness and technique to her! Thank you, lady. May you continue to write on!! Anyhow, to give you more context, these are all excerpts taken from a private account (but not a secret one! It's out there... somewhere...) of mine, edited for quality purposes and also because a few of the original excerpts bugged me due to their... well, innate cringiness. Hopefully, there's less of it now, but I wouldn't count on my eradicating it as it seems that cringe is just a part of my habitual writing style (I am sorry to disappoint, unnamed woman from the course... I have failed you). I hope that at least is is bearable enough for you to read. However, if not, I offer you my greatest condolences. If you'd like some bleach for your eyes, I have that too. You can also tell by the number of Speeding Bullet and Red Oktoberfest excerpts that I was... in quite the shipping mood for some of them. So, if that doesn't bug you, feel free to indulge yourselves in these characters as I obsessively have over the course of writing these!! It would be my pleasure to offer that liberty to you (and perhaps, shamelessly to myself as well, ahaha..), so please, go ahead. Anyway, that's all of the random blurbs I have to ramble on about today. Thank you for reading- or skimming, at the very least- and please have a marvellous day, pally~!

~ Rosain Quivan

[your-local-hoemie]

HEAR ME OUT SINCE ITS CHILDES BDAY TODAY RIGHT

What if we spend the entire day with him and then when we come home, we give him another surprise *wink wink* (pls tell me yk what i mean 😭😭 i dont know how to say these things withoit feeling awkward)

NS!FW. 18+ ONLY

AAAAA I’M SO SORRY THIS IS LATE!!! I’VE BEEN HIBERNATING!!!

JUST LIKE PRETEND IT’S STILL HIS BIRTHDAY DHXJHCIXJD

My fingers went nYoooooom! Also don’t feel awkward! I hear you and I shall feed you the crumbs of my brain basement

At least I hope this is what you mean otherwise I’m so sorry for your eyeballs-

warnings: ns!fw, Oral spice, lots of spicy words (I went all in for this one aaAAA), swearing, gn!reader, not proof-read.

Characters: Tartaglia (Childe is the worst name for spice istfggggg)

It had been a busy week preparing for the big day.

You could of been doing commissions, relaxing with friends, enjoying the beach and the warm summer sea, but no-

You had been practically ripping your hair out planning for you boyfriends birthday.

Tartaglia was a very… interesting character-

You knew he’d love whatever you got him but the thing is, nothing felt special.

He had the ability to buy anything he wanted, whenever he wanted. So trying to find something that would impress the ginger was becoming more challenging than his impromptu sparring “dates”.

That was until you caught sight of a small, very discreet looking stall hidden behind some crates near Liyue’s harbour that sold silk clothing that definitely wasn’t intended to stay on for long.

And so began your special birthday surprise~

“There’s my birthday boy!”

Running over to Tartaglia, you flung your arms tight around his waist.

The day In question had finally arrived and so had your mildly insane but lovable boyfriend.

“And there’s my favourite comrade! Didn’t miss me too much now did you?”

Smiling wildly, you rolled your eyes at him before the two of you started catching up on what he had been doing the past few days that he was away.

As a few minutes turned into hours, you both talked and walked around Liyue, visiting your favourite spots and giving him a giant whale plushie that you had spent the last few days seeing together, along with a extremely romantic dinner at the Liuli Pavilion.

When I say romantic I mean romantic-

The table was set with candles and silk flower petals, and not a chopstick to be seen, much to the gingers relief.

“You know, you’ve really impressed me this time. I don’t think I could of asked for a better birthday even if I tried”

“Good thing it’s not over then~”

“Not over? Have my irresistible charms finally decided to accept that sparring challenge you’ve been avoiding~”

Rolling your eyes, you promptly paid the bill before you decide to change your mind about the entire plan.

“No, you know I wouldn’t walk out of that alive. Now just shush and follow me”

Taking his hand, you eagerly pull him along in the direction to your home, not paying attention to the endless pestering of your boyfriend who’s curiosity was doing more than struggling to stay contained.

“Is it a surprise party?? Oh wait, did you kidnap someone for me!? Babe you’re so swe-”

“SHH! No I didn’t kidnap anyone and you should know not to say stuff like that while outside!”

Shaking your head in frustration, you finally reached your door.

Quickly unlocking it, you pulled Tartaglia in with a small grunt before closing it behind you.

“Alright, stay right there. I’ll be back now- and don’t get into trouble!”

“Huh? Wait- where are you going?”

With a giggle, you gave him a kiss on his cheek before running to your bedroom and closing the door.

Laying out on your bed was the outfit you got earlier that week.

Without hesitation, you pulled your clothes off and threw them to the floor, quickly putting on the outfit, albeit with some mild confusion to how it went on.

It was made from a delicate silk, framed with lace and ribbons that hung down your body, perfectly framing your figure.

Giving yourself a quick look over in the mirror, you took a deep breath and opened the door, peeking outside just incase your boyfriend was waiting outside.

Once you found the coast clear, you took a step out as started walking to the living room where you could hear him humming while obviously nosing around your belongings.

“Finally. you were taking foreve…r-”

Dropping a book he had been flipping through while waiting for you, Tartaglia’s expression shifted from shocked to embarrassed, then to a dangerously sly grin as the ginger took in your appearance.

“We’ll, well, well~ is it just the weather or did the room suddenly get extremely hotter”

Instinctively shrugging off his attempts at flirting, you took a step closer; placing your hand on his chest you pushed him down to the couch with a smug grin before sliding down between his legs.

“W-wow, really… really not wasting any time today, are we comrade~”

“I don’t want to keep the birthday boy waiting now, do I~”

With a purr in your voice, you began rubbing against his crotch that was already straining from his… impatience~

Working your hands against the growing tent in his pants, your fingers found their way the button before releasing his erection causing a quiet groan from the ginger who was now watching your every move like it was the most important thing he’d ever seen.

“So hard already? Just for me~?”

Grinning even more as you can’t help a sense of pride rush through your body, you placed soft kisses along his tip, moving down his shaft all the way to his balls before repeating the process, refusing to break eye contact with him.

Spending a few more minutes enjoying watching your boyfriend start to squirm and get impatient under your touch as your hand slowly pumped up and down his shaft, pulling out soft grunts of pleasure from him as you do.

Finally deciding that you’ve teased him enough you start to let your mouth do the work for you.

Still locking eyes with him, you rub his tip against your lips, savouring the taste of his pre already forming a pearl.

With one swift motion you slide his length inside your mouth, making Tartaglia let out a sharp moan as he threw his head back in pleasure.

“O-oh fuck… babe that’s… Ngh~”

You be lying if you did admit that it even shocked you a little, how well you took him all in first try.

Hearing him whimper and moan every time you bob your head up and down his length, enjoying his slightly salty taste.

“Archons, babe… keep going just like that~”

Feeling his hips start to buck into your mouth, pushing his length even further down, making you gag a little bit still not discouraging you from reaching your goal.

“Oh fUuck- babe I’m going to cum…~”

Without any time to brace yourself, you felt his fingers grip tightly onto your hair as he thrust his hips harder, causing you to gag even more and grip onto his thighs for support before he finally releasing his load.

“Holy fuck yes~!”

Pulling back to admire his breathless, shaking state, a trail of white dripping down your chin-

You can’t help but feel a little more excitement for the rest of the night as you pull out a pair of handcuffs from the draw next to the couch.

“I hope you’re not too tired just yet, I’ve got a lot more in store for you yet~”

This was so bad, I’m so sorry hdicufif.

I’m back into doing requests as normal now that’s I’m pretty much completely recovered eeeeee I’ve missed it so much T-T

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 6: Malformed

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on LeviathanPat, go here. For more information on Sol, go here. For more information on ColosSeptic, go here.)

(This story is a continuation of a sneak-peek I included at the end of Day 2. Originally, this was going to be a sneak-peek itself, but plans have changed, and I'm on a bit of time-crunch, so...)

(As usual, I got tons of help developing these characters from the amazing @sammys-magical-au ! Please go check out their blog and stories!)

(Trigger Warnings:  blood/gore, body horror, mentions of experimentation, specimen preservation, implied murder/death, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 7

___

Sol Magee considered herself equal parts flexible and responsible. 

After all, if anyone thought they could run an entire museum-and-art-gallery-combo without those qualities, they’d be in for a very rude awakening. 

And that was just talking about normal establishments. The ones that didn’t come with a slew of provisos that managed to be kinda funny and deathly serious at the same time.

Namely, the fact that the building was connected to an outer monstrosity who had a habit of collecting oddities and making his own oddities by experimenting on humans unfortunate enough to fall for his schemes.

And yet, if you managed to get on his good side, he could be pretty chill.

Sol had already worked under their fair share of human managers who were just downright insufferable for no actual reason, so it was simultaneously amazing and depressing to know that literal monsters could sometimes have better manners with staff.

Hell, Sol even had some things in common with him. Eccentricity had been the source of bonding between the two of them. It wasn’t that neither of them were playing with a full deck; rather, they each played with two-and-a-half decks and had managed to make up a new game where most of those extra cards benefited them. 

Most, not all.

And that was probably why he seemed a bit on-edge tonight. 

Even if Sol didn’t mind squeezing random rituals and the like in with their typical nightly tasks, her latest assignment was…strange. 

“Wait, hold on—” Sol fidgeted with the notepad and pen they’d been carrying. “You want me to hide out in the attic and spy on…you?” 

“ñð† jµ§† mê,” replied the nine-foot-tall mass of nightmare flesh that loomed beside her. As usual, his skin seemed to squirm of its own accord around whatever horrible skeleton he may or may not have had underneath.

(Sol had learned to call him Pat, since apparently her eyes and teeth would melt right out of her head if she tried pronouncing the other half of his name). 

The Abnormal Orchard nearly resembled a tower from the outside, unless you counted the huge sign that hung over the main entrance, covered in wires that glowed with a mix of violet and blue light. They all worked together to form the image of a pomegranate with a cluster of eyeballs where its seeds should’ve been. 

The building was just as imposingly tall as it was wide. So, of course there was a broad, spiraling ramp that stood at the center inside, just about a hundred feet from the main entrance. 

Despite the elevators positioned across from her office, Sol almost always opted for the ramp instead. They just enjoyed the way they could see pretty much everything no matter where they stood on it. It seemed to keep all five of the museum’s expansive floors in a suspended tornado.  

Tonight was no different as they strolled along, footsteps muffled by dark green carpeting that was adorned by splotches of black. The pattern almost resembled malachite and complimented the wallpaper’s deep yellow shade. 

“Äñ ðlÐ ßµÐÐ¥ ð£ mïñê ï§ gðññå ßê §†ðþþïñg ߥ £ðr å ¢hå†,” Pat continued as he kept pace beside them. His current movement was a mix between crawling and slithering, due to how his slightly-too-long-torso ended in what honestly looked like blistering tree roots instead of legs. But then, those appendages would likely take on a different shape in about five-or-so-minutes. “Ððñ'† ¥ðµ rêmêmßêr †hê þrêÐïðñ§ Ì måÐê l姆 wêêk?”

(Pat was a creature of many talents; one of them being semi-regular visions of the future. Some were less clear than others, but then, there was nothing to stop him and Sol from theorizing on what they could mean. And it wasn’t often at all that he turned out to be wrong.)

“Yeah, I do. Just like I though you’d remember that your predictions aren’t always the only ones,” Sol jokingly snarked, craning her neck to look up at his eyes…well, his primary eyes, at least. A few extra ones had sprouted along his cheeks and temples, seeming to glance at the ideas she’d been jotting down for future exhibit designs. “I found out that The Chocolate Guy made something disturbingly normal before you even knew.” 

For most people, making eye-contact with him would lead to a migraine at best and an eventual case of blindness at worst, considering how his eyes were much too wide, how they glowed with the sickly-pale color of a corpse, how his pinprick pupils refused to stop shuddering in place.  

But Sol wasn’t most people…plus, they also had a mask that had apparently been crafted with some serious protective juju. That certainly helped. 

Putting it on had long-since become the first part of her nightly routine, right up until she officially closed up and clocked out to the apartment-suite that came included on the property.

The mask’s black material was smooth and compact, like porcelain or marble. Even after so much time, the interior never stopped feeling cold against the skin of Sol’s face. That soft chill always seemed to race up and down along her forehead and cheekbones. 

The base of it had been molded into a shape that sort of resembled like an upside-down pentagon. The center protruded forward, stretching out just enough to make you wince; there was no outline of a nose, but this still gave the impression of a triangular snout that ended in a smooth, simple stub.

Sculpted veins curved around the eye-holes, stretching from aforementioned stub all the way to the top-half that rested on Sol’s ginger hair. The paint that coated them seemed a bit tarnished, leaving them a dull shade of reddish-violet.

They could remember Pat saying something about a goat when he’d directed them through the museum’s basement to find it years ago. But honestly, they thought it looked more like a fox. A freak-of-nature fox with a pair of layered horns growing just below its long, oddly sharp ears to curl by its jaws. 

Yeah, that’s right. Jaws. The mask’s design included a mouth that wrapped around the bottom-half. It would’ve been open, too, if not for the sets of gleaming porcelain teeth that gleamed like polished chinaware, jagged enough to make a piranha jealous. 

It portrayed two emotions fused together: on the left side, the corner was quirked up to simulate a winding grin. The corner on the right side was the opposite—it tugged itself down in an almost feral grimace. This extended to the glass-lensed eyes as well. The left was scrunched-up, and the right almost looked like it was drooping. 

“…Älrïgh†, ålrïgh†. †ðµ¢h'ê ðñ †hå†,” Pat relented, the first row of jagged teeth in his maw actively lengthening as he chuckled. “Èvêñ ï£ ¥ðµ jµ§† §ð håþþêñêÐ †ð ßê ðñ ¥ðµr låþ†ðþ whêñ †hå† vïÐêð wêñ† þµßlï¢.”

“Nuh-uh! I sensed some legit wrongness before I even opened my laptop—I woke up in a cold sweat that same morning, and that damn video was the reason!” Sol contended, snickering herself, trying to ignore the memory of all that sudden dread. 

(The Chocolate Guy was a cosmic abomination himself, after all; one who was just apparently more comfortable with wearing a human disguise than Pat. And judging by some of the stories Pat had told Sol about the baker-creature before he’d made a home on Earth…well, she was extremely grateful that he was so focused on using his powers to simply create all kinds of amazing, life-like sculptures from sweets.)

“ÄñÐ ¥ðµ'vê ßêêñ £êêlïñg §ðmê 𣠆hå† wrðñgñꧧ ð££-åñÐ-ðñ-ågåïñ †ðÐå¥, håvêñ'† ¥ðµ?” Pat wondered. 

“Yeah, I have.” Sol offered both a nod and shrug.  “It’s just—I don’t know. I wasn’t too sure you’d want me getting close to that kind of stuff.”

“Èh, ¢êr†åïñ †hïñg§ håvê gð††å håþþêñ §ðmêÐå¥.” Pat mused. A keening, sheering noise rippled through the air as he clicked his teeth in thought. “§ð, ï£ ¥ðµ wåñ† ¥ðµr §êñ§ê§ †ð kêêþ gꆆïñg §hårþêr, åñÐ ï£ Ì håvê †ð mêê† wï†h å §þê¢ïål gµê§†...wêll, wh¥ ñð† ¢åþï†ålïzê?”

“Why not?” Sol echoed. They didn’t bother to hide the spark of excitement growing in their voice. There was no point; as far as they knew, Pat could already taste the adrenaline that was now coursing through their mind. 

Plus, it just felt kinda great to know that she was trusted. 

Pat was a centuries-old monstrosity whose life-purpose revolved around a very literal type of mad science. Sol had seen what he was capable of, how he could easily twist and warp humans (whether the victims of his casual hunting or organized sacrifices) in all sorts of horrific ways just to see what would happen. He fed on emotions, thoughts, entire minds and souls like it was nothing. He’d told her stories about eating the odd star or two in his past. 

So, for something like him to see something like her as someone he could include in his surreal business matters—as a friend…

There just wasn’t much like it. 

…Even if he had sarcastically spat out the word special guest like it was fried feather that had somehow found its way into a box of buffalo wings. That didn’t seem like the best omen out there. 

“How much time do we have before this guy gets here?” Sol asked. 

Pat gave pause, brow furrowing in frustration. He quickly shrank down until he only stood about four inches taller than Sol’s five-foot-seven.

“ñð† å whðlê lð†,”  He finally admitted as he sidled over to perch on one section of the ramp’s safety-railing, far too little effort in his movements. By now, the spire of his lower-half had split into a pair of actual legs. They looked pretty human-esque for the most part, though the calves were bent backwards like those of a quadraped, each ending in a clutch of talons. “Ì kñðw hê'§ ðñ hï§ wå¥, ßµ† Ì'll ðñl¥ rêåll¥ ßê åßlê †ð †êll ðñ¢ê hê'§ 墆µåll¥ ðñ †hê þrðþêr†¥.”

Sol offered an understanding shrug, stuffing the notepad into the breast pocket of their purple leather jacket. “Well, I can just pick this up where I left off sometime after your meeting, right?”

“Rïgh†,” Pat agreed, nodding in a way that was just too fluid for comfort.

A cluster of long, sinuous tendrils manifested from his back with a terrible chorus of snaps and pops and cracks. He leaned back, allowing them to press up against the wall behind him. And with that, his form seemed to churn in on itself as he effectively melted out of sight. He left a black, blurry silhouette-stain behind, but even that didn’t take long to shrink and fade away from the yellow wallpaper. In less than a minute, there was no evidence he’d ever even been there in the first place. 

Sol knew where he was headed, so they quickened their pace, ascending along the ramp and passing everything by to meet him there.

The first four floors were all dedicated to anomalies and curiosities. Despite all the organization, none of them adhered to an actual category. They each just held a vast collection of things that people were either disgusted and terrified of, or morbidly fascinated by. 

All sorts of preservation was practiced here. 

Specimens floating in concoctions of decay-defying fluids (formaldehyde, casualdejekyll, the works). 

Apothecary jars lined certain shelves, all coming in various shapes and sizes. A few veritable truckloads of pickled organs or appendages, or, or, or. One held a pair of human hands, the fingers of which seemed to have been fused together. Another contained an entire mouth—skin, lips, tongue and everything—that had been propped open unnaturally wide to display a horrific amount of crooked, rotting teeth.

Specimens frozen in resin cubes or slides. 

Where wet preservation typically led to discoloring, the resin was honestly a bit like amber. Somehow, it kept the tissues looking vibrant, like they could still be full of life and functioning as intended.

Except for the fact that they absolutely couldn’t, considering the states they’d been left in.

A set of intestines twisted into several knots, the end-results of a brain-bleed, an appendix that somehow seemed to be captured mere seconds after rupturing, an arm’s worth of branching veins forced to swell because apparently the blood inside them had gained a consistency similar to tapioca pudding…

Specimens kept in simple, tightly-sealed display cases. Those ones were often completely skeletonized, just for the sake of convenience, but still.

In all classifications, sizes varied.

Some were small enough for Sol to pinch between their index finger and thumb. Such as one little vial which held the phalanges of a pinkie-toe with an uncomfortable amount of joints. (Not nearly as disturbing as the teretomas, though. The mere thought of those sickly, fleshy spheres that had been sliced open juuuuust enough to reveal piles of teeth inside…it was enough to make even someone with Sol’s experience itch all over.)

Others, meanwhile, were so big and heavy that the only safe way to move them would be via forklift. Such as what was basically a glass coffin housing an entire human body, mummified and infested with a subspecies of cordyceps. A much stronger, much more aggressive variant; though the mold-colored stalks protruding from a jagged hole in the corpse’s head had been stiff for so many years, the way they all bent and just barely rubbed against the inside of the case suggested they were still trying to break out and spread their spores every which way to find fresher hosts. 

Just a few examples out of many. And yet…none of the upper floors could ever even dream of comparing to the collection in the basement. The collection that was kept under heavy lock-and-key, kept hidden from mortal customers. Sol herself had only been down there a couple times, though apparently she’d be able to more often the more she adjusted…

The Fifth Floor stood out from the rest. It was much more of a gallery than an archive; it hosted art of all mediums. (Though, in order for a new piece to be accepted, it had to be crafted with the darker genres in mind. But that wasn’t much of a problem. Horror and surrealism were all the rage these days, after all.)

It was also the only floor to not have any windows in its walls, whereas the others seemed to have a few too many.

Instead, the floor seemed to be the only space not covered by glossy frames that came in various shapes and sizes. Sol had to be careful to keep at least three feet of distance as she passed by. Some of the drawings had an odd type of gravitational pull. The colors of specific paintings never seemed to fully dry; not only that, but they often gave off powerful scents at certain hours. Some smelled soft and sweet and enticing. Others, meanwhile, were heavy with the stench of rot and pain. 

Suspicious shapes would bulge out from under the canvases on occasion. The struggle was obviously desperate, despite how slow the movements were. 

A fair number of the focuses didn’t have eyes. Those that did, however, always seemed to stare after you, no matter how far away you walked. 

(Especially one ancient-looking portrait that offered the etching of a cyclopian triangle with spindly arms and legs. Sometimes, if Sol looked at it for too long, she’d start to hear a faint, muffled chorus of cackling and wisecracking comments.)

Sol ventured over to the little corridor that stood off to one side of the gallery. 

A sleek black cat had apparently beaten them there, pacing the floor in small circles, occasionally jumping up to try and paw at the long pull-cord that hung from a white panel in the ceiling.

Charcoal couldn’t really be blamed for his trance, considering how the string swayed to and fro despite the fact that there was no breeze to move it. (In fact, it even seemed to be fluttering in time with his movements, and if that didn’t count as taunting, then what would?)

Sol knelt down and invoked the undeniably powerful chant of pspspspspspsps.

Their pet’s ears twitched, and he almost immediately came trotting over to greet them. 

In the nick of time, too; in less than a heartbeat, that white panel swung open, leaving a dark hole in its place. The ceiling-door’s hinges let out a scream like a dying cow as an old ladder came sliding out to hit the floor with a heavy thump. 

Sol gathered Charcoal up—even with their mask on, they still got a faceful of the brimstone that never seemed to leave the cat’s fur.  Using one arm to awkwardly cradle him to their chest and the other arm to keep their balance, they climbed on up. 

As usual, the museum’s attic was dark and cold. 

A large, perfectly-circular hole had been cut out of the far wall. That space used to be filled with a decorative window, and it had stayed that way when Sol took over The Abnormal Orchard. They’d opened it for perhaps the very first time on that fateful night when Pat had arrived, and…well, he hadn’t exactly meant to tear out the glass and its framing, but hey. He’d already made it clear that it was to stay open at all times.

Long ago, the attic had been used as an extra storage-space, and technically it still functioned as such. A plethora of crates and chests and boxes were pushed against the walls, stacked on top of one another, each holding something that Pat wasn’t quite ready to add to any of the main floors just yet.

Some of them ever-so-slightly trembled, like whatever was inside them had stirred in its sleep…or struggled against strong bindings. Some were covered in stains that glistened in the whatever dim moonlight seeped in from outside. 

As soon as Sol got their bearings, the ladder folded back onto its track, the door lifting to shut itself behind them. They crossed the center of the room and gazed up.

The attic’s entire ceiling had been swallowed up by a mass of gauzy threads. Thick strands had been attached to the corners, allowing even more to all come together, twisting and criss-crossing in layers upon more layers upon even more layers to form some kind of huge, silky, cocoon-hammock…thing. 

If not for how all the fibrous stuff boasted the splotchy colors of bruises, it would’ve resembled a combination of spiderweb and wasp nest. 

Pat was lounging inside of it, just like he usually did during the museum’s business hours (whenever he wasn’t busy hunting or experimenting, that is). He’d shifted into a truly massive size, his lower-half now coiled up beneath him like a snake or a centipede. A few extra arms sprouted from his sides to idly pluck at some of the strings around him. While the nest-cocoon-hammock-thing swayed to and fro as he shuffled in place, it never seemed to strain under his weight.  

“Anything I need to look out for?” Sol asked, heading for a crawlspace door that had been built into the side of the adjacent wall `a la Coraline. Snug would’ve been a generous word for the inside, but it’d already proven to be a fine hiding spot. Plus, it offered a good vantage point of everything on the outside, even when its door had to be held ajar. “When he gets here, I mean.”

“Ìñ†êr꧆ïñg ¢hðï¢ê ð£ wðrЧ,” Pat chuckled, a searing, buzzing sound remisiscent of glass splintering apart at the bottom of a boiling pot. “Hê †ê¢hñï¢åll¥ Ððê§ñ'† håvê å ßlïñЧþð†, ßµ† ¥ðµ'll ålrêåÐ¥ håvê §ðmê ¢ðvêr. þlµ§, ßrïgh† lïgh†§ ¢åñ måkê †hïñg§ ßlµrr¥; hðlÐïñg å §måll £låmê wðµlÐñ'† hµr†.”

“Gotcha.” Once they’d pretzeled themself inside the crawlspace, Sol reached for another one of their jacket-pockets; the one where their striker-knife and chunk of rainbow flint had free real estate. 

But Charcoal seemed eager to participate. Just before his owner could fish their tools out, he perked up on their lap. He rolled his shoulders, his chest puffing out as he took a deep, quiet breath.

He then opened his mouth, allowing thin flames to lick out past his bared fangs. And yet, the little ball of fire he’d brought up from his lungs seemed content to just linger at the back of his throat, casting short shadows that flickered and danced around his teeth. 

“...Never mind, then. Thanks, buddy.” Sol smiled, scratching her pet’s ears just in time to feel a pair of horns ease their way out of his little forehead.

Charcoal purred, a sound that grew ever-so-slightly deeper and raspier as some of his fur pulled back, showing off a coat of dark scales underneath. Strangest of all, his eyes didn’t even reflect the glow like those of a normal cat would. Instead, his pupils just grew and grew until his eye sockets resembled bottomless pits in his face.

Pat’s neck stretched out from the mouth of his cocoon-hammock-nest-thing. He nodded at the little display. 

“ÄñÐ êvêñ whêñ hï§ vï§ïðñ'§ ðߧ¢µrêÐ, hê ¢åñ §†ïll §êê †hrðµgh †hê ê¥ê§ ð£ ð†hêr§,” he continued. “Ððñ'† lððk Ðïrꢆl¥ å† hïm. †r¥ †ð £ð¢µ§ ðñ †hê §†µ££ årðµñÐ hïm. ßµ† ï£ ¥ðµ håvê ñð ¢hðï¢ê êx¢êþ† †ð lððk å† hï§ ê¥ê§, jµ§† Ððñ'†—”

Pat stiffened, trailing off as a seam manifested in the middle of his forehead. With a sickening, almost rubbery sigh, that seam peeled itself open to reveal a eyeball. It was larger than his primaries, its sclera was pitch-dark. Pat’s ever-moving skin was already a void in itself, but this particular eye was even more abyssal than that. Save for a tiny, shivering, pale-as-snow iris with no pupil at all. 

Pat could summon as many extra eyes as he wanted at will, but this one was different. 

This eye only bloomed on his face at serious times. (In the grand scheme of things, this was perfectly logical. Pat already had far more senses than mortal creatures. This third eye was just a sense all of its own.) Sol privately called it the Illuminati’s Cousin.

A low, dangerous hissssss crept out through Pat’s teeth, his neck retracting and his head snapping back into place. 

Sol got the hint; they silently shuffled themself and Charcoal even further into the crawlspace until their back hit the wall. They reached over and pulled at the little door, only leaving a small crack to peer through.

As if on cue, all the nighttime hubbub echoing from outside—the drone of insects, the hollow screeches of owls, even the wind and thunder that had just started rumbling a few moments ago—came to an abrupt, uncanny halt. 

The far wall of the attic shook.

Sccrrrrrp

A sound so low that it managed to be soft and piercing at the same time. Like a person who, despite only having a set of bloody stubs left of their nails, decided to drag their fingers along a chalkboard just for the hell of it…

Scccrrrrp-sssccrrrrp

…Or a cluster of ragged claws scratching against a brick wall. 

It followed a distinct rhythm. Even with all the screeching, there was no doubt how the source was moving so carefully, so deliberately. 

Like an ambush predator stalking after its prey

Sccrrrp-scccrrrp, sccrrrp-sccrrrrp

The noise finally reached its peak when a pair of too-large hands adorned by too-long, too-crooked digits wrapped around the edges of the attic window.

They dug further into the wall as a distorted shape spilled into the attic, momentarily blotting out the moonlight. The sight reminded Sol of all those edutainment videos of octopuses using their boneless nature to squeeze through openings that would’ve been impossible for literally anything else to bypass. 

After a batch of long, uncomfortable seconds dragged by, the shape slithered from the window frame and onto the floor. It almost seemed to spread there like a pool of viscous liquid…and then, thick clouds of smoke began to rise from it. They pulled the shape up like it was magnetic putty, coaxing it to weave itself into something much more solid. 

Without warning, a harsh emerald light beamed to life from somewhere inside the figure. Sol flinched back, having to wrench her eyes shut. But once she re-opened them, she felt something cold and clammy start to churn in her stomach. 

Thanks to all their time working with Pat, Sol was much more prepared to accept the unacceptable than the average human. 

But the scene unfolding before her…she had to admit that it was something else. 

In the span of mere seconds, the visiting monster already grown to roughly the same size as Pat.

And, keeping up with the similarities, his head and torso followed a vague human shape. 

And vague was an extremely generous term here, folks.

His skin was almost completely transparent—that green illumination had tapered down some, allowing Sol to realize that the monster’s bones and organs were glowing from the inside. Similar to a diaphonized specimen with its container positioned over an LED stand.

As Sol stared, she managed to see how his misshapen heart squirmed its way out from under his lungs; though it didn’t escape his jagged, bending ribcage, it seemed perfectly fine with crawling around in tight circles to press up against bone. His intestines shuffled and writhed over one another like a pile of worms.

The jagged, organic crater taking up space by his abdomen suggested that he’d been ripped in half at the navel. That smoke from earlier was now drifting out of it, veils curling through in the air in a very unnatural way. 

Before Sol could stop herself, she looked up at the monster’s face. 

The corners of his mouth stretched quite literally from ear-to-ear. A few inches before those corners, thin strands of flesh stretch out to connect his upper and lower jaws. It was honestly miraculous that they hadn’t been accidentally shredded by the unnecessary amount of glinting teeth nestled inside. Hair grew over his lips(?) and along his chin, forming a short beard that was just as dark as the thatch on his scalp, which draped over his shoulders and back in long tangles. 

And to top it all off, both of his eye sockets were completely hollow, as well as disturbingly wide. In fact, the glistening flesh inside them stretched out of his head to curve alongside his temples in shapes somewhat similar to the ears of a bat.

Pat’s warning echoed through Sol’s brain…but where were this guy’s eyes? How could he see at all? 

Sol’s own eyes drifted down, and she just barely managed to catch herself and pin her focus to the opposite wall instead. Because she’d gotten her answer: displaced peepers were littered about the monster’s arms and hands and neck, with the largest one blinking on that spot right where his collarbones met. 

Eye Guy shuffled in place, surveying Pat’s cocoon-hammock-nest thing before his vision finally settled on his fellow monster. Pat stared right back, the Illuminati’s Cousin rolling around in his head. 

“.⃥.̸.⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘠̸,⃥” Eye Guy greeted, his voice seeming to splash through the air, rough and loud and…laced with an honest-to-God Irish accent?

“Hê¥,” Pat echoed, the edges of his voice spinning like a swarm of cicadas. 

A trio of his back-tendrils suddenly stretched out from the cocoon-hammock-nest-thing, reaching across the attic to a little mini-fridge that had been st up in the corner. One of them pulled the little door open, then heaved it shut once the other two each coiled around a can of Diet Coke. 

The tendrils weaved their way back over, one of them hovering near Eye Guy while the other two vanished, probably wrapping around Pat's spine and ribs, the other can of soda sticking the landing in his outstretched palm

Eye Guy  tilted his head, quietly reaching up to accept the offered beverage. “𝗢⃥𝘏̸,⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗞⃥𝘚̸.⃥”

“ñð þrðßlêm,” Pat responded, using the tips of his claws to pop the tab. 

Eye Guy followed suite, the two of them drinking until the cans were empty…at which point the aforementioned cans simply followed the soda’s path, aluminum crunching and tearing and screeching against horrifically sharp enamel, likely leaving jagged scars and opening up thin rivers of monstrous blood in its wake as it was swallowed. 

𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘍̸𝗘⃥𝘞̸ 𝘚̸𝗖⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘔̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗨⃥𝘛̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸.⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥'̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥?̸” Eye Guy asked.

“Öh, jµ§† þêå¢h¥!” Pat’s fangs curled out of his mouth like tusks as he aimed a sarcastic grin the visitor’s way. 

Eye Guy shrugged. “𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗗⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘖̸𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘋̸𝗨⃥𝘗̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥.̸ 𝘊̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘕̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥.̸”

Pat hummed affirmative, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head in a prideful manner. Another awkward few seconds came and went before he let out a grating sigh.

“§ð. Çårê †ð êxþlåïñ wh¥ ¥ðµ'rê ¢rå§hïñg ðñ M¥ †ÈRR̆ÖR¥? ȧþê¢ïåll¥ 壆êr Ì JÚ§† gð† ßå¢k †ð ï†?”

Eye Guy clicked his long, forked tongue. “𝗜⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘐̸𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘋̸𝗬⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘈̸𝗪⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸ 𝘊̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘛̸𝗟⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗟⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸𝗚⃥𝘖̸—𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗬⃥,̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘠̸,⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘔̸ 𝘋̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸𝗡⃥.̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗧⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘖̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘑̸𝗢⃥𝘠̸.” He briefly cut himself off to wave a dismissive clutch of talons at the way Pat snarled. Although there was no denying the mischievous smirk in his tone as he added, “𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸ 𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥,̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘠̸𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗬⃥.̸”

Pat leaned out of his cocoon-hammock-nest-thing, clicking his teeth as his eyes narrowed.

“†hå†'§ §†rïkê Öñê, þål. †r¥ ågåïñ,” he warned. 

“𝗢⃥𝘏̸,⃥ 𝗖⃥'̸𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥. 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘋̸𝗬⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗨⃥𝘗̸.⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘍̸𝗙⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘚̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘓̸𝗘⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘈̸𝗠⃥𝘕̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸!⃥” Eye Guy huffed. He got the privilege of taking the rolling-your-eyes-with-your-whole-body thing to an extremely authentic level. “𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗗⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘏̸’⃥𝘔̸𝗨⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥-̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸ 𝘐̸𝗦⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗖⃥𝘒̸,⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘌̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸ 𝘛̸𝗥⃥𝘠̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸.⃥”

“¥êåh, Ì Ðð kñðw åll †hå†,” Pat agreed. He shifted in place, soon lying on his back, the Illuminati’s Cousin still glaring at Eye Guy.  “Lêmmê gµê§§: ¥ðµ wåñ† †ð mêê† µþ wï†h mê åñÐ m¥ kñðwïñg-†hïñg§ §¢h†ï¢k ïñ å ¢ðµþlê ñïgh†§. †hå† wå¥, åñ¥ þð†êñïål †hrê冧 ¢åñ ßê þrêÐêÐ ßê£ðrê †hê¥ Ðï§rµþ† å ¢êr†åïñ rål?”

The way he spoke made it sound much more like a statement than a question.

Out of the corner of their eye, Sol glimpsed how Eye Guy’s collar-eye (wow, that was way too many eyes in one sentence, huh?) lit up. It seemed he was about to reply, but Pat interjected with a theatrical gasp. 

“ßµ† wåï†!” After an overexaggerated pause, he continued: “¥ðµ ÐïÐñ'† êvêñ mêñ†ïðñ åñ¥ rål§ ïñ ¥ðµr êlêvå†ðr-þh, Ðê§þï†ê †hê ðßvïðµ§ñꧧ ð£ ï† åll!”

He let himself fall out halfway over the edge of his cocoon-hammock-nest-thing, now hanging upside-down, all six pairs of his arms folded across his chest. “Wh¥'Ð ¥ðµ Ðð †hå†?”

A sour look flickered in the collar-eye; Eye Guy’s bioluminesence shifted into a more toxic shade of green. An aggravated groan seeped through his gnashing teeth. 

“.⃥.̸.⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘒̸ 𝘞̸𝗜⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸ 𝘗̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗖⃥𝘐̸𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥.̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘙̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸!⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘈̸𝗗⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗠⃥!̸”

“Öh, Ì'm ñð† §å¥ïñg ¥ðµ ÐïÐ,” Pat agreed, his pitch dripping with honey that was so obviously pumped full of venom. “̆'§ jµ§†—†ð ßê ¢lêår: ï£ ¥ðµ åñÐ I årê §µþþð§êÐ †ð ßê ïñvðlvêÐ, †hêñ whð årê ¥ðµ †hïñkïñg åß𵆠£ðr †hå† †hïrÐ þår†ï¢ïþåñ†?”

Now it was Eye Guy’s turn to hissssss, talons leaving long gashes in the old attic floor panels. 

“.⃥.̸.⃥𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘒̸𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥,̸” he finally muttered. 

Pat nodded with a snarky hum, his eyes all narrowing to slits. “Èx墆l¥. §ð, wh¥ †hê HÈLL årê ¥ðµ å§kïñg mê †ð ßê ïñvlðvêÐ ï£ HÈ'§ gðññå ßê †hêrê?!”

“𝗕⃥𝘌̸𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸ 𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘈̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸𝗔⃥𝘉̸𝗟⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸!⃥” Eye Guy snapped back, his voice now booming enough for Sol’s ears to ring. 

“Wêll, MÄ¥ßÈ ¥ðµ jµ§† håvêñ'† ßêêñ lððkïñg hårÐ êñðµgh,” Pat snipped. With an awful crunching sound, he twisted his torso around on itself in a way that would've been more than enough to snap a mortal spine five times over, turning his back to the other monster.  “Hðw åß𵆠¥ðµ jµ§† jðg ðñ åñÐ kêêþ †r¥ïñg?”

“𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘖̸ 𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸!⃥” Eye Guy protested. “𝗧⃥𝘙̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸,⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘍̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥,̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥𝘕̸'⃥𝘛̸ 𝘌̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥,̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝗜⃥'̸𝗠⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘈̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘕̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗪⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗪⃥𝘖̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥!̸”

“Öh, å§ ï£ Ì'M †HÈ þRÖßLÈM!” Pat’s neck swiveled in the opposite of the direction he’d just shifted, soon staring daggers at his guest yet again. “Ì£ ¥ðµ rêåll¥ £êêl †hå† wå¥, †hêñ wh¥ §hðµlÐ Ì ¢årê?!”

Following the new pattern, one pair of his arms bent backwards as he raised them, wrists popping and cricking as he made air-quotes with his claws. “ÐïÐñ'† ¥ÖÚ †êll mê †ð ‘jµ§† §å¥ ñð’ å† †hå† §ðl§†ï¢ê å †hðµ§åñÐ ¥êår§ ågð?”

Eye Guy growled deep in his throat. He then shook his head, pressing a hand to his temple and dragging it down his face (and nearly getting one of his claws caught in his eye-sockets).

“𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥𝘠̸ 𝘑̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥'̸𝗧⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗬⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥,̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸?⃥”

“Wêll, ñêï†hêr ¢åñ ¥ðµ!” Pat finally slid all the way out of his cocoon-hammock-nest-thing, his form unfurling to land on the floor with a heavy thud. He arched his back, drumming his talons against wood. 

Eye Guy lightly shook his head, began pacing in small, tight circles. 

“𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗟⃥𝘋̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥,̸” he responded after a moment, “𝗕⃥𝘌̸𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘜̸𝗗⃥𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸ 𝘓̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘜̸𝗖⃥𝘒̸ 𝘜̸𝗣⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸ 𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘕̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘏̸𝗨⃥𝘎̸𝗘⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗬⃥.̸”

He halted, all eyes now focusing on his host. “𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘌̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗖⃥𝘐̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘖̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘐̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗦⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗨⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗨⃥𝘗̸ 𝘐̸𝗡⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘜̸𝗚⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸.⃥”

He crawled a few paces closer, only stopping once he was a mere few inches away from getting in Pat’s face. “'⃥𝘔̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸𝗧⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘍̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥,̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘠̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸ 𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗨⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸𝗗⃥ 𝗨⃥𝘗̸ 𝘐̸𝗡⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘜̸𝗚⃥𝘌̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸.⃥”

Silence. 

Though he didn’t shrink back, still baring his fangs and fuming…there was no denying how Pat stiffened. As quick as he was to mask the spark of anxiety in his eyes, he was somehow still far too late. 

Sol swallowed a lump in their throat. Even with how well they’d gotten to know him, they’d never really thought that Pat could actually be…perturbed by anything, considering the hobbies he carried out. 

It wouldn’t have taken a genius to guess that Eye Guy had a hidden-in-plain-sight lair of his own. Was it connected to The Abnormal Orchard? If so, how? Why? 

Not only that, but Sol could remember a few of Pat’s semi-recent ranting-sessions; all vague venting about some other abomination. There was no way aforementioned monster wasn’t the ‘HE’ Eye Guy had admitted to involving with whatever ritual was on the table. 

But that other name that had been brought up…Ah’ Mung-Stus. Sol had never heard anything like that from Pat. 

Who—or what—was this other creature? And what did any of this have with the moon?

Without warning, Eye Guy shifted in place.

“𝗝⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥𝘛̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘒̸ 𝘈̸𝗕⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘛̸,⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘊̸𝗘⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘙̸𝗬⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘎̸ 𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘌̸𝗧⃥𝘛̸𝗬⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘚̸𝗦⃥𝘜̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸,” he declared, turning away to crawl toward the attic window. He paused as his hands grasped the edges of the hollow frame once again. 

“𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘜̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸ 𝘉̸𝗘⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘋̸ 𝘖̸𝗡⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘠̸ 𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘙̸𝗙⃥.̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥𝘙̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸ 𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘈̸𝗬⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸-⃥𝘍̸𝗜⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘋̸;⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸ 𝘐̸𝗧⃥.̸𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗜⃥𝘔̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥,̸ 𝘗̸𝗟⃥𝘜̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗤⃥𝘜̸𝗜⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥𝘚̸.⃥”

A few of the watery orbs lining Eye Guy’s shoulders rolled over to stare at Pat. And for the very first time that night, Pat glanced away.

“𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗘⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘐̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥.̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘎̸𝗨⃥𝘠̸𝗦⃥'̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘑̸𝗨⃥𝘚̸𝗧⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘕̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗥⃥ 𝗘⃥𝘈̸𝗖⃥𝘏̸ 𝘖̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘖̸��⃥𝘌̸ 𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘎̸𝗛⃥𝘛̸.⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘊̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸ 𝘉̸𝗢⃥𝘛̸𝗛⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘖̸ 𝘉̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗠⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘗̸𝗥⃥𝘖̸𝗝⃥𝘌̸𝗖⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘌̸𝗫⃥𝘛̸ 𝘍̸𝗘⃥𝘞̸ 𝘔̸𝗜⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘕̸𝗜⃥𝘈̸,” Eye Guy concluded. 

And with that, he reared back and dove through the window. All the smoke that had accompanied him was suddenly drawn out after him, like he’d opened up some kind of invisible vacuum. It took a long few moments, but eventually the air was clear again. 

Slowly-but-surely, the lively sounds of various nocturns echoed through the world outside the museum. 

Even so, Sol didn’t move, no matter how much their cramped muscles screamed at them to. 

Not until Pat climbed back onto his cocoon-hammock-nest-thing and turned his head to regard their hiding spot. The Illuminati’s Cousin had finally closed, disappearing from his forehead altogether.

“Çð姆 ï§ ¢lêår,” he called, his voice drenched in something that was soft yet bitter. 

Sol gently tapped Charcoal on the shoulder. He finally closed his mouth, smothering the flame that had been part of their cover for what felt like hours. As the cat hopped away from his owner’s lap to stretch, Sol clambered out of the crawl space, quickly getting to their feet almost like a soldier called to attention.

They reached into their jacket, palming their flint striker-knife. They couldn’t help it; as dangerous as it could be, it just made for a shockingly good stim-toy at times. 

“...So.” Sol chewed their lip. “I take it the moon is very angry or something?” 

“ñð† qµï†ê,” Pat replied as he curled back up, his pale, shining eyes contemplative and…wait, was that an iota of actual dread? “̆'§ å† rï§k ð£ gꆆïñg êå†êñ ïñ å llê whïlê.”

“Oh.” Sol rocked back and forth on their heels, not sure what else they could really say to that. Still, they were nothing if not tenacious, so they pressed on. “Eaten by what, exactly?” 

Pat clicked his many teeth again, eyes tracing all the network of the silk he’d woven to make himself a proper den after going far, far too long without one. 

“...¥'kñðw †hê 姆êrðïÐ †hå† êñ†êrêÐ Èår†h'§ ðrßï† åß𵆠å mðñ†h ågð?” 

Sol nodded, politely ignoring how their question had gone unanswered. “Yeah. 2024 PT5. What about it?” 

A hollow chuckle slithered up and out of whatever misshapen lungs were hiding inside Pat’s system.

He glanced down at his mortal companion, his mouth stretching much too quickly and fluidly to form a wry, exhausted grin on his features. “Älrïgh†. ñðw, †êll mê êvêr¥†hïñg ¥ðµ kñðw åß𵆠åggrê§ïvê mïmï¢r¥…”

@sammys-magical-au @inkbedou

[world0fmadness]

This is probably a silly question, but if you could meet any of the bm musicians in real life who would it be and why?

Also you seem so cool! Love your blog 🫶🏻

୨୧ there is no such thing as a silly question, honey! especially not here on my blog, you guys could ask me quite literally anything in the world and it would never be silly to me ^w^

and this is actually a great question! i love getting little questions like this… even if i feel that i’m kind of bad at explaining sometimes hehe! such a tough question too though, hopefully you don’t mind if i answer with a couple people…

i think one that i would’ve loved to meet would of course be pelle from morbid / mayhem! someone on here once told me they thought him and i seemed to have similar souls and it fucked me up, in the best way, for days! i don’t think i would be able to talk much to him if i did meet him though, i’m already a very shy person around everyone let alone people who i have so much admiration and respect for! i think i would just be kind of starstruck but thankfully i do not stare at people so i probably would not make him uncomfortable by eyeballing him lolol… i tend to keep my eyes down to the ground and only sometimes look up when spoken to! i keep to myself a lot of the time unless someone sparks conversation with me first and if they mention something i really enjoy, like a band or movie, then i tend to slowly come out of my shell and will ease into a passionate ramble about said thing to this unsuspecting person lolol! i usually only wear shirts that are related to bands or movies so maybe that would peak his interest a little, if it was a band or movie he also liked…

i suppose i can’t really go into major reasoning as to why i would like to meet him out of so many others in the black metal scene but i think it boils down to feeling as though we have kind of similar personalities and similar struggles… i think he was such a strong talent, such a unique soul lost too soon but i am glad he was able to leave this word on his own terms, i’m hoping that doesn’t sound fucked up or anything! i would’ve liked to ask him about his thoughts on many things, his hobbies and all of that stuff…

a second musician would be fenriz from darkthrone / isengard! not even specifically younger fenriz, i would love to meet him as he is now! he just seems so fun yet laidback at the same time, so humorous and passionate… i would love love love to ramble back and forth about obscure music hehe! not to mention cats! i can see us showing pictures of our cats to each other like proud parents! not to mention i just think i would be very easily made comfortable in his presence, he just seems so genuinely nice to be around and not judgemental in the slightest! i mean, i think i would still be awestruck at meeting someone so talented but i just think he would make you feel like you’ve been friends for years within just a couple minutes of meeting and chatting…

a third musician would simply have to be cronos from venom! like many people, venom was one of the first few extreme metal bands i began listening to when i was wayyy younger and it was the first band that i got really heavily into… i mean seriously, i begged my grandmother to buy me every single one of their CDs lolol! i think my grandfather only really supported me in my begging because he is from newcastle himself… my grandmother did not buy me all of their CDs but she did buy me welcome to hell, then my older cousin burned some more custom venom CDs for me! it’s also one of the few extreme metal bands my mother really likes too, so that’s always a major plus! i think cronos just seems like a very genuine guy, he seems fun to hang out with and again, i would probably to too starstruck to talk all that much! i don’t think i would be a true british metalhead if i didn’t really want to meet cronos! so yeah, i think i’d just like to ask him about how it feels to be so… respected? i guess? how it feels to have been so many peoples first real introduction to more extreme metal, how it felt to have been the band…

not exactly a musician but i would dieee if i ever met metalion! gosh, he just probably has so so so many stories to tell about people in the extreme metal scene, so many good memories and pictures hidden away! every time i read an interview with him, i find myself agreeing with nearly everything he says so i just think i would find him to be very good company! definitely one of those guys you plan on talking to for a quick five minutes that suddenly turns into five hours because of how easy he is to talk to and how many stories he has to tell…

and a bonus musician is akira yamaoka even though he is certainly not black metal! gosh, i would really sell some of my organs to meet him… his music is always just incredible to me, always so full of passion and genuine care for the project! even his solo project, enn mo takenawa, was beyond beautiful and unique… he is such a talented soul, such an obviously passionate soul and i would love to just sit and have a conversation with him about music, about his music and music he enjoys / finds inspiration in! so much of his music has gotten me through some real tough nights and some real lonely walks, his music is true beauty in the eeriest form…

i will not give major reasonings for these but some others i would love to meet and have a simple little chat with would be S.D. from trembling void, faust from emperor / scum, B.S.O.D. from grausamkeit, euronymous from mayhem, kobal from darvulia / fornication, ihsahn from emperor and quorthon from bathory! of course, i could go on so much more about why all of these people are so interesting to me, why i would love to meet them and chat with them but i do not wish to keep you here all damn day lolol!

thank you so much for this ask, anon! i love answering any and all questions you guys have! and thank you again, i’m glad i seem so cool to you guys lolol! younger me would never believe it hehe… you guys are all just as cool as me! glad to hear you love my blog too, i love you guys just as much <3

[richincolor]

Interview with Olivia Abtahi

Olivia Abtahi, author of contemporary novels Perfectly Parvin and Azar on Fire, just released a new book and this time it's a fantasy. We're so glad that she was willing to answer a few questions about Twin Flames.

Summary: On estranged twins Leila and Bianca's eighteenth birthday, Leila suddenly gains a djinn's superpowers, and the twins realize that their town can only survive the djinns' secret plans if they learn to work together as sisters. An action-packed YA fantasy!

Twins Bianca and Leila could not be more different from each other. Being both Argentinian and Iranian in a small town has always been hard, but with Leila shunning her heritage and Bianca embracing it, the two walk very different paths. They run in different circles of friends, and barely talk anymore. Leila's a homebody who loves to craft and plans on marrying her high school sweetheart. Bianca's more anti-establishment and plans to get out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible.

But on their eighteenth birthday, the neighbor's barn mysteriously burns down. When Leila encounters a monster arising from the fire, a djinn, suddenly she gains strange powers--and can no longer touch iron.

What do these djinn want with Leila--or other people in town, for that matter? Can the twins learn to rely on each other--and their cultures--to banish them? It'll take a sisterly reconciliation for the girls to find out and to save their hometown in this New Visions Award-winning fantasy adventure.

Thank you so much for sharing with us today. Your bio says that you’ve been devouring books since your school days. What kind of books moved you or influenced you when you were a young adult?

Hi Crystal! I read a lot of sci-fi and fantasy as a kid. I was up to my eyeballs in Dune and Ender’s Game in middle and high school. A book I loved was The House of Scorpion by Nancy Farmer and I was obsessed with the Sabriel series by Garth Nix!

Can you tell us a little bit about your filmmaking and how that and writing novels are related or ways that they are different?

I think they are similar in that they are both storytelling mediums. It feels like the same part of my brain is being exercised, just with a different tool. The freeing thing about writing though is that I don’t have to convince anyone to tell my story with me; all I need is a word processor or a pen and paper. With film, you need a lot of outside buy-in to make it happen, and I didn’t have the temperament for that.

I just finished reading Twin Flames and really appreciated the dynamics between the twins. How do you typically arrive at your characters and what did you enjoy about Bianca and Leila?

Bianca and Leila, are, at their heart, just different sides of my myself. For better or worse, I am a character-driven author. I have to picture the protagonists in my head before I can really put words to paper. For Bianca and Leila I would scour IMDB to find actresses who embodied what I was going for and took it from there. I loved writing Bianca’s snark, but I loved writing Leila’s hopes and dreams as well. They were really fun to bounce between.

Bianca and Leila encounter a wide variety of djinn. Were they all types you were familiar with or did this involve some research?

I feel like I barely scratched the surface on all the types of djinn! The sleep paralysis djinn was one I had grown up with (I had it often as a child) but others were in my periphery, I had just never looked them up. Also, the ones I grew up with are unique to Southwest Asia and North Africa, while there are even more in Southeast Asia. It’s pretty cool and I loved researching them and even got scared at times reading about people’s run-ins with djinn!

Do you have any interesting tidbits that you wanted to include in the book, but had to leave out for any reason?

So many. This was the first book I ever wrote and I really had to kill my darlings! A lot of the things I had to remove were family scenes, from an in-depth analysis of the spark plug issue their father was working on, to the reason why their mother had to leave Argentina. There are pages and pages of backstory that just never made it in, along with some even creepier djinn.

Your own family of origin was similar to that of the twins. Were there specific challenges or rewards in writing something that mirrored your own life in that way?

For sure. A lot of the time I would just ask myself “Do I need to explain this?” From having the feast of seven fishes at Christmas, even though the mom is Argentinian, to explaining what Esfand herbs were. Taking off their shoes at the door, pickling things at home…these were all moments where I wasn’t sure if I should expand on them because they were just unspoken truths in my upbringing. Sometimes, writing what you know is even harder!

Is there a question you wish I had asked about the story or your writing process?

The title. I didn’t realize that “Twin Flames” was such a huge part of people’s spiritual beliefs. I had just wanted to write a book about twins who literally had djinn flames inside of them. Whoops.

What is next in your writing journey? 

I have a picture book publishing in January called THE INTERPRETER. It follows Cecilia, a girl who is torn between her normal life of being a soccer-loving kid, and her not-so-normal life of interpreting English to Spanish for her parents. It is very close to my heart!

Thanks again for taking the time to answer questions about Twin Flames. We're glad it's out in the world for people to enjoy. 

Growing up in the DC area, Olivia devoured books and hid in empty classrooms during school to finish them. Her debut novel, Perfectly Parvin, was published in 2021, receiving the SCBWI Golden Kite Honor, YALSA Odyssey Honor, and numerous starred reviews. Her sophomore novel, Azar on Fire, was published in August 2022 and a SLJ pick. Olivia's third novel, Twin Flames, is a New Visions Award winner. She currently lives in Denver, Colorado, with her husband and daughter.

[paperbackribs]

The Gift (14 of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 13 It's Pretty next: Chapter 15 Le Vie En Rose (Final Chapter)

Last chapter, Steve revealed that he has been seeing visions to a very excited Eddie and a good time was had by both. This chapter, they talk and unveil a pattern of misunderstandings.

Chapter 14 The Boy Next Door

Steve lets himself enjoy being allowed to touch Eddie, running his hand over the sleek warmth of his side as they lay curled up together on the bed. He's lying on his back with Eddie’s head tenderly resting against his chest. They’ve both cleaned up and rid themselves of their pants and shirts, only leaving on their boxers and boxer briefs. The air is still and summer sweet, the muted light of the lamps creating a safe cacoon around the boys.

Steve winds a dark curl around his finger, captured by its softness, before tracing a gentle hand over the feathered creature tattooed on Eddie’s upper arm. The other boy shivers, nuzzling his nose briefly into Steve’s ample chest hair.

“How could you think I didn’t want you after Saturday,” Steve marvels.

Eddie tips his head back with a sceptical look.

“I was humping my hand while staring you dead in the eye,” Steve insists.

Eddie shifts back onto the arm under him, not untangling their legs though, Steve is pleased to note. “Believe it or not, Stevie. You’re the king of mixed signals.”

Steve feels his face go blank as he tries to process this, “When did I give you mixed signals?”

Eddie slumps back into Steve's chest with a heartfelt groan. It's a far less exciting sound than what Steve had been hearing only thirty minutes ago and, thinking back on his deliberation that he should have hunted Eddie down earlier, Steve tilts Eddie's chin up with a gentle, but firm finger. “Come on, I won’t know unless you tell me.”

Eddie scowls at him, though Steve can tell that it lacks any true anger. “The entire time I’ve known you, Steve. I haven’t been able to figure out if you were flirting with me or just saw me as a really good buddy. And,” he continues earnestly, hazel and chocolate eyes flashing, “If it was just friendship, I told myself that that would be okay. You’re the best guy I know, I should be happy to be your friend. But then there would be a glimmer of something from you and the see-sawing back and forth in my head was driving me crazy.”

"Something?" Steve asks weakly.

"The blushing," Eddie tips his head back groaning, looking up at the ceiling as if appealing to a higher power. But, really, only exposing an attractive amount of silky skin stretched over Eddie's neck. Steve wants to bite him.

Eddie continues, oblivious to Steve's covetous thoughts, "Suddenly you were blushing all over the place, but only —" Eddie pauses to look at Steve to make sure he understands the emphasis, "— only when I would flirt with you."

"It couldn't have been that bad," Steve protests, trying to defend his dignity. Thin as it may be at this point.

Eddie cocks his head to the side with a dramatic sort of deflation, "But you were also so sweet, you absolute fucker."

Steve snickers at Eddie's combination of compliment and insult even as he keenly listens to the other boy's rationalisation. Eddie eyeballs him as if to chastise his mirth, "You were blushing, okay? And that was confusing. But it was so much more worse because you were so fucking sweet at the same time."

"Sweet?" Steve mildly raises his eyebrows even as he's delighted at getting a rise out of the usually placid Eddie. He wonders how far he can push, maybe he could even get him to finally blush? He restlessly shifts at the plethora of images that run through his frankly horny brain at all the ways Eddie could look while blushing a pretty pink over those adorable cheeks.

"Yes!" Eddie pushes up on the arm under his torso so he can frantically wave a hand above the two of them. "Sweet!" He repeats with a groan. "You love the kids. I know. And your soulmate whatever with Robin is pretty fucking clear." He pauses to admit, "And fairly cute.

"You've always got a little hint of exasperated bitch with the kids, but all of it is affectionate. Warm, even. But not, per se, sweet."

Steve frowns, about to interrupt for clarification but Eddie continues, "Yet you. You absolute asshole," he waves a hand in the air only to slap it against Steve's chest. Steve scowls while rubbing at the lingering, sharp feeling on his skin.

"You have been only really, really sweet to me. You made me Witch's charms to help me sleep, you tried to make me smile whenever I was in a funk, you wouldn't let me give up in the boggy fucking mire of whatever self-loathing was the du jour of my day..."

Steve’s face burns at how transparent his attraction to Eddie had been. Christ, he is as bad as Mike.

“And then Saturday,” he asks, almost not wanting to know.

Eddie squints at him in accusation again, “And then, you feel me up—”

“I did not!” Steve protests, thinking of how carefully he had kept his hands to himself when reaching for that lighter.

Eddie just looks at him in an eerie echo of Robin’s know-it-all attitude, which Steve could really do without in their bed right now. “Yeah, yeah. You didn’t exactly grope me, but you didn’t exactly not either. You were giving out signals, man. And then you practically chucked me out the door.”

Steve’s mouth opens soundlessly in understanding. He grimaces good-naturedly, “If I told you I was so turned on by fantasising about you, that I barely even remember saying goodbye to you or Robin, would that make it better?”

Eddie’s forehead thunks back down to his chest again, sable curls spreading like a ripple in a pond.

“Eddie?” Steve gently tucks some of those soft curls over Eddie’s ear only to see the graceful curve burning an incriminating red.

“Eddie,” Steve repeats, thrilled. “Do your ears blush instead of your face?”

He hears a groan reverberate against his skin before Eddie flips his head up, shaking his hair over his ears like a shaggy Irish Spaniel.

“Not the point, Harrington.”

Steve pins him with an amused look, “Please don’t call me by my last name after I just had my hands all over you.”

“Not the point, Stevie,” Eddie grits out. “I just,” he sighs and Steve feels a little twinge of guilt at teasing him. “I didn’t know where I stood with you. And I didn’t want to shoot my shot only for you to very gently, in that kind way I knew you would have, tell me that I was out of my ever-loving mind.”

Steve realises that the two of them have really been talking at cross-purposes for a while now. So in sync with their comfort and affection for each other while utterly missing the deeper feelings and attraction behind it. “I feel like calling you crazy in a nice way is a bit of a contradiction, but okay, point taken.” He presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead, whose eyes flutter close briefly. “How can I make it up to you?”

Eddie leans over, pushing his lips to Steve and murmuring, “This is a start.”

Steve brings his palm up to cradle Eddie’s face to his own, shivering in delight at the feeling of Eddie’s body covering his. The two don’t take it much further than some light making out, still a little tired from their earlier activities, but they take the time to explore and simply touch.

Eddie is under him when Steve finally raises his head, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, and then down to christen each dimple as they peek up at him. He could easily live the rest of his life trying to make those two little spots appear.

His vision wavers for a few seconds and, in that odd moment, he sees himself staring down at Eddie, his eyes bright and much more than fond, he notes with chagrin. No wonder Eddie had been confused.

“And the seeing through your eye thing,” Steve asks, still aware that he had been a mostly unwilling voyeur to Eddie’s private moments.

Eddie smirks up at him, “Oh no, that is hot. Sort of makes me excited enough that I want to push you out of here and see if I can make you see stars all the way in Loch Nora.”

Steve hums happily, tucking Eddie’s hair back with affection. “We’ll have to be sure to keep the vest off your face though, so I can see too.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and, Steve is delighted to see, his ears redden again. Has Eddie been blushing under his long hair the entire time he has known him? Suddenly, he flashes back to all the moments Eddie had pawed at his hair, bringing those dark curls further over his ears. But Steve is distracted from the thought as Eddie bites his lips before admitting, “It smells like you.”

“What?” Steve asks, confused.

“The vest,” Eddie shifts his shoulders to the side of the bed, blindly reaching down and bringing up the aforementioned piece in his hand, offering it to Steve to sniff. He does; it still smells faintly of his washing powder and hairspray, although now it has mixed in with it the smell of Eddie’s smokes and his woodsy aftershave.

“You absolute mutant freak; I love it.” Steve grins into his mouth as he kisses him again.

“That’s the idea,” Eddie murmurs in agreement, shivering when Steve tugs his hair out the way and nibbles on his neck and collarbone.

“Steve,” Eddie's voice floats from above him and Steve hums in acknowledgement, content with nosing at Eddie, breathing him in, pressing small kisses against his delectable skin.

“What does this mean to you?”

Steve blinks, pulling away and taking from the heavy tone penetrating his fog of happiness that maybe all is not settled. He moves back to look up at Eddie’s expression.

It’s not nearly as blank as he’d once imagined. Eddie’s face is still, yes, but his eyes are concerned, and Steve can see by the tightness of his mouth that he’s restraining himself.

He sits back, folding his legs under him to give Eddie some space, but Steve won’t lie. Like he promised. “This? Us? A lot, Eddie. This means a lot to me.”

Steve’s doubts begin to creep back, coldly seeping into his veins and freezing his voice from saying the deeper truth of the feelings in his heart. Has he misread this? Imagined more than he thought? Was Eddie just looking for a good time, a date after shooting his shot? Had Steve given away too much, looking down at him with stars in his eyes and now Eddie was going to tell him not to read too much into this.

Eddie's Adam's apple bobs visibly. “I swallowed the marble because it was you.”

Steve frowns, not understanding where he’s going with this.

Eddie shifts up, his back against the cool beige of the wall and not reaching out to Steve yet. His fingers tap and his thumb rubs at the bare skin like he’s looking for his rings to play with. “I was half in love with you already,” he confesses.

“I thought: Steve Harrington, this guy is objectively hot, but clearly not my people. Then I got to know you. Kind, caring, smarter than anyone gave you credit for. Anytime I was clueless or out of my depth you’d be there telling me what was unsaid, encouraging me like you thought I could do better.”

"Eddie," Steve can't help but say, sterner than he means to be in his exasperation that Eddie thinks he lacks in any way. "You didn't need to do better. You were doing pretty fucking well considering we were waging war against an evil dickhead that murdered teenagers and ended up killing you." Steve feels like his jaw is about to crack with how hard he clenches; any moment that Eddie thinks he's even one iota less than the brilliant fucking man that he is hurts him. Just makes him want to savagely rip into something to prove to Eddie how wonderful and special he is.

Eddie shakes his head, closing his eyes against Steve's words. “I was so lost, Stevie." He takes in a soft, shuddering breath, "And then you stood there asking, no, practically pleading for me to come back safe and I think the rest of me just tumbled right after. In the mix of all that, you could have told me to jump into Lover’s Lake all over again and I would have been the first one in line this time.”

Eddie’s gaze is steady on him so why does Steve feel like the ground under him is about to fall out? He opens his mouth, but Eddie cuts him off with a look. “Just, let me say it.” Steve nods, slowly sitting back on the bed when he hadn’t even been aware that he’d already started forward.

“There was this moment, in the clearing. You know, when you were making the Molotovs.”

Steve nods again, his entire focus warped into this moment that feels so important, like it could determine the rest of his future, of his entire life. He thinks back to the sharp needle of the moon above them; how much control does he have? What more can he do to create the future he so desperately wants to see happen?

Eddie continues, “And your whole body was focused on Robin, like she was your world, and I couldn’t look away. It was like I could just see the goodness in you shining through. The loyalty and the love. It made me want to be a better man. It made me want to not run away. I thought, as I lay dying in that fucked up place, my body torn to shreds, that I had done it. I had at least earned the right to look at you like that. And then I came back. You brought me back.”

"Eddie..." Steve whispers, shaken by the broken thread winding through Eddie's admission.

Eddie exhales a shaking breath, quirking a humourless brow. “I woke up and I thought that maybe it was the adrenalin of the moment, yeah? On the run, some mix of hormones and white knight fantasy had me thinking something was there when it wasn’t. And then I find out you did what you did and, I think, how am I even supposed to feel? I didn’t figure I was worth much to anyone, except Wayne. But for you to give up your sight for me, to risk your life for me...”

A tear slips down Eddie's cheek, but Steve doesn’t think Eddie even knows that it’s there. He pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling that familiar burning at the back of his eyes for that Eddie. The Eddie who hadn’t thought he was worth the risk.

“And now?” Steve rasps, heart pounding. 

Eddie shakes his head self-deprecatingly, his smile crooked. “As it turns out, that shitty week in the Upside Down had only given me a taste of who you are. It was deeper, so much more when I got to know you. You...” he looks down, swallowing hard again before courageously looking back up to meet Steve’s gaze.

The combination of the two of them, their history and souls, are reflected in the taut gaze between Steve’s white eye to the hazel one that Eddie will forever hold. The potential of their enduring bond is reflected too in Eddie's unwavering, honest statement as he plainly says, “Now, I love you more deeply than I thought I could.”

Eddie’s lip wobbles and Steve can tell from the indent in his skin that he’s biting on his cheek. Holding himself back even as he’s determined to give what he can. Honesty and vulnerability wrapped in just as a dual and contradictory shell of this loud yet private man. 

Steve waits with his heart hammering in his throat, not wanting to push forward and recklessly damage the delicacy of the moment when Eddie has made it clear that he needs space to say what he feels. But he doesn’t continue. Only looking at Steve with a combination of sadness and hope that breaks his heart nearly as much as when he had found Dustin crying over Eddie’s silent and still body.

Steve doesn’t have to remind himself to tell the truth because it tumbles out easily, shining through with his conviction and the devotion he would give Eddie if only he is willing. He reaches forward and grasps Eddie’s cheeks, his palms absorbing those fallen tears.

“Good,” Steve says fiercely as Eddie’s dark gaze flies open, eyelashes wet and framing shocked eyes. 

“Love me, Eddie," Steve swears, as ruthless as any warrior fighting to win in a desperate battle. "Because fuck knows that I love you so much that I will drag you back from the depths of the ethereal again if you so much as look at another demo-bat. I would give up both eyes so that I could feel your smile against mine.”

Steve tries to embed his words into Eddie’s heart, stamp them there and make him feel the truth of it in his very molecules. “So, you better love me, Eddie, because I need you just as much as you need me, if not more.”

Eddie’s face crumples and for a breathless moment Steve thinks that he's been as clumsy with his words as ever and has messed up whatever chance he has with Eddie. But the other boy flies towards him, pressing his lips to Steve’s without a trace of elegance. And Steve gratefully takes what Eddie gives him, and will continue to take whatever Eddie will grace him with.

They fold around each other, hugging so tightly that their bodies might as well be fused for the minuscule space that can be found between them. Eddie laughs, having to clear his throat when his voice breaks from holding so tightly onto his emotions. “I didn’t mean to confess all that.”

“Too late, you’re mine.” Steve’s arms tighten around Eddie; he won’t let him go now that he knows how much he can mean to Eddie, and how much Eddie is willing to give him.

“No really,” Eddie draws back, eyes red-rimmed. “I was going to be cool. Make out with you a little, maybe draw you in for a nap and then ask you out for a proper movie night. Date night, but for real this time. But then you said love and..."

Eddie draws in a shuddering breath, clearly on an inner strength again, "I love you, so much. I can't do months again of wondering where I stand in all this." Eddie leans forward, pressing a hard kiss against Steve's willing lips, "You said love and you said freak, and I was suddenly so scared that I was going to slip back into that uncertainty again. That I was going to spend weeks, months, years, not knowing where I stand but just pathetically thankful for whatever scraps you'd give me."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut against the pain of it, pressing his forehead against Eddie's. "You deserve more than scraps, Eddie. You will always deserve more than that." Steve opens his eyes, catching Eddie's with as much conviction as he can push forward, "I love you and you deserve love back, you deserve that nap while I spoil the fuck out of you, because you deserve it, okay?"

Eddie drags a hand against his eyes, "Of course, I do, dickhead."

Steve thinks back to his feelings of being unsure and unattractive after the white of his eye and the ring around his neck, and how reluctant he had been to give up on those feelings, despite Eddie's conviction otherwise. Steve won't push it now, but, just as Eddie hadn't given up on talking up Steve's feeling of self-worth, he knows that this is also something they'll need to work on.

"Of course," he agrees, because it's fucking true. But also because he loves Eddie enough to give him a break, to give him the grace he needs at this moment. "Anyway, this is better than Conan the Barbarian.”

Eddie gasps, drawing back and tears forgotten in his indignation, “How did you know?”

Steve smirks, “I overheard you trying to persuade Robin to watch it for movie night a few weeks back.”

“She told me that Rocky Horror was one of your favourites; I thought you might like Conan.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, not understanding the connection between a subversive musical and a sword and sorcery flick. “You know,” Eddie tugs at the hair over his ear, “I thought that Rocky might be your type. I wanted to see your reaction.”

Steve laughs, thinking about boring, plastic, muscular Rocky who helped distract him from thinking about all those forbidden thoughts he’d had of Eddie.

“I think we need to communicate more. Because no,” he leans in to nuzzle at Eddie’s neck again, whose breath catches. “My tastes run more towards lean brunettes with wide mouths, and lips that I can’t look away from.”

Eddie’s chuckle rumbles under Steve’s kisses. “That’s good because I’m more of a fan of Brad anyway.”

Steve recoils in horror, “Major? That boring idiot?”

Eddie’s dark eyes gleam at him, “Boy next door, a little clueless. Probably going to have a sexless, lavender marriage with his platonic soulmate.” He runs his tongue over his teeth in a manner that Steve thinks is distinctly like Tim Curry. “Especially in those tight white boxer briefs and open shirt.”

Steve can’t contain the fizzing in his veins and he tackles Eddie, straddling him to pin his hands on the pillow. Exhilaration spreads like electricity through him and he leans over to bite and kiss his way over Eddie's lean and lovely body; he has Eddie and they're going to be okay, Steve couldn't be happier.

Except Eddie then flips Steve over, holding a palm under his head even though he only lands softly against the pillows under them, and leaning in to take his mouth in a kiss that quickly becomes heated.

“I think we’re going to have to have a lot of movie nights,” Steve murmurs into his lips, not even caring about what nonsense he may end up saying, just thankful that he gets to have this.

“We’ll set up a rating system,” Eddie agrees, diving back into to kiss him more deeply.

Steve hums in absent agreement, more engrossed with the beautiful boy finally in his arms.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

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[supercap2319]

Baby It’s Cold Outside

A/N: Should I make a part 2?

Tyler’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he handed the little girl her hot cocoa, along with a cookie shaped like Santa Claus. Her eyes shined with child-like innocence as she glanced down at the sugary treat covered in red, black, and white frosting. “Mommy look! It’s Santa Claus.”

The girl’s mother smiled. “It is, Reagan. Tell the nice man bye.”

The little girl waved. “Bye.”

Tyler smiled back. “Bye and merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The girl and her mother left as Tyler went back to cleaning his counter before taking more orders for the people here at the Weathervane. He was in the middle of fixing a customer’s latte using the espresso machine as it created a thick, warm fog as he poured the steaming milk into the coffee. He looked up and almost spilled the hot drink all over his hand at the smiling face peeking out through the fog. The person had skin like a human’s, but the rest of him was quite different. He had green hues of color mixed in with his natural (insert hair color here.) His sunny disposition was one of the reasons Tyler loved him so much. His boyfriend, Y/N Munster.

“Holy crap, Y/N!”

Y/N didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he just scared the shit out of his boyfriend. It was cute when Tyler got all worked up and scared like that. “Hey, Ty. How’s it going?”

“Umm… it’s going well.” He glanced at the clock. It was 12 in the afternoon. “Shouldn’t you be at Nevermore? Not that I’m not happy to see you. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m finished with all my classes, and now I can enjoy my winter break.” Y/N moved away from the steamer as Tyler gave the customer their ordered latte, before turning back to Y/N. “So, what brings you by?”

Y/N held up a brown paper bag and held it out for Tyler to take. “Here. An early Christmas present for the Weathervane customers.” The barista took the bag and looked inside as he grabbed the contents of it. He held in his hand a bag of… marshmallows? Tyler looks from the white, puffy marshmallow to Y/N. “Marshmallows? Thanks, Y/N. That’s very sweet of you.” He flashed his boyish smile.

“Oh, they’re not regular marshmallows,” Y/N said.

Tyler frowned and opened the bag as he grabbed one of the fluffy spongy treats. He examined it close. It looks like a marshmallow. Even smells like a regular marshmallow. So, what did Y/N mean when he said…

Suddenly, without warning, the marshmallow opened its three eyes and grew six white legs as it began to crawl up Tyler’s arm. “Oh, shit!” He knocked the marshmallow spider from his arm as it rolled onto the counter. Tyler watched with curious fascination as the spider-like marshmallow got up and glared at Tyler with its three eyeballs. Y/N swiped the mutated treat and popped it into his mouth like it was no big deal.

Tyler honestly would have been sick or disturbed if he wasn't used to the different tendencies of his hybrid boyfriend. “Umm, what was that?”

“They're marshmallow spiders. Perfect for scalding cocoa. Especially the way they jump inside your cup. It’s the cutest thing.”

“Well, thank you for bringing them to me. I’m sure the customers will love them,” Tyler said.

“You’re welcome. Though, I must confess that’s not the only reason why I’m here,” Y/N said.

Tyler raised an eyebrow curiously. “Oh? What’s that?”

“What time is your break?”

“In 15 minutes.”

“Good. I’ll tell you then.”

“Sounds great. You want your usual?” Tyler asked his boyfriend.

“Yes, please. Scalding cocoa with a death by chocolate muffin. Extra death.”

Tyler chuckles as he makes his boyfriend’s order.

Fifteen minutes later, Tyler finds Y/N in the same position he had left him in when he brought him his order. The young man had chocolate all over his mouth as he wiped it away with a napkin. It was the cutest sight ever, as it made Tyler smile. It was unthinkable to believe that Y/N was the son of Frankenstein’s monster and a vampire, with a little witch magic on the side. He was honestly the best person that Tyler knew, and he didn’t deserve him after all he did as the Hyde.

Tyler took the seat across from him as the illumination of the Christmas lights bathed them in their spectrum of colors. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Y/N took a sip of his hot beverage as he looked into Tyler’s baby blues. “I wanted to ask if you'd come home with me for Christmas?”

Tyler looks at him like he misheard him. “What? You want me to come with you for Christmas?”

Y/N nods his head. “Yeah, I know this is probably a stupid thing to ask, because you probably already have Christmas plans with your dad, right?”

That question caught Tyler off guard. Sure, he and his dad celebrated Christmas, just not together. For as long as he can remember, Tyler and his dad have never spent Christmas in the same room together. Sheriff Galpin was always working, and the holidays were no different. He would leave Christmas Eve and wouldn’t return home until late Christmas Day. Leaving Tyler to open his Christmas presents and eat Christmas dinner by himself. It was very depressing.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances of the lack of family during the holidays, Tyler loved Christmas. The snow. The decoration. The wrapping of presents. He loved it all, and he was a bit surprised that Y/N wanted to invite him to his house for Christmas. According to all the dating sites and information on google; a person was supposed to wait six months before introducing their girlfriend or boyfriend to their family. And they have only been together for two, but it felt like a really long time. It made Tyler’s heart all warm and fuzzy inside. Sure, Y/N and his family were different from everyone else, but that's what Tyler loved about his boyfriend. That he didn't care that he was different from the normies, or that Tyler was half monster.

The Galpin boy must have been thinking for a really long time because when he looked at Y/N once again; he could see embarrassment and just a hint of sadness on his features. “I'm pressuring you, and that's not fair. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”

“No, it's okay, Y/N. I'm glad you asked me.”

Y/N looked at him. “Really?”

Tyler smiled his boyish smile again. “Really. And if the offer still stands, I’d like to go with you. If that's okay?”

Y/N smiled widely as he hugged his boyfriend from across the table. “Of course, it's okay. More than okay. This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Tyler smiled. Yeah, it sure was going to be. Because for once he wouldn't be spending the holidays alone for the very first time.

[heyclickadee]

My take (that no one asked for) on every single Star Wars show and non-saga movie:

The Clone Wars (movie): It’s…okay it’s rough. This wasn’t supposed to be a movie at all, putting three episodes of the show together and releasing it theatrically was part of the distribution deal with Cartoon Network, as far as I know, and it does show. It’s grown on me, though.

Clone Wars (The Tartakovsky Series): I think I’m probably in the minority here, but I actually don’t love this one. It’s fun, slick, and stylish, like everything Tartakovsky does is, and I don’t dislike it, but it just doesn’t do much for me. It’s cool. Maybe it’s a little too cool. Great art style, though.

The Clone Wars: Very high highs, very low lows. Though to be honest, I actually love a lot of the goofier episodes. They’re fun. It doesn’t have to be all drama all the time. Sometimes you can let Jar Jar be an agent of chaos. Sometimes you can have an episode about interest rates. I don’t have the nostalgia factor going with TCW the way a lot of people do—I didn’t watch it until I was in my twenties—so I do have to admit that it is tied with one other show as my least favorite of the animated shows, but that’s not a bad thing. I still love it.

Ewoks: I’ve only seen about six episodes. It’s veeerry 80’s. I think eight year old me would have gone insane for this show had I seen it. Adult me actually has a bit of a soft spot for it. I’ll watch the rest of it eventually. (Aaaand now I have the theme song stuck in my head. It’s. It’s definitely a theme song.)

Droids: I…haven’t seen it.

Resistance: I finally had a chance to get all the way through this show (I was eyeballs deep in “okay fine we’ll try this college thing AGAIN” when it was airing and just didn’t have time to check it out) and you know what? It’s actually pretty good. It’s definitely skewed even a little younger than Star Wars typically is, but it does what it does really well. Sort of feel like this one is slept on.

The Mandalorian: It’s a fantastic adventure of the week show. I actually don’t dislike the “plot” episodes, but mostly I’m just here to watch what shenanigans Din and his small green force son get into. Season three is weaker than the first two, but I don’t even really think that season is bad. There was some great stuff in it—just uneven and mixed in with some not so great stuff. Overall, good popcorn viewing, as far as I’m concerned.

Andor: Okay, yeah, Andor is fantastic. I do think some of its popularity is that it’s one of two (maybe three) Star Wars shows made for adults more than anyone else, so some people don’t quite have the same “why isn’t this making me feel like Star Wars did when I was a kid?” dissonance watching it, but it is also genuinely amazing. Probably the best thing Star Wars has ever done even if it’s not technically my favorite.

The Book of Boba Fett: Is it a mess? Yes. Do I still enjoy it? Yeah. My main problem with BoBF is that it’s got some serious structural issues. Even besides Din coming in and taking over two whole episodes, I think that the telling the story via flashbacks was a mistake, and that we should have followed Boba through the childhood bits and slowly caught up to him in the present. Maybe revealed it was all a flashback while he was in the bacta tank from there. And I…don’t love Robert Rodriguez’s directorial style all that much, never really have. That said, I do hope we eventually get more of this, though if we do I think it will be folded into something else. Still don’t love the live action pike design. (I actually have a conspiracy theory that BoBF was originally just a few episodes or even a season of The Mandalorian, and that it was made its own thing for marketing purposes.) I want more Boba, more Fennec, and more Sand People, if nothing else.

Solo: One, killing off Val Beckett was a huge mistake. It’s not story breaking or anything like that, but doing so when she’s one of very few black women in Star Wars and half of one of, like, two interracial couples in the entire franchise means that it hits in a way it wouldn’t if she was someone else. So, yeah, don’t like that. Two, the rest of this movie is a blast and audiences just hate fun. I don’t care that no one asked for this movie, it’s fun and campy and there’s a heist and I like it. Three, Enfys Nest has the sickest armor design in the whole franchise and I need more of her.

Kenobi: So…maybe unpopular opinion here, but…I really like Kenobi. Kenobi’s a delight. It’s not perfect, it’s got some problems, but I like that it’s about a guy who’s that depressed and alone slowly regaining his sense of hope, I like that we had something focus on Leia for a while (because Anakin and Padme had two kids and Leia always gets left second string), I like that you’ve got grifters like Haja and former imperials doing what little bits they can to help even though they can’t fight the whole empire. And I know that thoughts are mixed on this, but I actually thought it made a couple bits of A New Hope make more sense where Leia is concerned; kid me could never figure out how she knew who Ben Kenobi was when that was the name he only went by in exile on Tattooine (“Ben Kenobi? Where is he!?”), and it kind of made the switch from the very formal request for aid on behalf of her father to the more personal, “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi,” a little more poignant, for me, anyway. Reva is an amazing character, she’s a perfect parallel and eventually perfect foil for Anakin, she’s a mess and a he’s in pain and I just. I love her. I have mixed feelings on the live action Grand Inquisitor’s performance (and mixed feelings on the makeup—on the one hand it could be better and on the other hand the other main live action pau’an we’ve got—the actor’s head was just shaped like that). Nevertheless, this show for me was mostly about the big emotional beats, and it hit all of those really well.

The Bad Batch: This is a magnificent show and I adore it apart from That One Thing and the fact that everything was left completely open, even going into the epilogue, apart from Omega’s coming of age and the Hunter’s and Omega’s relationship’s arc. That was resolved very well. I am mildly insane about this show. I love it. Also, it vexes me. Tied with two other shows as my favorite Star Wars show in spite of all that. Amazing soundtrack. Sidebar: If it turns out I’m right and That One Thing is an extended fake out and we’re not quite done with these characters, I’m sorry, but I’m going to be the most insufferable person alive.

The Acolyte: Everyone is very pretty and just a little stupid. Mae is very fun. The good scenes are very, very good. The writing is pretty uneven; judging from interviews I have a completely different view of writing than Leslye Headland and had a hard time picking up why a lot of the characters did anything, but when it hit, it hit. It’s…very CW drama, which isn’t a bad thing—just not always my thing. That said, Sol is a fascinating concept for a character and Lee Jung-jae did an incredible job with what he was given. Same with Qimir and Manny Jacinto. It’s honestly not my favorite Star Wars show, but I’m still disappointed that it looks like it’s not moving forward. The leftover story might end up being folded into the high republic book series, but I still hope we get some kind of on-screen continuation. I think the public needs more of Darth Babe the Jacked.

Rogue One: It’s great. Yes, the entire main cast dies, but the central message was still about hope. Vader gets to pun. I remain somewhat dismayed that the only thing a portion of the audience took away from it was that the Vader hallway scene was cool. He’s a horror movie monster there. Still a great movie. (Also, Saw, why do you have that??)

Young Jedi Adventures: This skews very young; most Star Wars is for kids in the first place apart from Andor, the Acolyte, and mmaaaaaybe the Tales of anthology (the other live action shows are, in my opinion, solidly whole family), but this really is made for very young children. That said, I have watched it, and it’s a very well done show for very young kids. Also I would die and kill for Nubs.

The “Tales Of” anthology series: Yes, I am counting this as one, because even though there’s a shift in focus from the Jedi to the empire between seasons, it all follows the exact same format and structure. I’d argue this series is the one that’s primarily for the adults who either grew up watching Star Wars animation or got into it as adults. It’s good, lots of atmosphere, the episodes do range in quality but I generally like them, and it’s nice they get to play around with different techniques, like making miniatures and incorporating them into the animation. The Dooku and Barriss episodes are probably my favorites.

Ahsoka: I know the fandom is divided on this, like they are on most things, but I love this one, okay? It’s not perfect, but I have a good time watching it. It just happens to be this perfect blend of campy, fun, dramatic, and mystical that really feels like Star Wars for me. I like it when Star Wars gets weird, has silly little guys, and doesn’t take itself too seriously. Lucky for me that this series has extragalactic travel via whale, Ahsoka being dragged to Force Therapy by Anakin, and Ezra hanging out with the space fraggles. That, and I love some of the concepts. I like the idea that force sensitivity isn’t the be all end all, that connecting to the force is something you can learn with practice even if you weren’t blessed with the genetic lottery. Peridea and the space it occupies in folklore is neat. And the music is wonderful. It is a little uneven, it’s not Andor or anything quite that amazing, but I’m eager for more.

Visions: This anthology is fantastic and you’re missing out if you haven’t seen it. I don’t love every entry, but even the weaker ones are worth seeing once, and the stronger ones are worth seeing a whole lot more than that. It’s a great blend of styles and takes from people normally not involved in creating Star Wars. This is in a three way tie for my favorite Star Wars show.

Rebels: Again, it’s not perfect, because no show is, but I also think it’s the strongest standalone show Star Wars has besides Andor. Yes, there are weaker episodes, but on the whole it’s remarkably consistent, and the second half of season four might be some of my favorite Star Wars outside of parts of the original trilogy. Also, it has some stunning backgrounds, and while the art style doesn’t always work for every character, the character animation ends up really hitting its stride towards the end of the second season, and just gets better from there. And, as always, the music is fantastic. Rebels rounds out that three way tie for my favorite Star Wars show along with TBB and Visions.