#It’s been a hot minute since I’ve read Dracula give me a break

[guess-i-do-art]

Oh God… oh fuck… I’m becoming hyperfocused on a piece of classic literature…

In order to celebrate the death of Dracula here is a sneak peak of an AU I’ve been cooking up

[virtuoshosh]

{{ the donor diaries: entry two; the monster mash }}

Who: Shosh & Cass

Where: The Dracula Mansion

When: April 2020; Easter Break; Henry William Halestorm’s Birthday

Cass was pretending that he was only doing this for Shosh. The truth was, he quite enjoyed dressing up when he had cause to. And this was properly dressing up- a black tailcoat, high waisted trousers, crisp white marcella shirt. Vampire society was high society, something he’d thankfully learned that Shoshana had considerable experience with, given her history as a classically trained pianist.

They’d spent the whole day together in his room, hanging out, writing music, getting ready for the evening. Shosh helped him with his cuff links, Cass helped her shimmy into her impossibly tight clothes.

As Cass took a bobby pin out of his mouth to slide into Shosh’s hair, he listened downstairs. Soft string music had been drifting upstairs for an hour or so now, and Cass listened for guests, something that was particularly hard given half of the guests lacked a heartbeat and the other half only really spoke when spoken to. He waited until most of the familiar voices had filled the ballroom before raising his brows at Shosh and giving a quick breath in and out.

“You wanna head downstairs?” Cass asked, knowing full well that Shosh had probably been ready to go to this party hours ago. He offered his arm, and as she took it, they waltzed out of his room, down his hall, and to the top of the stairs. He stiffened, sucking his teeth as he took in the room, flicking a glance to Shosh. 

He hadn’t anticipated the strongest emotion that came up when he saw his father’s friends. Protectiveness swelled through him, his arm that was meant to steady Shosh tightened as the feeling swelled in his chest. It was so surprising and uncomfortable that Cass couldn’t put words to it, so he just shrugged at her look, and then started downstairs.

Shoshana would never admit that she was nervous. But as the hours ticked on hidden away up in Cass’ room on the day of the soiree, her stomach knotted more and more noticeably as the party drew nearer. She hadn’t even felt like eating, but Cass had her on a fairly strict iron-rich regimen and Shosh figured it was especially important tonight that her blood smell appealing, so she ate what he gave her anyway and kept herself otherwise distracted with writing some new music, and studying the thick binder she’d filled with Cass’ lessons on vampire society (even though Shosh had it well memorized at this point), and taking extra time getting dressed. Which, admittedly, was fun for Shosh—she’d always loved dressing up, and it was satisfying to put Cass into clothing that actually looked quite good on him without him pitching a fit over it. 

It’s not that Shosh was nervous they wouldn’t like her; plenty of people didn’t care for Shosh and it never made the slightest scuff on her brimming self-confidence. It was more that she wanted this, a lot—more so than she was openly showing to Cass. And in all other areas of her life, Shosh knew what she was good at and what she wasn’t, so she could rely on succeeding with flying colors at the things she was good at and not bothering with what she wasn’t. But here, there was uncertainty. She’d done everything she could to prepare based on what Cass had taught her, but would that be enough to prepare her for the real thing?

Still, she replied with a nervous-excited “Sure,” when Cass asked if she was ready to go downstairs, and her heart rate picked up as she checked her reflection one more time—she’d forced Cass to bring her in a mirror for tonight, stating firmly that there was ‘no effing way’ she was getting into formal wear without one—and then took his offered arm. 

Cass hesitated at the top of the stairs, and Shosh looked at him curiously. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this, after all? But he shrugged and her and she nodded back; too late to turn back, now. Showtime.

The first thing Shosh noticed was that people watched them as they came down the stairs; not everyone, but enough that Shosh straightened her spine and held her head up as they walked down the steps, thinking again of Eliza Doolittle trying to fool everyone into thinking she was royalty. And why shouldn’t you be? You’re the fucking Queen of Hearts for all they know, she told herself firmly. And Shosh looked it, too, in a red satin ballgown with a bateau neckline that showed off the pale, unmarked skin of her neck and collarbones—which did stand out in the sea of high necklines Shosh saw all around her. It would stamp her as a new donor, she’d been told, to show off this part of her body so brazenly. Which was fine with Shosh. She wanted people to look and to talk and to be jealous; in fact, the vengeful part of Shoshana wanted whispers of her being here to get back to one old bitch in particular. 

It made sense that people looked; Henry was the host of the soiree, and Cass was his son. In fact it was him Shoshana was most eager to meet and most keen to impress. When they’d made it down the stairs and into the throng of partygoers, Shosh leaned close to Cass’ ear and said, “So, do you wanna introduce me to your dad first and get that out of the way? Or should we start smaller and work our way up?” She smirked sidelong at him, swaying to the delightful sound of the classical music coming from the string quartet—it felt like it had been a hot minute since she’d heard anything resembling her preferred type of music, and she missed it.

Cass nodded in greeting to a few people who made eye contact with him, largely ignoring the puzzled looks from donors who noted that he wasn’t there with Pomonia. The vampires, to his surprise, appeared largely unphased. As they made their way down to the main room, a waiter floated past with a tray of red wine. When Shosh reached for one, Cass deftly took it out of her hands and had a sip, himself, shaking his head. “White for you, red for me.” He explained, hoping that she would read between the lines about what was really in that cup. 

He listened as his gaze scanned the room, internally only really looking for one person. When he was certain Pomonia wasn’t there, yet, he listened more intently to Shosh, blinking. “Uh, yeah. Father first. He’ll want to meet you.” Cass put the drink down on a tray that floated past them, then led Shosh across the room, swallowing as he approached his father, whose back was turned. Cass cleared his throat, and the vampire turned.

“Ah, Cassius, glad you finally decided to join us.” Henry said, amused. Henry was the spitting image of Cass. While Henry was over a century his senior, the vampire was frozen in time from his twenty first birthday, youthful features still showing, but his expression and manner were evident of a man from a bygone era.

Cass gave a sigh of irritation, then straightened when Henry’s expression shifted to Shosh. “Father, this is Shoshana Edelman. We’re in the same class at Hogwarts.” Normally, he’d introduce his father and his donor to Shosh, but in vampire society, their business came first. 

“Charmed,” He said, in recognition of the girl, but then turned his gaze back to his son. “Where’s Pomonia?���

When his father said her name, Cass felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. That he’d been expecting her there, that his father knew nothing of what happened, absolutely wrecked him. Cass wet his lips, fingers tightening against his suit jacket. “Pomonia won’t be attending,”  He said, and he saw his father’s frown deepen, so Cass spoke again. “I’ve taken on Shoshana as my new donor. We can talk about it later.” He insisted, though Henry’s expression showed that this conversation was very much not over.

“I’m sure we will.” Henry kept his voice measured, because he was in public, and the last thing he needed was for their friends to think his half-human son had lost his way. Then, he turned to the girl at Cass’s side. “Shoshana, then. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Henry, I’m Cassius’ father. My donor, Cynthia…” He cocked his head at the woman. Cynthia was a refined woman, like most of the other donors in the room. She held herself with grace and dignity, and looked down at Shosh like she was a bug that someone had forgotten to squash. “I’m sure we’ll spend plenty of time getting to know each other. I must admit, I haven’t heard your name before. Edelman, was it?”

Cass rolled his eyes. As if his vampire dad would forget anything. “Shosh is Muggleborn, father. She’s a classical pianist, actually. She and I play together pretty often.”

This made Henry’s eyes light up, looking at the girl with renewed interest. “Is that so? I’m glad you’re widening my son’s auditory horizons, then. I’ll have to have the piano brought from downstairs. It would be delightful to hear you play some time. I’d hoped to teach Cassius, but sadly it’s just sitting, gathering dust. He chose an electric guitar.” Henry said this, matter-of-factly.

Shosh licked her lips, her dark eyes still fixed on the deep red liquid in Cass’ glass with interest, but she folded her hands in front of her and nodded, to indicate she understood. “Right. Of course…” By comparison, she hadn’t yet seen a single tray carrying white wine, whereas she’d seen several with red—but she supposed that made sense. Alcohol, even when it wasn’t diluted by blood, had a much lesser effect on vampires than it did on humans. And no one wanted the donors getting drunk so soon into the party. 

But, no matter, Shosh didn’t mind waiting; she wanted to have a clear head while she made all her most important introductions, anyway. And then if all went well, she’d enjoy a glass of white wine later as a reward for herself. 

She followed where Cass walked, holding onto his arm, her pulse picking up. Breathe… When Henry turned to face them—and there was no mistaking who he was, not with his shocking resemblance to Cass—Shoshana smiled, bright and polite. Henry glanced at her cordially and Shosh blinked twice, smiling still, lashes fluttering, but it was clear this was not her turn to talk and she didn’t try to. She did feel Cass react, though, at the mention of Pomonia’s name, of course he did; Shosh kept her outward composure but she did squeeze his elbow where her fingers were still wrapped in the crook of his arm, supportively. I’m here. We can do this. 

And then Cass asserted his intention to make her his new donor, and—even if all of this was just for show, even if Shosh knew, for once, the difference between what was real and what was imagined in this situation—even so, hearing Cass say it could not have filled her with a greater sense of pride. She stood up taller, beaming as Henry’s attention (and likely, momentarily, his scrutiny) returned to her. Shosh felt ready. Let’s do this.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir—I’ve heard so much about you…” she said, demure and downright humble in a way that was very un-Shoshana as she bent her knees just slightly to dip into a tiny, well-mannered curtsey. Her gaze then flickered up to Cynthia and Shosh inclined her head at the woman just a nudge in acknowledgment; she’d been briefed on the structural hierarchy in place here and instructed to let ranking vampires lead all conversation (“don’t speak unless spoken to”), so Shosh looked up at the woman briefly with a challenging gleam in her eyes but did not say anything to her, and then she turned her attention fully back on Henry. 

She waited until Cass and his father had finished their exchange—of talking for her and about her as if Shosh wasn’t standing right there—before Shosh added with entirely genuine enthusiasm, “I would be honored, Sir.” Shosh took a breath, her face shifting to an expression that was simultaneously both genteel and enigmatic, in a way that only Shoshana could truly pull off. This was her chance to prove her own worth. “My family, the Edelmans—we’re from Austria, originally. In fact I studied music under Herr Adrian Steiner, of the London Philharmonic? He’s of Viennese ancestry—court composers dating back centuries—so he made certain to instill in me a deep appreciation for the pillars of musical expression. Strauss, Brahms, Liszt, Mahler, Sibelius…” Though she listed these casually, as if discussing the weather, Shosh had extensively done her homework in preparation for this; she knew Henry was born in 1902 and that late- and post-Romantic symphonic composers, such as those she’d mentioned, would have been in peak popularity for classical music at the turn of the century. “…and, naturally, Debussy and Stravinsky—though I always considered Petrushka a particularly grim punishment.”  She said this with a wry conversational inflection; a light bit of humor that those with elevated taste and historical knowledge would understand. And though she’d been warned by Cass not to refer directly to a vampire’s age or year of birth, Shosh had cleverly dropped in enough vague references to the era—particularly Debussy’s Pelléas and Mélisande premiere in 1902—to hopefully evoke a sense of nostalgia in Cass’ father. 

Cass was certain Shosh would have ripped his eyeballs out later for speaking over her if he hadn’t prepared her for the… Odd way that vampires often conversed over, for, and around their donors. It was even more apparent at Caro, where the blood bags weren’t even acknowledged. It had been a bit of a mind fuck at Hogwarts, coming from how Cass had grown up. Thankfully his nanny had prepared him for a lot of it.

He turned to look at Shosh, genuinely curious about how she would handle his father. Sometimes, being around full vampires, especially a room full of them, was too much for humans. At least they weren’t feeding. That was where things got fucked up. Cass did everything he could do set Shosh up for a good introduction- and by the way his father responded to her, it must have fucking worked.

Henry’s eyes lit up when Shoshana spoke. First, impressed by a girl who knew so much about her lineage. Then of her tutelage and general knowledge of music. The final nail in the coffin was rattling off those songs. Cass noted with some amusement that it seemed to piss Cynthia right off. Good. She’d always been a bitch to him.

To Cass’s general mortification, Henry chuckled at Shoshana’s joke, smiling. His fangs, although not properly elongated while he wasn’t on the hunt, showed. Cass wanted to fucking die. “Okaaaaaay,” Cass said, trying hard to keep up with his sense of decorum but getting more and more embarrassed by the pair of them as time went on. He squeezed Shosh’s arm. “Thank you, father. I’m sure you two will have plenty to catch up on.”

“Of course,” Henry agreed, then let go of Cynthia’s arm to take Shosh’s hand, raising it to his lips respectfully, before letting it drop. “Shoshana, it really was a pleasure to meet you. Give your contact details to Cassius, won’t you? We should meet another time. Perhaps over that piano.” He winked, and Cass rolled his eyes, thanking his father and steering Shosh away. 

Cass gave a shaky breath out, eyeing Shosh as they walked away. “You did good,” He breathed to her, knowing full well that his father could hear him anyway.  “You really knew all that about all those musicians and stuff? Huh.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. 

As they walked away, Cass looked around the ballroom, visibly more relaxed now that the hardest part of their evening was done. He cocked his head, wondering who he should introduce her to. While he was deciding, a red-faced wizard in dress robes approached him, holding his wife’s hand. “Cassius!” He boomed, and Cass swallowed, looking to Shosh and then back at the wizard. 

“Uhhh. Minister. Good to see you,” Cass hesitated to introduce Shosh. He couldn’t know Shosh was a donor. “This is my friend from Hogwarts, Shoshana Edelman.”

“Oh, isn’t it lovely they let you bring a friend!” The witch gushed, taking Shoshana’s hand and squeezing it with a good-natured smile. She was obviously excited to see Shosh and Cass, who were the most human couple in the room, apart from them. Cass had explained to Shosh earlier, that most of the vampires would ignore any ministry members. They tolerated their presence as strictly necessary to their existence.

“Shosh, this is Manhoor Hookman. And his wife Artois. Mr Hookman is the head of the Being Division. He uh, he organised stuff with Hogwarts when I got my letter. You know, like, the rules and everything…” He looked at Shosh, hoping she’d get the picture.

“Oh, yes! And liaison with the school, updates and such. And you’re about to graduate! Seven years! Paving the way for all the others…” Manhoor boomed, and Cass felt like he was going to die again. Why was everyone at this party so fucking embarrassing? “Tell me, Shoshana, do you think your class is more tolerant than society has been in the past? Do you think Cassius integrated well? That was our hope with Cassius’ admission.” He was anxious to hear her opinion.

Cass was annoyed with Manhoor. The dick. Cass knew full well about the little ‘social experiment’ of his admission and it bugged him. He plastered on a smile, like most of the other vampires did around the man.

Shosh looked down and gave a humble, assenting nod, smiling sweetly, to indicate her acknowledgement of Henry’s suggestion while respecting the etiquette law of never having the final word over a vampire. It was a good thing Shoshana was such a quick and meticulous study, because there were a lot of fucking rules. And hey, she was just a little bit smug about it.

And even more so when Cass confirmed she’d done well. Shosh grinned proudly and just nodded in reply while they were still in Henry’s earshot. 

She was reeling with adrenaline, flushed and energized and elated with how things were going so far. She wanted to do something celebratory, and was about to ask Cass if he knew how to waltz when they were approached by someone else. Shosh felt Cass tense beside her and she gave the approaching couple a once-over; neither looked like vampires, so Shosh read the sign and made a hasty decision to let go of Cass’ arm and put several inches of space between them, folding her hands innocuously behind her back. 

And her instincts were right; this was someone from the Ministry. Shosh drew in a breath and held it, forcing her smile not to look nervous. Though she wanted to seriously gag at this lady’s patronizing comment. ‘Little friend?’ Ugh. Regardless, Shosh could act her way easily through this; she simpered with affected gratitude, her hand that wasn’t being gripped and shaken in a death-vice fluttering up to rest above the sweetheart neckline of her dress. “Oh yes, such a fascinating cultural experience! So much to learn from our undead brethren…” Cass would catch onto the bare traces of sarcasm that underlined Shosh’s words, but this Ministry Dimwit and Mrs. Daft would be none the wiser, so who cared? 

“Really?” she continued, glancing at Cass wryly and then adding, “…how noble.” Seriously, this self-righteous idiot made Shosh want to scream. But she held her polite expression with perfect poise and gruelingly feigned interest. 

She hesitated when he asked for her opinion, nibbling at the edge of her red bottom lip. Shosh knew she was supposed to be on her ‘best behavior’ tonight, but come on—this guy sucked! And not in a good way.

Her eyes darted to Cass in her peripherals once and then fixed on Manhoor. Fuck it, he deserved this. Shosh took a breath, and then in the most positively amiable and polite tone, she said, “Actually, Minister, it’s Cassius who’s the tolerant one—gracefully accepting treatment as a secondary citizen undeserving of the same basic rights as his peers, by a government with the means to pave the way for his success yet who chooses instead to consistently undermine and impair him at every turn. ‘Ignorantia juris non excusat’—those are the words printed on the Ministry’s seal, are they not? ‘Ignorance of the law excuses not’…I’m merely suggesting, sir, that perhaps the law itself ought to deal a little less in ignorance and excuses.” Shosh smiled amicably, paused a beat, and then said, “Well! It was lovely meeting you both…Cass, shall we? You promised to show me the drawing room…”

And as they walked away, Shosh could have sworn she saw the subtlest hints of approval from vampires all around her—some raised red chalices, a few nods and winks, the gleaming pearly white of grinning pointed teeth...

...To Be Continued...

[pleasurextreasure]

❜femme fatale (pt. 1/?)

genre: Vampire!Chanyeol x VampireHunter!Reader ft. some EXO members

warnings: none as of right now

word count: 1.7k

prompts: you’re the ancestor of van helsing and haven’t had a problem with killing any bloodsucker that crosses your family’s path. but why, oh why, did this ridiculously cute asshole have to appear and make you question the family ways?

a/n: i’m a whore for vampire au’s so why not write one of my own ➵admin kiki

Current | 2

Ξ r e q u e s t Ξ

You enjoyed searching up the term ‘Vampire’ and seeing the internet generate various results that answered her one-worded search. Most of them, you found out, liked to spark crazy conspiracy theories about how they only fed on human blood during the night or how they could turn into bats. You could proudly say a lot of the articles and stories were a crock.

The only thing that was remotely close to the truth about them was the world-known fact of them not being able to make appearances in the daylight. Another myth that rose at some point about Vampires that you found amusing to read about was your ancestor hunting after them. Abraham Van Helsing was known to be a Vampire Hunter and was infamous for killing Dracula. History failed to mention that his legacy carried on up to your own existence. From generation to generation, father and son would hunt these undead creatures, their sole mission being to rid them from our world.

Decades passed without a break of your family’s curse of bearing only men. That was until your mother gave birth to the first girl under Van Helsing’s name. Despite the protest of his brother, your father refused to try for another child, and instead, trained his daughter to carry on their family’s tradition. Since the age of eight years old, you were rigorously drilled into becoming a Vampire slaying Van Helsing. One could say you never had a normal childhood, aside from the Vampire Hunter status, your family was always on the move. Every two or three years, the family would pack up and move to another state, country, etc. The consistent movings were due to your family business. Your last home was located in Singapore, China, and now, it’s in South Korea’s Seoul.

You let out a quiet snort over a factoid that claimed the only way to kill a Vampire was with a wooden stake.That was a false fact but who were you to tell the internet it was wrong? You heard footsteps approaching your door and you straightened up, coming to a sitting position.

Your mother pushed the door open, and poked her head through the opening. “Y/N, your father just called me. He wants you to meet him in the woods in a few minutes.”

“Alright, thanks mom.” You slid off the bed and strolled over to your closet to pull out your training boots.

“Don’t hurt yourself while handling those knives,” your mother warned. “You know how dangerous they can be.”

“Mom, when was the last time I hurt myself with them?” you grinned, looking over your shoulder to take a look at your worried mother. The woman sighed and shook her head, knowing her response would have to be ‘never’. “See? Always careful.”

“We’ll see about that one of these days.” She scoffed before walking off, leaving her daughter alone to get ready.

♰♰♰

After making a trip to the garage for throwing knives, you strolled into the woods that perimetered you family’s backyard. You noticed a group of men moving furniture into the house next to yours. Your parents never mentioned new neighbors. Walking the same path you had been for several months, it took you little to no time to find your father standing in your usual sparring area.

“Ah, you took longer than usual,” your father comments, sparing you a quick glance before going back to fiddling with a target he nailed to a tree. “We’re practicing balancing and aiming today.”

“I thought I was already good in that position already?” you questioned, head tilting to the side in confusion. You had been using knives for years now, why was he suddenly making you practice throwing them again?

“Practice never hurts.” He replied. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on your aim and lately, it’s getting a bit sloppy.”

“You try running and throwing at the same time, and let me know how that works out for you.” You snappily retorted, examining one of the edges of your knives.

“Who do you think taught you to do that in the first place?” His reply is quick and witty, much to your annoyance. You never won arguments when it came to your father. “As I was saying, I want you to stand ten meters away from the target and hit the center.”

You followed your father’s directions and stood the distance he had given. Gripping one of your knive’s handles, you took a moment to examine the target before throwing the weapon. It stuck to the outer ring of the center dot and you let out a groan.

“You’re not focusing enough.” Your father commented and your shoulders slump slightly. “Whatever is distracting you needs to leave your mind.”

“Did you know we’re getting new neighbors today?”

“No, I didn’t.” He looks at his daughter and raises an eyebrow. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I was just curious.”

“Curiosity is what-”

“-killed Uncle Ryan, I know, dad.” You finished his sentence, knowing the phrase since you were little. “I don’t think our neighbors will kill us though.”

“You never truly know. You can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

You don’t comment on his words and instead shift your focus back to the target. You took another knife from your belt and held it on the opposite side this time. Taking a deep breath and eyes narrowing, you held the knife up, prepared to throw it.

The sudden sound of a branch snapping broke your stance and the knife ended up flying towards your father, who ducked in time to let it whiz pass him and get caught in the tree behind him. You scanned the trees in search of the source of the noise but found nothing.

“What did I say about not losing focus?” your father huffed, twisting the knife free of its capture. “You nearly took my head. Do you think your mother would appreciate you coming home with my head in your hands?”

“I mean, what wife wouldn’t?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Alright, I think we’re done here for today.” He walked up to you and handed the knives back to you. “We aren’t going out tonight, I forgot to mention this to you this morning.”

“What, why?” You frowned, eyebrows furrowing together. “Every night we stay home is another-”

“-night we lose track of him.” Your dad easily finished your sentence as he brushed passed you.

Him was a bloodsucker who preyed on the wrong guy at the wrong time. Back in Singapore, on a moonless and dark night, your father was on a ‘stroll’ when he was yanked into the back alleyway of a local grocery store. Unbeknownst to the Vampire, your father always carried a weapon with him for protection and it was at that moment he decided to use it. When your father told you the story, you figured he was exaggerating when he said  he ‘gave that sucker a big ol’ gash to the cheek’. But after there were anonymous reports of there being Vampire sightings/incidents that had the features of Him, you couldn’t help but believe your dad.

The two of you made your way back to your home in comfortable silence. You glanced over to the neighbors’ house to see a group of boys lounging on the back porch, seated at a table with an umbrella to shade them from the sun. Your cheeks flamed, realizing that most of them looked young and -hopefully- around your age.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Wha-” you quickly turned your head to look at your father. “Excuse me, it’s rude to assume things.”

“It’s rude to stare.”

I never win, you internally seethed.

Despite their bickering, you couldn’t help but look back at the group as you stopped in front of the garage’s door. Seeming to notice the staring, one looked your way and -to your utter embarrassment - waved. Cheeks beginning to burn up once again, you gave a small wave in return before sheepishly rushing into the garage.

♰♰♰

You were back in your room, looking over the list you made for school supplies, when the doorbell rang. Your room being the closest, and knowing your mother was too lazy to get it herself, you set the paper down on your desk before making your way to the front door. The doorbell buzzed once more and you sighed, no one had any patience these days.

“Coming!” you called out in an attempt to keep them from ringing it again. You unlocked the wooden door and pulled it open, revealing a very tall boy.

Your first thought that arose when casting your eyes upon his face was oh shit, he’s cute. Especially in the red checkered plaid shirt and wide-brimmed black hat he wore. Shaking yourself out of your trance, and trailing your eyes down to his hands, you noticed a plate wrapped in tin foil.

“Hi,” you wanted to slap yourself for how lame you sounded.

“Mom wanted me to bring this over.” Cute stranger simply said, nudging the plate your way. You accepted the gift with a pursed lip smile. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Um, thank you.” You said. Cute but not with that attitude.

The boy glanced to his left, towards his house, and sighed audibly with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, right. She also wants to know if your family wants to come over… for dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“Well I mean, unless you want to have dinner in the morning.” He shrugged and you felt yourself shrink from his words. “Obviously tonight.”

“I’ll let my parents know,” you weakly replied. You fished for your phone from your back pocket, “what’s your mom’s number? So my mom can text her, I mean.”

“I’ll just give you mine.” He recited his number shortly afterwards and you numbly typed it into your phone, unsure of what was exactly happening. “Now if we’re done here, I’d love to get out of this sun.”

“Yeah, definitely. It’s a hot one today.” You commented as he turned to walk down the porch stone steps.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied over his shoulder before taking his leave.

[mooncalfed]

I Have Listened To Every Lie : Chapter 4

Previously: Chapter 3

Taehyung is lovely. Their lunch passes easily and effortlessly, and Nara takes great comfort in the way he finds humor in everything. Though reticent, she manages to give just enough of herself to ensure that she has a seat partner for the rest of the semester. Pleased and relieved is an understatement.

“Where are you off to now?” She asks politely as she takes out some baby wipes from her bag.

“I’m going home.”

Nara nods. “Same. Well, I’ll be off then.” She cleans her fingers with the wipes, and after delicately folding the used material, she places it on the corner of her tray of food and stands up. While she is grabbing her bag she sneaks a glance at Taehyung, and on finding a peculiar smile on his face, she flushes.

“What?” She curls a loose hair back behind her ear, suddenly feeling exposed.

He grins, eyes dancing with mirth. “Nothing, I’ve just never seen someone as pedantic about hygiene as you are.”

“Oh, well-” Nara is about to say that she was taught to sanitise after eating in public places, but at the last second she realises how freakish that might sound ad only manages to awkwardly end her sentence with “…oh.”

There is a beat of strange silence, both parties knowing that Nara is withholding something.

Nara mentally berates herself, but pushes on. “Well, I’ll see you next week then.”

Taehyung’s shoulders relax significantly, accepting her olive branch. “Yeah, sure.”

She nods, gives him a small but genuine smile and then turns around to walk away, but after a few steps realises that Taehyung is still beside her, and matches her pace.

Suddenly a cold sweat envelopes her. Surely he couldn’t be heading towards -

“Are you going to the bus stop as well?” Taehyung asks cheerfully.

Oh no. Nara wants to cry.

“Yes I am.” She replies calmly.

Her mind reels. The bus stop is merely a cover for the fact that Nara drives to and from university every day in her spectacularly expensive black Rolls Royce. Every time she leaves class she makes her way to the bus stop, hovers for a few minutes and then disappears to the nearby car park. She doesn’t want people to associate her with wealth, and even though it’s a ridiculous idea to think that people would follow her to the car, she knows that by wearing expensive clothing and having expensive bags she already is drawing attention. Given that her face has been on magazines and the television (albeit in her husband’s shadow), blending is almost of higher importance to her than actually doing well in class.

“Which one?” Taehyung asks, “I get on the bus near the chemistry building.”

It’s her lucky day, his stop isn’t anywhere near hers. Nara sighs mutely with relief. Of course there are different bus stops at a university of this size. She mutters a silent prayer to whatever forces are protecting her.

“Oh, I’m at the stop near the law building.”

Taehyung gives her another odd look. “Then you should’ve turned right a few moments ago…”

“Right!” Nara says, “right. Sorry I was just thinking about stuff.”

Grimacing at her lame excuse, she waves to Taehyung and quickly breaks off from him. She doesn’t want to look at his bewildered expression any longer than she has to. Not waiting for his reply, she picks up the pace to the “bus stop”.

A grain of guilt blooms within her. Taehyung is a sweet boy, and Nara feels awful after not only what was probably the most awkward lunch of his life but then also deceiving him about catching public transport, but she knows she doesn’t have a choice. Now is not the time to be telling her intimate truths to strangers.

One day, she promises herself. One day I’ll tell him.

A shrill ring rips through the air from somewhere deep inside the recesses of her handbag, and shaking herself from her thoughts Nara dips her hand between the many books and readings she has and searches for it.

[Yoongi Calling]

Even the sight of his name chills her spirit. Only, she isn’t cold, but rather warm and flushed from latent frustration and anger. It takes all her composure to accept the call, and when she hears his voice - his beautiful, smooth voice - all other emotions are trumped by an unexpected punch of longing that leaves her eyes hot and wet.

“Hello?”

“Dinner tonight?”

He’s polite enough to pose it as a question, but Nara knows otherwise. It is a condition of their “separation” that they are pictured together on a “date” once every fortnight, and considering their last meeting was exactly two weeks ago, neither can deny that they have been procrastinating.

“What time?”

“Six.”

Nara raises an eyebrow. Yoongi always eats dinner at seven.

“Are you busy?”

The silence on the other line shocks her. Or rather, she shocks herself. It’s none of my business where he is anymore, she chides herself, her melancholy totally overtaken by embarrassment.

“Nevermind.” She mutters. “Six. Where?”

“The Bistro. Make sure you drive to the house first. We’ll go to the restaurant together.”

She rolls her eyes. Image, he’s all about image.

“Don’t be late. Get to the house at five-thirty.”

This pisses her off enormously. How dare he accuse her of tardiness. “As if I’m ever late!”

On the other line, Yoongi sighs.

Again with the condescension! All traces of sorrow fly quickly from her heart.

“Haven’t we done it that way every time? What do you think I am, an idiot?” She snaps, and hangs up on him.

Mood thoroughly spoiled, Nara ditches any attempt at waiting by the bus stop and marches straight into the car park beside it, finding her car easily and ripping open the door. She dumps her bag on the passenger seat and with a roar of the engine she pulls out of her park. Her fingers are tight on the wheel as she weaves in and out of traffic, mind whirling and heart racing.

I’m going to give it to that bastard, she vows as she pulls into the private car park of her apartment building.

I’m going to rip him a new one, she fumes as she exits the car, slams the door and stalks to the elevator.

“I’m gonna strangle him I swear to God.” she mutters as the silver doors slide open and she shoves her key in the front door.

She wrenches the door open and with as much overarm strength as she can muster, throws the keys so that they skitter and slide with a harsh grating tinkle against the marble floor.

Micha pokes her head out from the kitchen, “How was cl-”

“I’m gonna KILL him!” Nara screeches, and stomps towards her bedroom. Blind with rage, she completely ignores Micha as she furiously dumps her bag on her bed.

“I’m taking a bath,” she declares, “do NOT disturb me.”

Micha, silent but not taken aback, retreats back into the kitchen.

“Wow.” she mouths, and swallows her mouthful of apple.

There is something odd about dinner today, Nara muses soberly over her baked fish. The usual stalemate that she and Yoongi are usually engaged in over their dinners has been replaced by something more careful, more hesitant, almost… bashful?

Usually their conversations consist of low, veiled insults coupled with stiff smiles - their one way of at least looking like they’re speaking to each other in front of restaurant staff, but today–

“How are you doing in class?”

He says it so softly she almost doesn’t hear him. In fact she treats it as a figment of her imagination until she looks up, and realises that he is staring at her with an expectant brow raised.

“Oh.” She flushes. “Well, we’re reading Dracula next week. It’s actually very interesting; I wasn’t too familiar with the origins of the vampire trope but now I can see that the modern stereotype comes from completely from Stoker. But I find that the characters are so much more than what people remember the novel for; I didn’t expect such complexity in characters other than Dracula and Van Helsing–”

She stops, suddenly aware of how passionate her answer is.

Sneaking a glance at her husband, she finds that Yoongi isn’t even pretending to listen. He’s playing with his food, unoccupied hand relaxed and in an open fist, while the other pokes at the steak on his plate.

The sight is incredibly wounding and embarrassing and yet Nara can’t help the wash of relief that courses through her, because though she has every right to be angry at being ignored, her response to his question was far more intimate than she expected, and she feels safer knowing that he missed this vulnerable moment.

But Nara wants this dinner to end, and so she settles instead for anger.

“So I met a guy today.”

She knows what his reaction will be; Yoongi may not be an overtly possessive person, but Nara knows that underneath the facade of competence and ambivalence lies a potent jealous streak.

Yoongi’s head snaps up and Nara smirks to herself.

“What’s his name?”

“Why?” Nara bites, suddenly defensive. “So you can hire a PI and ruin his life?”

His eyes flash menacingly “Just making sure my wife isn’t caught frolicking around with a high-school graduate”.

Ah, there’s nasty Yoongi, Nara smiles. This I can do.

“But darling I thought it was clear that you were the one sowing wild oats?”

A muscle in Yoongi’s eye twitches. Nara is thrilled.

He looks coolly down at his meat. “Since you’re going to be difficult then you better get used to having a tail on you, and your friend too.”

Completely unprepared for such an escalation, the blood rushes from Nara’s face. Was he seriously threatening to have her followed? Suddenly she is overtaken by an immense feeling of guilt - one day into her friendship with Taehyung and she has already used him as bait, and now Yoongi has called her bluff. Nara’s shackles rise.

“You leave Taehyung alone!”

Yoongi looks shocked by her outburst, freezing mid-chew.

Squaring her jaw, Nara stares him down, shooting fire and brimstone from her eyes. She won’t back down for this, she won’t let him take away her first friend. More importantly, she refuses to let her poisonous attachment to Yoongi ruin other people’s lives.

Fully prepared for verbal nuclear war, she sets down her knife and fork and wipes her mouth and slaps the napkin on the table. Yoongi still hasn’t moved.

He blinks a couple of times and Nara opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind–

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me,” he sighs, hands leaving his cutlery and going to press slow circles on his temples. “I’m a little tired.”

Honesty - another curve ball. In her astonishment Nara can’t help but follow where he leads her, and it is then that she notices the light violet circles under her husband’s eyes, carved into the smoothness of his face. In fact, now that she is really seeing him she notices that his jaw is a little harsher, his fingers a little bonier and his eyes dim and flat.

Nara drops her eyes. She realises that she has played herself for a fool, so blind with feeling that she doesn’t even notice that Yoongi isn’t playing her game. That, in addition with his surprising apology inspires a wave of deep devotion in the recesses of her soul, an emotion she hasn’t felt in so long that it rocks her, and it is all she can do to close her eyes and press back the tears that threaten to overtake her.

I love him, dammit I still love him, Nara thinks to herself, resigned.

She moves to ask him about the company, but just as she does he abruptly stands up, chair almost toppling over as the feet catch on the plush magenta carpet. Yoongi is staring at her, eyes full and throbbing with some emotion she cannot decipher.

“Yoongi, is–”

“Is everything alright, sir?” Their waiter rushes up to their table and completely cuts her off.

Breaking contact with her husband, Nara gives the waiter her best stink-eye as she quietly gathers her purse and stands to mirror her husband.

Upon returning her eyes to Yoongi’s she finds that his orbs have been shed of the feeling they had previously, and now they are so blank she has no option but to look away.

“The meal was fine. Thank you.”

To his credit he waits for her before he leaves the restaurant, but as they walk side by side to Yoongi’s shiny black Lamborghini, Nara can’t help but wonder what it would be like if she reached through the crackling energy between them and locked her hands tightly with his.

This thought occupies her so completely that she misses the way her husband’s eyes dance over her face like a feather falling in the wind.

Usually there is an identifiable point to Nara and Yoongi’s date nights where the tension between them short circuits and they end up fucking like animals in a matter of minutes, but tonight, on a night where both of them are so emotionally drained, Nara is considering going home.

The thought solidifies in her mind as Yoongi opens the front door and she shuffles in.

Maybe I should just get changed and go, Nara thinks, placing her purse down on the table by the door and toeing her shoes off.  

As Nara’s resolve strengthens, she turns to tell her husband of her plans until she is once again struck by the same intense stare that he directed upon her at the restaurant. She really cannot read it at all. It squeezes her heart and she so desperately wants to look away because she knows that at any moment she could fool herself into thinking it were look of love.

This thought hurts her enough that she does manage to rip her eyes away from his, and she quickly ditches her plans to change back into comfortable clothes. She just wants to go home.

“I’m leaving. Good night.”

Nara grabs slides her feet back into her shoes and quickly snatches her purse. Yoongi hasn’t moved at all from his position by the door, and as she walks by him to leave she hesitates when a waft of his gentle cologne reaches her nose.

Slowly she brings her head up to look him in the eyes and whatever she finds in there moves her so much that bit by bit she leans in until softness meets softness and their lips are caught in the most tender kiss she has ever received in her life.

Several shared breaths later and she pulls away, the soft smacking sound of their lips barely audible to her pulse thundering away in her ears.

Nara checks for the look again, and catches a squeak in her throat when she sees that Yoongi’s eyes are now alight with lust. She barely has time to be disappointed in how quickly she too is aroused before Yoongi has his hands under her dress and on her ass and her purse is on the ground, hands now occupied by his thick black hair.

They kiss sloppily, angrily; all teeth and tongue and tension. Yoongi grips her thighs in his hands and stumbles to the closest room, catching the both of them on the nearest tea table with one hand on the low glass surface. He breaks the kiss with a dark smirk and turns Nara around to push her over onto the cold, slick table. Nara sighs with anticipation, hands shaking as Yoongi knots his fingers on the sides of her thong and roughly wrenches them down her leg, registering nothing but the throbbing between her legs and the sweat beading on her neck. The jangle of his belt is familiar, and sweet to her ears.

Thoroughly expecting him to dominate her with his cock, Nara lets out a cry of surprise when Yoongi shoves two fingers inside of her tight slit. There’s no time to be embarrassed by how wet she already is. Behind her Yoongi grunts, a sound that shakes her down to her bones.

He presses himself so close to her that she can feel his naked cock sliding up and down her thigh, slick with lubrication - whose exactly she doesn’t know. His fingers press rhythmically against her g-spot without ever pulling out; it’s a trick Yoongi learnt perhaps hours into their honeymoon that has never failed to make Nara scream.

They are both crazy with lust; Nara’s nipples are beading so hard they hurt when they brush against the material of her dress, and behind her Yoongi is grunting, mouth closed and brows kneaded together as sweat trickles down his temple. It’s been weeks since their last tryst - their last date, in fact -, and neither can deny the delight it gives them to connect with the other’s body.

This foreplay lasts for what seems like an eternity until Yoongi suddenly rips his fingers from her core. Nara whimpers but doesn’t say anything. Instead she turns to hook her underwear with one hand and take it off completely, tossing it to the side. Then, bare and ready she pushes her ass back and spreads her knees wide. It’s a wildly vulnerable position for her to be in, but she knows Yoongi loves taking her from behind - their neighbours can probably attest to that.

A large, hot hand grips her waist and Nara breathes in through her nose to prepare herself. She squeezes her eyes closed; she wants to feel everything.

Yoongi’s tip enters her slowly, stretching the lips of her cunt ever so gently. Nara licks her lips and unconsciously moves back to get more of him, but is stopped by the firm hand on her waist which gives her a tight, commanding squeeze.

Pleased at her acquiescence, Yoongi resumes slowly shoving his cock inside of her; there is nothing that he loves more in the world than watching his dick enter Nara’s soft, glistening pink flesh. It’s the single image in his wank bank that can get him off in a matter of minutes. The only thing that makes him cum faster is fucking her in real life.

The moment he bottoms out they both relax viscerally. It’s a familiar position, almost comforting. Nara moves to slip her arms out of her dress and let her breasts hang free in the cool air, grunting as she feels Yoongi move inside of her. Following her lead, Yoongi bends over slightly to cup a breast in each hand, and the moment he grazes a nipple with his thumb he spasms inside of her, a movement that makes Nara shudder.

Yoongi pulls out of her at an achingly slow pace. He makes sure the tip is dancing at her sopping entrance before he re-enters, this time faster, smoother and slicker. Nara squeaks. He grins; Nara has the widest array of sounds from anyone he’s ever fucked in his life, and he loves it.

Their pace picks up. After a couple of steady thrusts, Yoongi picks up his leg and puts it on the tea table, the low height ensuring that not only is Nara practically bent in half, but that Yoongi’s stiff cock is pressed right to the back of her walls, scraping her g-spot with every thrust no matter how much force he puts into it.

“Oh,” Nara groans, “I love this table.”

Yoongi grins at that, and as a reward for her wit amps up the tempo, and soon enough they settle into a fast fucking pace. Nara’s hands slide forward continuously, slick from sweat and the condensation of her breath but she is unperturbed, chasing nothing but her climax. She pushes back against Yoongi and suddenly she is there, and then she is shaking and quaking and nothing matters but the man glued to her back and the magical things his cock is doing to her.

It takes a while for Nara to gather her wits (it has been two weeks after all), but once she does and realises that Yoongi is still erect inside of her, the prospect of a long night ahead makes her stomach tighten deliciously.

Yoongi pulls out of her with a sensual squelch that makes both of them sigh, and when Nara picks herself off the table to shed herself of her clothing, she turns to find her magnificent husband with a hand at the base of his glistening dick, squeezing so hard she can see beads of sweat forming at his crown.

She gives him some time to get his boner under control, and once she sees that the pucker between his brows has subsided somewhat she steps out of her slinky dress and calmly walks to the staircase.

“Be naked by the time you reach the bedroom, please.” She purrs, fully aware of her husband’s burning gaze on her jiggling ass and wet thighs.

Nara turns the corner and pads up the stairs smiling smugly to herself. Even if his heart doesn’t love me, his dick certainly does.

Her hand lightly traces over the familiar wooden arches of the staircase and then the spirals of the french wallpaper of the house they once shared, and her mind settles into an atmosphere that is more wistful. The emotion is even more present when she reaches the closed doors of the master bedroom, and she places her palm lightly against the carved oak of the only place she and her husband ever spoke the same passionate language.

Before Nara can get too carried away, a hot hand reaches around her waist and a chest presses her against the door she was once admiring.

“Ah!” she gasps as Yoongi slides two fingers firm fingers inside of her.

Despite being wet, Nara is slightly less aroused than she was before, but soon she is bucking against the hand that cups her and grinding against the man pulling screams from deep within her belly, where the fire of want is white with intensity.

She enjoys the feel of his digits for just a little longer before she presses down on the door handle and they both stumble into the room, quickly hurtling towards the grandiose bed.

She falls onto the cool linen sheets and smiles drunkenly as Yoongi climbs over her, skin pearly with sweat and cock swaying heavily against his thigh. The feral glow to his countenance has her shuddering with anticipation. He bends down and her smile only grows bigger. Oh how she desires this, his mouth assaulting her neck and his hands kneading her breast. Her skin is tickled by the coolness of the stagnant room, her nipple beading so hard it hurts, but she is quickly warmed by the blistering mouth that brands sticky, dark etchings on, around, and all over her breast.

She has always loved sex with Yoongi because he knows how to make her cum twice; the first time is always fast and rough whereas the second time is always more gradual, more painful and ultimately more gratifying when he pushes her too far.

Nara trembles as Yoongi enters her, hot and throbbing and she digs her nails into his lusciously tight ass. There is no waiting for her to get used to his size; they both know she loves it when it hurts a little, so Yoongi wastes no time in sawing in and out of her, his head heavy and lax on her chest while his hips move unforgivingly fast.

A particularly angled thrust makes Nara’s closed eyes shoot open, and she makes a point of drawing her sharp nails all the way up Yoongi’s back, demanding that he do it again. At this he picks up his chest and delivers a sharp slap to her soft thigh. Like a rope has been cut loose, Nara’s body becomes limp as she gives thrusts the remnants of her control in their pleasure to Yoongi, and at this his own grin appears. Thighs open, arms by her head and hair sticking to her neck and chest, Nara is fully absorbed in nothing but the burgeoning orgasm she can feel is threatening to overtake her.

One of Yoongi’s fingers reaches down to press against Nara’s clit, and the convulsions that wrack her body force her to clench on his cock, and finally, finally her husband is coming apart; faster and faster he slaps his hips against hers, fingers abusing her clit so much that Nara could be either totally silent or screaming - she is unaware - until at long last the cord breaks and she cums so hard she can’t tell the difference between her own sweat and her tears.

Above her, Yoongi’s thighs falter as he ejaculates, eyes rolling behind his closed lids. Once he’s over the pinnacle of his climax he lays back down on his wife, head on her chest as he rides her pants until they become long breaths. This way, he is in sync with her.

Next: Chapter 5

[seoulsborne123]

Twin’s B-day Fic

First Girlfriend part 1 (read on AO3 or from cut below)

Rating: T 

Word count: 1721

Oliver unwittingly experiences the thrill of a first kiss…

I really wasn’t sure how to post this. I won’t tag this with the event yet since it’s early, but this is part 1, which features the twins. However part 2, which comes in the form of a comic, features Naru and Mai. Though the twins should be the main focus, I couldn’t release the comics first before the fic TT*TT so here it is… Part 2 will come on 9/19. 

Oliver frowned in annoyance and marked question number fifteen so that he could go back and answer it later. That made four he’s had to skip so far. The questions were getting somewhat difficult, he had to admit, or perhaps it was just that his concentration was waning. He had been revising nonstop for his GCE exam for five hours straight with no break in between, after all. He tapped his right finger on the desk as he contemplated to himself, then placed his pencil down and sighed in relief as he lightly cracked his wrist and fingers to loosen his joints. Studying in this manner would do more harm than good, so he decided it was enough for today.

 He picked up the novel Madoka had lent him that week (for some reason she thought he would enjoy reading Dracula , though what made her think he was a fiction reader was beyond him). At any rate, a little bit of light reading ought to cool his brain down. Freshly brewed tea and a light snack also seemed a fitting companion to this activity.

 He glanced at the clock and was surprised at how late it had gotten, and wondered briefly if Luella was still downstairs. Usually on Saturday nights she would be found in the kitchen, baking a small batch of sweet bread, or cake, or some form of dessert, as practice for a bigger batch she would hand out to friends and colleagues for that week. As he was too tired to go down to the kitchen and check for himself, he decided he would ask Gene since he was sure his brother would still be watching the telly or playing some video games even this late at night.

 However it had been a while since they communicated via their hotline so he was out of practice, and their telepathic connection with each other was not as strong as before, not to mention he was never usually the one to initiate the connection, so he wasn’t sure if it would work. Nevertheless he gave it a try and knocked.

 ‘Gene?’

 A torrent of emotion suddenly overwhelmed him. He felt hot, felt nervous. His gulped down the breath that was caught in his throat. He was in someone’s room--one he didn’t recognize, with the setting sunlight filtering through the small gaps between the closed blinds. He was sitting on the bed and the girl beside him crawled closer and closer before pausing uncertainly just inches in front of his face. Though he did not recognize the girl, his pulse quickened at her proximity, feeling a rush of excitement as he marveled at the brilliance of her blue eyes, inhaled the sweet fragrance of her lilac shampoo, and felt her soft, warm breath as it deliciously tickled his lips. If possible, his heart palpitated even wilder.

 They both leaned in. Their lips met in an awkward kiss at first, but after a few more attempts warming up, realized that they were both talented, quick learners, and soon, their tongues danced with each other, stirring wild passion--

 ‘Noll!’

 Oliver inadvertently dropped the book he meant to read and shook his head to clear his mind. Apparently Gene only grew worse at shielding parts of his mind from him during their connection. As soon as Eugene had opened the line his unguarded thoughts burst forth like a deluge, completely overpowering Oliver’s own control and revealing to him memories he never experienced, as if they were his own. He fought to regain composure.

 Thunderous footsteps preceded the sound of his door slamming open as Gene burst in, panting furiously, face completely red, from sprinting or from embarrassment, Oliver wasn’t sure which.

 “Y-you needed something?” Gene asked breathlessly.

 “I just wanted to ask if Luella is still downstairs.”

 “Oh, n-no, she turned in for the night a little more than two hours ago. It’s, uhh, already thirty minutes past midnight, Noll.”

 “Yes, I see.”

 “So... did you need her for something?”

 “Just tea and a light snack.”

 “Oh. Do you… do you want me to make it for you?”

 Oliver shook his head and leaned over to pick up his book. “No need, I can make it myself.”

 An awkward silence descended.

 “Uhm. S-sorry about that…”

 Oliver raised his brow and asked curiously, “What are you apologizing for?” Although it was true that the incident happened due to Gene’s lack of control, ultimately it was he who inadvertently invaded his brother’s privacy. There was no point in laying the fault with either of them.

 “You experienced it as I did. It must have been awkward and weird for you.”

 “It was.”

 Gene sighed, closing the door silently behind him and trudged toward Oliver’s bed. First he sat down carefully, then slowly tipped himself over to his side and groaned softly. “I wasn’t expecting you to call out to me. You don’t often call out to me first.”

 “Right.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Again, what are you apologizing for?”

 Eugene took one of Oliver’s pillows and hid his face behind it. Several seconds passed before he mumbled out, “Ugh, I didn’t want you to see that. I’m just so embarrassed. I was just so happy about it that I couldn’t--,” he paused to take a large breath and finished, “--Please forget about it.”

 “Okay.”

 Oliver tried to go back to reading his book, but he suddenly felt a jolt of uncontainable excitement in the back of his mind. That wasn’t his emotion. Gene must be projecting unconsciously again. He looked over to his bed and found Gene still hiding his face underneath his pillow, staying so still on his bed that he frowned in confusion at the discrepancy between his twin's appearance and inner emotion.

 He finished reading the paragraph first before finally commenting, “Your emotions are somehow still coming through even though I haven’t reopened our connection. That must be a very powerful memory for you. If you don’t want me seeing any of that, you should practice more control. Lin could help with that.”

 “Right…” Gene slowly uncovered his face and turned to him, propping his head up with his right arm. “Ah, bloody hell. You already know anyway. I think I might as well talk to you about it and I desperately need an outlet. Do you want to listen?”

 Oliver did not say anything immediately. Eventually he ceded, “Fine. Who was that?”

 “That was Lyla Taylor. She was in your class last year?”

 He nodded absentmindedly. He did not remember any Lyla.

 “She sat behind you…” Watching Oliver’s unchanging blank face, Eugene sighed. “She’s my girlfriend now. My very first.”

 “Since you’re keeping track like that, I presume you believe you’ll have others?”

 Gene glared at him and shook his head. “Oh bug off, idiot. I didn’t mean that, I just assumed you’d think I’ve had others because you probably think I’m attracted and involved with every girl I speak with.”

 Since he was right, Oliver had nothing to say to that.

 “Which is not true. I’m just friendly. Anyway Lyla and I have been together for three months now and… well… since today was our birthday she asked me to come over and wanted to give me something. So that was our… first time…”

 Oliver raised a hand. “Fortunately you were able to sever the connection in time. I have no intention of experiencing that. And through your memories, no less.”

 Gene realized his implications and colored significantly to the tips of his ears, crying, “Oh geez, no, no! We just kissed! Today was the first time we kissed. We didn’t go that far, honest, despite what you saw!”

 Oliver sighed. “Okay.” He massaged his temples and made a conscious effort to eliminate all lingering sensations completely.

 “It was awesome,” Gene gushed after a while. He lay back down again and sighed dreamily as he stared at the ceiling. “I’m just so happy. I just love being around her all the time. I feel like I’m on cloud-nine and everything is exciting, and the world seems more colorful when we’re together.”

 “Women seem to affect you greatly.”

 “Not ‘women’, just her! ”

 Oliver turned to face him and raised his brow. “Need I remind you of the time you said you had a crush on Madoka? I remember you said something similar along those lines for the first few weeks after you met her. Not to mention what you said about the six other girls you had crushes on, one for every grade level since we started school.”

 “Those were silly crushes. This one’s different!” Gene retorted, sitting up and crossing his arms in annoyance. “Gah, whatever. It’s true I like girls in general, but I swear this one is different. I think I’m really in love with her.”

 “Fine.” He wasn’t issuing a challenge, just announcing his acceptance, though upon hearing his own curt voice he realized it could have come off wrong, so he was relieved that Eugene understood his intention. He wasn’t looking for a senseless argument.

 “Right. And what about you, are you not interested in girls, Noll?”

 “Not really.”

 “Boys, then?”

 Oliver raised half-lidded eyes at him. “I’m not interested in anything outside of my studies and in the paranormal.”

 There was some rustling as Gene shifted his position on the bed and scooted himself up so that his back rested against the wall. He grinned.

 “So stubborn. Man, I swear, whoever falls in love with you is in for a world of pain and confusion.” Oliver merely shrugged his shoulders so he continued, “Your future girlfriend--or boyfriend--would have to be someone stubborn and formidable, yet bubbly and loveable. Someone who could understand your quirks, someone who would call you out whenever you got insufferable, someone who could make you smile sometimes--”

 “That person sounds like a pain--,”

 “--Someone like me!” Gene laughed. “Maybe I should be your girlfriend--err, boyfriend--Noll. Of course, you’d be the girl in the relationship. You’re fine with that arrangement, right?”

 Oliver glared at him and scoffed in disgust. Sometimes Gene took his jokes a little too far. “Go away and brew me a pot of tea,” he snapped dismissively, “or else I’ll tell Luella and Martin you’ve been sneaking off to a girl’s room.”

 Gene paled. “Earl grey, or Darjeeling?”

[chasing-fruitloops1-blog]

Where To Begin

Where To Begin? I really don’t know. It’s been a whirlwind between my book being done getting ready for publishing and this radio show taking off. Trust me, I’m one tired girl! It’s been a hectic week for me with blogging on many different sites as well as prepping for the show along with my regular job. I’m excited about my Sat Night’s and I get a kick out of the responses I’ve been getting about how funny we are as well as how fast we come up with stuff. I mostly love when people rag on my $4.00 Kmart Tiara. I only have one response about it ‘GET OVER ME, I’M THE PRINCESS.’ This Week The 2 dildo’s don’t blog and I wonder if they can read sometimes because what I have seen from their text messages. These two kill me. While I’m sitting in the fat man’s porch blogging, these two are carrying on in the yard, throwing tools at each other and trying to get the house whore going (the house whore is their pet name for me). I’ve come, to the conclusion that I’m surrounded by pure stupid entertainment which, is right up my alley: 3 Stooges, Benny Hill and slapstick comedy I'm down. People falling and animals doing stupid shit to each other I can watch forever . What’s To Come This week we have Monkey Boy coming on. This guy kills it. He’s a caddy at a golf course and he work’s with this Illegal English Fuck-Tard. Monkey Boy is relentless on ragging on this guy as well as my house mate Drunk Joe. He comes up with full skits on these two morons that will make you fall off your chair. He said to me this morning: we need to get a t.v. show then, we can get puppets and saw John in half. I replied what about my X can we throw poison darts at him too? He said to me yes after we buy Dracula’s Castle and renovate it for our freak show! I don’t where he comes up with some stuff but I usually start laughing, snickering or spitting something out of my nose (it’s usually at work with my head in my locker and not on my 15 minute break either).  I LOVE MONKEY BOY HE DOES BRING LAUGHTER INTO MY LIFE. Can wait to ask him where he got the name Monkey Boy? What To Expect This Week We are 3 Sidesplitting Idiots that poor Jim has to wrangle in, constantly ragging on each other and trying to give real advice when we do get serious questions in. I still have, to check chasingfrutiloops@gmail.com account. I’ve been taking a breather from typing and checking things for personal reason of being shot. I realized, I need to slow down a little bit, I feel as if I'm going in 3 different directions still aimed at a beeee-rick wall. I can actually, at this point have some alone time with myself and get pampered because, I am a Princess. Things To Come As I’m plugging away I’m still begging for sponsorship as well as weekly guests. I tell people about the show, they want to come on but then chicken out. WTF! It is not a hard gig at all to be a guest, you get to dog on the clown show around you, laugh and then go out for drinks. If you are not me in the hot seat plugging blogs, grabbing questions, coming up with things to do to the guys and tracking music you are ok!! This Weeks Secret Word As always, every show we make a bet on a certain word we can’t use and the loser has to cough up money to my autistic nephew’s school. The first one gets charged 10 bucks and another 1 dollar every time you use that word. This week since I do the opening to the show, I’m going to announce it so fast they won’t know what hit them. But I will tell Jim and Monkey Boy so we can egg them on! Jim is delightfully evil and Monkey Boy is just the devil himself when it comes to annoying people. With these two on my side I can’t lose!! The Sponsors We’d like to thank Rolling Thunder Inc, Chapter 6. Rolling Thunder is a non-profit organization and are dedicated to working on issues such as government affairs for pow/mia issues. They seek financial support for our troops, veterans along with their families and work with our homeless vets. If you know someone seeking some help call: 516-765-0905 ask for Bill Byrne. ** Rob Riccardi of Complete Professional Services, he strips and waxes floors. Commercial and residential, monthly maintenance, paste wax wood floors, clean/seal ceramic tiles and much more call Rob at 516-242-6959 the number again is 516-242-6959 ** We have a sponsor who would like to remain anonymous. Shhhhhhhh we thank you!! ** Craig Electric operating in the Electrical Business, they’ve been around for 20 years are reliable and have very welcoming annual revenues, call 631-261-5758 ** All Music Inc: A retail music shop with new, used, rare instruments, plus lessons and repair. Located at 397 South Oyster Bay Road in Plainview 516-433-6969 **The Crooked Rail: 61 Larkfield Road East Northport NY: this is a live venue with a kickass stage and full lights. If you’re a band and looking for a rocking place to play get in touch with them 631-239-6082 (Tell Mike The Princess sent you). Listeners ** We need to thank our listeners for tuning in and calling us: Our Regulars: Monkey Boy, Tara, Lexi, Brian, Carly, Peggy, Rhyleigh, Angry AJ, Joeys Mom and Herbie from NC!! Monster Hugs ** A very big thank you to Jim for believing in us, taking a chance to let us rip up your air waves and anything else in our way. Live, Learn, Laugh Geri ~ Head Fruitloop, woman in charge!