#Nik as SANDALS

[robbingprince]

Well-polished

Laurent was just deciding whether or not he should bother staying alive when the door opened.

“Oh,” said the man who entered, “You’re awake.”

Laurent said, “Yes, quite,” and turned as far as he could with the chains, which was not very far. There was nowhere to conceal the rock he had sharpened, and so he closed his fist around it. “Should I not be?”

“Pardon?” a step towards him, and another. He could not see a face, couldn’t raise his head high enough for it, but the torchlight still fell on polished boots. A large man, probably very tall.

“Did you need me asleep. I could pretend, if it helps. I can be very convincing.”

“Can you,” somewhat amused.

Laurent made himself frown. “Yes, I have the snoring down to the dot. Shall I give you an example?”

“Please do.”

Closing his eyes to a slit, Laurent said, “Snore.”

The man gave a bark of laughter so hard it startled them both. “Oh,” he said, afterwards, “oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to—yes, that was convincing indeed.”

“Are you speaking in jest? I can’t see your expression. The collar, you know, it rather impedes the motion of my neck.”

A breath travelled between the stone walls. It was a small cell, sound should not echo within it—and yet. “I cannot unchain you,” the man said. “I don’t have the key.”

“Right. Was there another reason you came, then? Now that you’ve been convinced of my snoring.”

“I… well. I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“All right,” Laurent said flatly.

“Yes. I’m aware the question is rather silly. But you were obviously beaten badly before you were brought here, and I wanted to check if you were treated.”

“Treated?” Laurent swallowed a whole host of unhelpful remarks. “No bones were broken, if that’s what you mean.”

“No. I mean, I knew. I wanted to see if you were treated for pain.”

That stalled him for a moment, as he was possibly shocked, or more likely disoriented, unable to find the point of deceit. It was difficult to divine true motivation out of boots, no matter how well-polished. If he wanted to get anywhere at all, Laurent would need a face.

“I am not,” he said, “in much pain.”

“You are aware you’re still bleeding.”

“Yes, thank you. I never said the stickiness was pleasant. If you had a spare cloth I would be most grateful.”

“I—” the boots came closer. “Will you tell me your name?”

Laurent rolled his eyes to the floor. “Do you normally take prisoners without verifying their identity.”

“No. No, I don’t. You are not my prisoner.”

“Ah. Of course, as you are not the one with the key. You’re not simply employed by my captor, either.” The quality of leather suggested high-born at least. “In that case, you are either a co-conspirator, or.”

“Or?”

Laurent allowed himself to straighten up marginally. It hurt like a bastard in his shoulder, possibly re-opening the knife wound, and did not allow him to see above well-defined, stocky shins; it was, still, something he could do. “Or you are here to decide if you’ll help me.”

“Help you,” Boots said. “I cannot help you.”

“Because you don’t have the key,” Laurent said. “Yet.”

A long silence stretched between them, somehow also echoing in the small chamber. Perhaps the cell had grown when Laurent was unconscious; perhaps it had blown and blown until it was humongous, a cavern or a palace, empty and gleaming. Waiting to be filled with sounds, most likely screaming. The imaginings were strangely soothing; Laurent had to recall his wits before he lost track of this very important, possibly course-altering conversation.

“I must leave,” said the horribly non-cooperative owner of the boots. “I will be back. I’ll bring water. And some food.”

“Very gracious,” Laurent said, genuine and inordinately annoyed. “I will be right here.”

A choked sound, some shuffling, then the creaking of the door. Before it had the chance to close, Laurent said, “It is Laurent, by the way.”

The man almost ran back to him. “Pardon? What was that?”

“My name. You asked. If you’re still interested, it is Laurent.”

“Yes. Yes. Laurent.” In the part of conversation where a proper gentleman would give his own name, the man said, “Thank you,” and left, shutting the door carefully behind him. He seemed to possess that key, in any case, which meant he could probably obtain the other.

He was not a small man, which might be problematic when it came to one-on-one fisticuffs. Feet that large, and shins that thick, and the voice that came deep and sure: the man was either a giant, or a very near thing, and he was probably well-versed in fighting on top of it, because that was just Laurent’s luck. He would need more than simple strength to outdo him.

It would be much easier to plan with a face.

Read the rest of chapter 1 on AO3!

[syoddeye]

the warren part three - trouble

price x f!reader | 4.6k words part one/prologue - bait | part two - fix tags: alcohol, animal death (mentioned), animal sterilization (mentioned), weird and unsettling vibes. while this part is fairly tame, this is darkfic. a/n: it's been 84 years. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“Car trouble?”

You barely miss braining yourself on the hood, swiveling to catch John lumbering up the drive from the hill, pairing a smile with a concerned look. 

“You’ve...” he trails, head dipping in appraisal.

Looking down, grime and grease blotches your dress and skin. “Shoot.” You mutter, throat achy with suppressed, frustrated tears. “Yes. Car trouble.” You wipe your palms on your thighs. The outfit’s ruined anyway.

John’s brow furrows. He stares at the engine and hums a ponderous noise before procuring an archaic brick of a phone from a pocket. Punching a number, he jerks his head toward the cabin. “Clean up and I’ll phone a friend.”

You hesitate, thinking of money. “Friend? Like a mechanic? Listen, John…”

“Nik? Got a minute?,” John stares, listening to whomever this ‘Nik’ is on the other end, nodding at the door again as if to say hop to it. Embarrassingly quick, you do.

Inside, the soiled dress goes into the tub, and you furiously scrub your arms and hands in the bathroom sink. The filth stubbornly clings to your arm hair, your nails gumming up with sludge. Over the tap, you hear John call from the front door.

“Mind if I come in? The house, that is.” 

You check the lock in the mirror, and shout through the door. “Yeah, sorry. Stuff doesn’t want to come off.”

John’s heavy footsteps announce his path. “My friend Nik’s gonna pop by while we’re out and take a look.”

You rake your nails in small circles over a thick patch of muck. “I hope he’s only looking. I can’t uh, exactly pony up for a repair right now.”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and over the water, you listen to him move around the kitchen. “He won’t do a thing without my say so. Try this.” 

Beneath the door gap, you see John’s shadow. This is the second time he’s in your house, first time invited, and you’re in your underwear. You grab a towel to cover up, and, with a breath, crack open the door. A green-blue bottle knocks into the jamb, his hand attached. Dish soap.

You take it, stifling a laugh.

“Heard it works on ducks.”

You glance at the side of his head. It’s sweet he’s looking away. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Mind stepping into the bedroom and grabbing the orange dress? Should be on the corner of the bed, might be a few things on top of it. Don’t judge the mess.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Back in a jiff.”

A minute later, the gauzy cotton appears pinched in his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

“There’s no rush, not like we have a reservation. When you’re ready, we’ll walk down and take my truck.” His footsteps ferry him away, and you hear the swing and slam of the front door.

Despite his reassurance, you hurry, grabbing your bag and smoothing the dress when you emerge. John leans against your dead car and pushes off with a growing smile, clearly taking you in. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Think I like this one more.”

“Yeah?” you ask, adding a smidge more honey to your voice. It’s been a long time since a man’s admired you, even longer since one’s treated you kindly. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it. Sunset suits you.” John’s gaze takes its time arriving at your face. “And don’t fret yet. Nik’s got a way with machines.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Early evening birdsong serenades the journey downhill, the slap of your sandals on asphalt punctuating it. The adjustment from living in the thick of it to the middle of nowhere was difficult at first, accustomed to the white noise of sirens and mystery booms, but here, silence prevails.

“How’re the kittens?”

John cracks another smile. “Bigger. Clumsy, but movin’ more.”

“Will they be fixed when they’re older? I saw the veterinary office. I was thinking I’d reach out regarding some of my feline neighbors.”

He huffs, the noise emanating deep from within his chest, as if your question is a personal affront. “They’re not hurting anything, are they?”

A nervous titter of laughter escapes. “The local bird and rodent population.”

You turn onto the road, his store within view. “Sounds like pest control and the natural order of things.”

He picks up the pace, approaching an older, red Chevy on a mission. You’re gobsmacked, with a few butterflies in your stomach dropping stone dead. Growing up watching Price is Right reruns over your mother’s shoulder, a woman who all but canonized Bob Barker, you’ve never met someone against animal sterilization.

Breathe. Not weird, just different. 

“I suppose,” You wince at the angry creak of the door as he yanks it open, the sound too familiar. “I’m tired of scraping their work off the step.” You spare a parting glance at the makeshift shelter where the kittens live and climb in.

John snorts and starts the truck. “No reason to permanently alter the creatures. Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life.”

The certainty with which he says it gives you pause, the seatbelt’s tongue poised over the buckle. Your face burns, thrown by the shift in conversation. Reaching for the pleasantness from earlier, you remind yourself that John’s rough around the edges. You knew this when you accepted, or rather, suggested, the date. Gruff and blunt, yet possessing a homespun charm impossible to feign. You hope it shows itself again. He pulls out of the shop’s row of parking spots as you buckle in. It’s probably fine you’re in his car, not like you have a choice at this point.

You muster a belated response. “Natural doesn’t always mean correct.”

The notion diffuses John’s tension. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You say that now. Few months in the woods will set you straight. I used to think the same. Being out here changed me.”

You watch him search for a station between working the stick shift. “You said you’re retired, but you’re a little young for that, aren’t you? What did you do before running a store?”

“Military, medically discharged.” He says plainly as if that explanation’s enough. 

And you suppose it is. Another sensitive subject, one he does not owe you divulgence. It’s not as if you don’t harbor your own secrets, but politeness doesn’t overrule curiosity.

“Right. How long have you lived in Grouse Bay?” 

“Years. Where were you before this?”

It’s fair he returns the question. It’s why you rehearse. “Iowa.”

“Field of Dreams?”

“Yessir.”

“And what work lets you spend a summer holed up in a cabin?”

You briefly debate telling the truth and how much. John alluded to Kate’s loose tongue and hasn’t given reason for it not being a reciprocal feed. “I’m between things, but I’m a penny pincher.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from elaborating, taking a page from his book. A shiver of guilt still wracks you whenever you think about money.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the store?” 

“I paid the invoice for the light, didn’t I?” 

“By giving Kate the–”

A big, defensive smile curves your mouth, placating in anticipation of anger. “She said she was going to see you.”

“Don’t interrupt.” he scolds. “I meant that you haven’t stopped in since you arrived.”

The way John speaks toes the line between kind and patronizing; maybe with practice, it’d be easier to put your foot down. If he only knew the amount of groundwork you put into this ‘vacation’. The nights spent car camping in parking lots. Rummaging for coins abandoned in vending machines. Sneaking small bills from the offering plate. “I brought some groceries with me. I’m not completely helpless.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a small town. I’m worried about our newest resident.”

“Guest.” 

“Guest. Which reminds me,” He lifts off his seat to fish out a billfold. Without averting his eyes from the narrow and winding road, he pries the old leather open and roots something out. “Been meanin’ to return this, found it on the floor of the shop the other day after fixing the light.” He pinches the corner of a card and holds it out.

Your face stares back at you, and your stomach draws to your spine in a deep, terrified breath. When did you lose your ID? Whatever ounce of pride you felt moments ago dissolves. Rationing your supplies and avoiding town to save money meant you hadn’t opened your wallet in days.

“Thank you.” You take the card, biting your lip at the last name printed next to your first. John must’ve seen it, and if Kate’s given him one name, he knows you by another now.

Worry thrums in your chest, settling into place like one would collapse into a favored armchair. You can hear it practically groan in relief, reclaiming its monopoly on your person.

“Know much about Ponderosa?” 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “The basics.”

Before the move, you dug into the town across the lake and learned very little. Although founded roughly at the same time as Grouse Bay, Ponderosa’s the bigger, wealthier sister. The population drain following mine closures impacted both locales for the greater part of the century, but the cheap sale of land in the eighties led to a boom in tourism and development. You waffled between the towns, ultimately choosing Grouse for the lower rent and smaller population. Less chance of being found.

“Ponderosa’s a fine town, though folks are cowing more and more to greed. Greedy shits buying up and bulldozing pristine land to build mansions they call ‘cabins’.” He rants, chewing his words with a pinched expression like his teeth found the gristle. “Very few are decent. Though, you’d be hard-pressed to find better people than those in Grouse.”

It paints a picture you’re familiar with. Decades of architectural character and history replaced by boxy houses kissing property lines. It underscores John’s apparent, deep-seated opinions and judgment. How he wields them as a cudgel and gavel all in one. You’ve never felt strongly about one place or another, at least positively.

“Like vultures, huh?”

“Vultures have their use.”

The rest of the car ride, John fills in the gaps. When there were still children in the Bay, they attended school across the lake. He drives over weekly to retrieve inventory for the store. The single helipad for a hundred miles resides at their medical clinic, also the only one of its kind. It leads to a story. Last year, a hiker went missing for forty-eight hours from Ponderosa, but popped up on the summit of Mount Grouse. Dehydrated and delirious, claiming to have met angels. 

“He scared the shit out of a hunter checking on traps,” John chuckles. “But he was alive. Got airlifted to civilization and last we heard, he’s recovered.”

You laugh uneasily. Once, as a kid, you were separated from a babysitter—but that was at the mall for half an hour. Alone in the woods, on a mountain? You shudder at the thought.

Eventually, the road evens out into well-maintained asphalt. A sign crops up around a corner, Ponderosa sticks out in big gold letters, flanked by meticulously carved trees. John turns the dial down, the crackling rock and roll station fizzling into silence. He cranks the manual window down and drapes an arm out. Not for the first time, you admire the muscle beneath his slightly tanned skin and hair.

The view of the main street steals your attention. John slows to cruise down the block. Like the vantage outside Grouse, downtown Ponderosa looks like a postcard, albeit hedged by construction and development. It’s the July spread in a calendar celebrating Americana. Barely June and ribbons and banners decorate pristine storefronts for the Fourth of July. Sunset paints the promenade in sherbert oranges and pinks while old-fashioned street lamps buzz to life.

If John finds your gawking amusing, he doesn’t mention it.

The sign for The Echo Diner gleams, a fresh coat of crisp white paint stylized with red highlights to make it pop. The building’s pristine, too, with symmetrical flower beds along the walls. It's nothing like The Foxhole, beyond its glory days. Ponderosa, it seems, is as moneyed as John described.

The entry funnels into the fairly crowded restaurant, a sea of capped heads and wraparound sunglasses tilt in conversation or up at the big screens mounted above the bar. A woman hunches over a jukebox. Nobody pays you any mind until John steps into the small space behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. It takes a gentle nudge for your feet to move, wary of the several sets of eyes suddenly pointed in your direction. 

“John, good to see you.” A man cracking open a couple of light beers nods as you pass, attention bouncing off you as if you aren’t worth seeing.

“Likewise.” John rumbles, the single word breaking the spell, allowing the other patrons to return to their conversation and game.

He’s a regular. Ambling for an empty table beside a porthole-style window, you angle toward the side that looks out into the restaurant, but John’s hand flexes on your back. 

“I’ll sit there. Can’t eat comfortably unless I can see the door. Old habit.”

Who are you to argue? You’re the outsider, and with the awkward tension brewing since you left for dinner, you’re eager to make nice with John. You take the opposite seat, offering a placative smile as you bump knees. He manspreads, bracketing your legs with his own. You try not to think of how much space he fills.

The familiar nostalgia you felt riding into town resurfaces. The diner is charming, from the tacky checkered floor to the billiard lights over the laminate tables. Classic. Not a hint of intentional curation. Even the cracked, boomerang-pattern vinyl booths inspire a strange fondness. It all speaks to its age, its lived-inness. What it’s seen and weathered. The name of the feeling arrives with the single-page menu John hands you.

Homesick. You’re a little homesick.

It’s ridiculous, the notion. There is no main street to recall. There isn’t a house to miss. What you have is a series of cheap apartments that run together in your memory, with leaky pipes, roaches, and thin walls. Yet you relish the borrowed sentimentality. It’s a balm. Raised on a diet of neglect like a dandelion pushing through cement, you reach for whatever good thing comes your way. It’s how you ended up in—

The waitress interrupts to take your order, just yours. She knows exactly what John wants, boredly reciting the tab, minding a crossword instead of the ticket. As she shuffles behind the counter, the bartender approaches, placing a pitch-black pint glass on the table in front of a pleased John.

“The usual.” The bartender hovers, his grin beaming beneath his mustache.

John’s eyes flick between him and you. “Thanks. Get my girl the cherry cider.”

You stiffen, automatically reaching for the bartender, and blurt a correction. “Wait. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Water’s fine.” Your fingertips graze the stranger’s elbow, and he jerks away as if burned.

The immediate vicinity falls quiet. You didn’t raise your voice or stand, but doubt blooms when the bartender freezes in place. The men at the counter closest to you peek over their shoulders, and another waitress stops refilling a napkin dispenser, watching sidelong. You scan the odd bystanders, whom you notice are not looking at you. They look to John. So you do, too.

That same intensity from earlier is plain on his face. Mouth drawn tight in a line, blue eyes flat but focused. You think he means to insist until he nods. “Water it is.”

The bartender’s chipper grin reappears. The others go back to their business. 

“Great. One minute.”

The unease returns tenfold, smothering whatever daydream you entertained. The smile you offer is conciliatory. “Sorry, I don’t drink on first dates.”

It softens him. “First, huh?” John smirks. “That a hard and fast rule, the drinking?”

It is one of the only things your father taught you. Shy of fifteen, mistakenly mumbling a hope of attending a school dance. Sadie Hawkins. There was a boy, you don’t remember his name now—another blur, a collage of faces—who introduced himself on your first day and tempered your latest bundle of new school nerves. Your father set upon you like the Spanish Inquisitors you’d read about in history. You were in shock, too stupefied by his sudden interest in playing parent to remember anything beyond: Girls don’t drink on first dates, makes them loose. Surely, it came with a postscript, but that, too, is lost to time.

“I’m afraid so.”

John huffs a short laugh, the sound enough to flip your belly. 

Heat spreads across your face, which makes the bartender’s timing especially helpful. Your requested glass of ice water appears, and relief creeps through palm-first. John introduces you, prompting a polite smile, only for it to swiftly fall. “...and she’s staying at the old Warren place. Darl, this is Alex.”

You nearly kick his foot. Telling a stranger, another man, where you’re staying?

Above, Alex finally acknowledges you, eyebrows lifting as if you suddenly materialize. “Really. Did you meet the cats?”

“The cats?” You blink, annoyance quelled in an instant. “Are you…Are you familiar with the property? Do you know how many there are? I’ve counted–”

“He’s heard stories from Kate. Isn’t that right, Alex?” John interjects, staunching the conversation.

Alex smiles sheepishly, already moving toward the bar. “Yeah. Stories. Heard it's pretty as a picture.” 

You pivot to John for a follow-up, but he steamrolls ahead into a different topic entirely: The mystery of what you do all day.

“Nothing interesting.”

He hums, disbelieving. “You’re new meat. Everything you do is interesting.”

You search the ether for words, knowing he’ll badger something out. “I read, though I’m running out of books. I draw, poorly, so don’t ask to see anything.” A grin splits his face and jumps to yours, infectious. “I rockhound, swim, write, apply for jobs…”

“Any luck with work?”

Aside from filling out surveys for pennies and cobbling together speeches for strangers online, no. You tell him as much, leaving out the fact you spend hours each day, digital hat in hand.

John glances toward the door, focus stolen for a second before inhaling deeply through his nose. He straightens, arms folding over his barrel chest, puffing up. “Y’know, I could use an extra pair of hands at the store. Busy season’s here.”

You know you ought to jump at the offer, considering the state of your account. How difficult would it be to help mind a tiny store? Yet, the idea of working with John sparks concern. As an acquaintance, as a date, he’s—assertive, though that feels too weak a word.

“I don’t need an answer now, but if you’re interested, I’ll need to run a background check, given I sell ammunition.”

The world rapidly contracts. The one time you shopped, you focused on necessities. Tunnel vision. You didn’t see the entire inventory. The sip of water you take burns off fast, throat drying and excuses evaporating.

John’s face softens, reading your obvious panic. “Regardless of what turns up, the job’s yours if you want it.”

“That’s not–I don’t–John…” You try to focus on a break in the laminate, on the music drifting from the jukebox. A rich laugh from the bar about turns your head, but John’s hand darts, snatching yours in an unyielding grip. It’s like a bear trap, palm almost completely enveloping yours. It might as well latch into bone.

He lowers his voice, steadily pulling you to lean over the table. “I’ve got an eye for runaways.” His fingers squeeze gently when you flinch. “Sympathy, too. So whatever it is you’re running from—” He ignores your tug. “—you’re safe with me.”

John’s eyes shift, yours follow. A man stands at the bar, a holstered firearm on his hip, a business card proffered in hand. Clearly some type of law enforcement. Your heart stutters, a rock skipped over water, plunging when he, sensing your staring, glances over. You pretend to check the game, swallowing when the bartender takes the card and reclaims the man’s attention. The man dips his head, then wordlessly exists.

Air expels from your lungs in a full-body shudder. 

“Skittish thing. Wonder what that was about.” John teases, rubbing a circle into your wrist before releasing it with a quiet chuckle.

There isn’t a chance to catch your breath as the waitress returns with a tray. Your face tightens with forced niceties, accepting your meal with a murmured thank you. 

You eat in relative silence. A mercy. There’s more than food to digest. 

John focuses on his meal, giving you time to think. Losing your ID was sloppy. Not checking your wallet sooner was sloppier. Yet if John’s kept quiet with his suspicions, maybe you are safe with him. It may not keep him from looking into you, but perhaps the job is worth the risk. He clearly likes you. You can’t bite every hand.

“I’ll take the job. If you meant what you said, about sympathy.”

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it.”

“Then what would the schedule be?”

John’s eyes crinkle with a grin. “Thursday through Sunday. Noon to close.”

The uneasiness settles some, but not entirely. A lesson yet another man taught you echoes from the recesses: No kindness is free. Everything has a price. You feed him his own line. “And the background check? Is that…a hard and fast rule?” If your worthless car won’t take you anywhere, you hope flattery will.

He polishes off his beer with a contented sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Better than outright refusal. John’s proven stubborn. He doesn’t bend, he gives. Your thoughts flit to the armed man at the bar. It’s probably nothing, probably just the local sheriff making rounds. Despite your mistakes, it’s too soon for the trouble you left across state lines to find you. 

John excuses himself to settle the bill with Alex and tells you to get some air. You rest against the passenger door of his truck, mulling over the evening, too distracted to notice the man until a hand plants itself above your head. You jolt, clutching your bag.

“Pardon me miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A voice drawls. 

Sandy hair and blue eyes, paler than John’s. A short, straight scar on the cheek with a notched ear to match. His smile is a practiced thing, like he’s had to rehearse it in a mirror. “Name’s Phil. Couldn’t help but notice you inside. You new to town?”

Your expression naturally mirrors his, eyes going big as saucers, but the hair on the back of your neck stands. It takes control to not peek at the weapon on his belt. “Hi, um, yes. I’m new.”

His cheek bulges from his tongue, his stare jumping from feature to feature. “Thought so. Just visiting or are you the newest Ponderosan?”

“She’s with me,” John answers in your stead, coming off the short walk in front of the diner. “Across the lake, that is.”

Fingertips dance on the metal over your head. “Grouse, huh?” Phil smirks, chewing his lip in assessment. “And how’re you, sir?”

“Swell. Darling, get in the truck.” It’s the same tone he used when discussing the cats. It brooks no argument, an order tied with brittle endearment.

You tear your eyes away from John to meet Phil’s gaze, who, after a moment, chuckles and slides his fingers down the car. The tinny squeak of flesh on metal shoots down your spine, then tunnels to your stomach, churning dinner. Your body moves automatically when Phil opens the truck door, forcing you to duck his arm to climb inside.

“Have a nice night.” Phil says as he shuts you in, pivoting to dig out and offer a card to John.

The men exchange words, their voices too low to be audible through the truck’s solid frame. Phil rocks on his heels, enjoying himself; John’s stiff and humorless. The former isn’t small, but he’s dwarfed by your date. The card hovers between them in Phil’s knuckles and remains there when John peels off to join you.

John hoists himself into the driver’s seat, grumbling. You stare at Phil, who shoots winks as he pockets the card. He remains on the curb until The Echo is firmly in the rearview.

“Who was that?” You manage as the lights of Ponderosa disappear beyond trees.

“Haven’t a clue.”

It’s a warning. You’ve heard the line before from another mouth. Different tone, different voice—but the edge is the same. Don’t push it. Keenly aware of where you are, in the sticks with a man scarcely a hair above acquaintance, you don’t. You talk about nothing, instead.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, swimming upstream against a mighty current. John is firmly lodged into the silty creekbed, unmoving regardless of your idle chatter. The source of his ire isn’t clear, so you default to keeping things light. As your new employer and the town’s resident Jack of all trades, the last thing you want to be is on the outs.

By the time the truck swings slowly up the hill to your cabin, it’s pitch black outside. A dozen cats scatter as the headlights shoot over the short drive, landing on the familiar red walls. John idles the truck.

“Thank you for dinner, John.” You linger in your seat, uncertain if you ought to kiss him. It’s been so long, you don’t know the protocol, especially for dates you’d consider middling at best and turbulent at worst.

“My pleasure.” John makes the decision for you. A compromise. He plucks your hand from where it fidgets with the hem of your dress, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. His mustache tickles and his lips quirk at the sight of your squirming. “I’ll let you know what Nik says about the car.”

“Right. My car.”

“And I’ll sit here ‘til you’re in.”

A second thank you ekes out of your mouth, and you hurry out. From the door, you wave, blinded briefly by headlights, as John turns around. His silhouette raises a hand in goodbye, and then he’s off, the truck disappearing into the dark.

You make quick work of readying for bed. Both dresses go into the laundry to be washed in the morning, and you hunt for your book with your toothbrush still in your mouth. The living room and bedroom turn up empty, leaving the screened porch.

Poking your head through the door, you hum, frowning as you cannot recall where you put the thing down. Just as you pull inside, you freeze at the sudden, low snarling of cats poised for a fight. Your blood turns to ice.

Gravel crunches across the yard, past the exterior light’s range. Your eyes bulge in your skull, trying desperately to adjust to the dark. The toothbrush slips out from between your teeth and clatters to the ground. Another crunch spurs a renewed chorus of hissing and growling, primordial fear straightening your spine. Then, something kicks up rock and dirt, skidding and charging across the crushed stone. The sound propels you backward, scrambling to throw the bolt.

Even through the walls, the sharp, sudden yowling chorus of cats pierces the air. Nails on chalkboard. Earsplitting. You hit the lights and shelter behind the couch, palms pressing to your head until the commotion tapers off.

The ensuing silence beckons like a siren. Tries to entice you back to the front door for a peek. But instinct prevails. You flee.

Only when you're shaking in a ball under the sheets, having barricaded the bedroom door with the dresser, do you remember your cell phone.

Which you left in your bag on the kitchen table.

Outside your window, something scratches at the cabin's walls.

[ask-missparker]

Mama Mia Headcanon 🧸

— i just wanted to do this soooo let me know what you guys think 💭 (AUNTIE MIMI HAS BEEN CONFIRMED ☑️)

In the morning she is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants playing music (such as Disney 🪄songs) as the children wake up to music in the background.

Making breakfast sandwiches for the kids and her spouse (along for her friends)

Comforting hugs and kisses 🤗 on the couch

Watching cartoons (she could often be sweeping the floor and pause next to the TV, catching the show playing)

Buying toys, clothes and other items (Nik said she spoil them but shhh 🤫)

She often forgets to brush her kids hair in the morning, because they honestly look so cute with bed head 🖌️

Singing songs and dancing across the houses (they have music on display so OFC she got it stuck in her head)

Doing hairstyles for the kiddos, like @purpleprincessonfyre & @ethan-lensherr daughter Belladonna hair

Cuddles on the couch and tickling her kiddos 🥰

She loves to snack! She always been a foodie and eating bunch of things but being a mama, she often finds herself snacking a lot. Especially due to making snacks for everyone, she will eat something for herself too

This girl be giving out nicknames!! Everyone got nicknames when she is around

She makes Bruce Banner one of the kiddos grandpa ☺️

She tends to carry to kids. Find her with @luna-d-marsh & @rickb-chaos daughter Riley being a koala 🐨 on her back, meanwhile she is carrying around one of her twins, Margot, on the front bahaha

All the kids introduce their significant others to her after a month of dating 😉

Will threaten the kiddos with spoilers -> "Do your homework or I will spoil what happened at the end of the Umbrella Academy."

Mia hears a crash and gasps, “What did you do this time?! Rochelle get your kids!”

She thinks her children are perfect angels 😇 THEN she remembers who her their aunties and uncles are 😅 🤣

Her and Cole watching Star Wars 💫together with the children

Always tries to listen to the children and make time for them (even if she apparently seems busy)

Tells Maria Hill that she can’t work tomorrow because her kiddos (along with her nieces and nephew) need her 😌

Graphic t-shirts, leggings and sandals are go-to outfit 💅 with her purse and phone

Always carrying a water bottle, cause she gets dehydrated easily and reminds the others to drink water too!

Find her giggling or having to hold back her laughter because of something a parent, or one of the children have said 😂

~~

~~~~~~~

Ahh let me know what u think (and make ur own HCs too 👀 I would love to see them)

Tags: @ask-starrk @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @marvelsfavoriteuncle @elzabeth-stark @sci-fi-lexcon @jackiequick @blueboirick @gcthvile @cherrysft @meiramel @trulysummersprivate and etc

[natelia-aldelliz]

Nik who has a special place for Soap who sometimes has a hard time when his ADHD gets too much and gets into trouble.

Price being upset, he tries to understand but it's difficult sometimes. It can drive Gaz and even Roach up a wall, so much energy.

The only two who can handle him is Ghost and Nik, giving him simple tasks while telling him stories to settle his hyperactive mind.

And he's so grateful for his adoptive dad and boyfriend, who never get frustrated with him, when he can't control it.

Ghost is used to wrangling Soap and Roach so he just knows what to do, while Gaz and Roach get overwhelmed and can't deal with it and Price is stressed with all the responsibilities of being the Captain and keeping everyone 1) alive, 2) out of jail, so he can only deal up to a certain point before he sends him to Nik.

And then he feels terrible and Nik has to cheer him up too, and he probably asks him how he's always so calm and patient and Nik is just like sipping on a glass of wine, in a tee-shirt, shorts and sandals on duty, with his sunglasses on, like "I just pretend everyday is a vacation day"

[therisingkings]

The Jealousy of a King

Check it out on Ao3

TW: The following contains mature content (sex and bondage) that may be triggering to some viewers. Read at your own risk. *****

Laurent swallowed hard as he looked out over the training field, the only reaction he allowed his body to express.

The Akielons trained below, shouting and clasping each other. Training naked, Laurent had recently learned, was a common practice in Akielos. They sometimes wore clothes in the winter, Damen had reassured him.

Laurent’s eyes caught and held on his husband. As much as he tried to tell Damen that being naked out in public was unkingly, the man never listened to him. His brown skin was glistening with oil underneath the high summer sun, the scars on his back nothing more than blurred lines from this distance. Damen was currently smiling at Nikandros as they put their arms across each other’s shoulders, a gesture Laurent recognized as the beginning of a wrestling match. 

Nikandros said something that made Damen laugh, and then they heaved. Nikandros managed to bring Damen to the ground, which was a feat in and of itself. 

Laurent was moving before he could stop himself. He rounded a pillar, descending the marble steps. By the time he made it to ground level, they were in the midst of the round.

Damen flipped them over, slamming Nikandros into the ground. Nikandros was quick to turn, not letting himself get pinned. There was a moment of struggle where Damen tried to get a better grip, while Nik tried to throw him off. It pushed their sweat-dampened bodies together, and even if neither of them were aroused, Laurent was suddenly hot, even in his chiton.

“Stop,” he ordered, louder than he intended because the whole training yard seemed to pause.

Nikandros looked up so fast, he bumped Damen’s head with his own.

Damen groaned and let him go. He looked up at Laurent, rubbing his head. “What is it?”

Laurent didn’t have an excuse. He said, “I require your opinion.”

“On what?”

“It’s important. We must talk privately.”

Damen’s brows knitted together, but he stood, accepting a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Get dressed,” Laurent added in a slightly strangled voice as he turned away.

Damen found him a couple minutes later in their private chambers. He entered quietly, allowing the door to click shut behind him. 

Laurent was sitting on their bed, eyes on Damen’s sandals. “I am ashamed.”

“Of?”

“I let my jealousy get the best of me.”

“Sweetheart, you know that there is a very strict difference between sports and sex here. That was just wrestling.” Damen bent to unlace his sandals.

Laurent glared at the ground. “I know,” he hissed.

“So then you understand that that kind of behavior is unacceptable.” 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Laurent turned his head away like a petulant child. “You had him naked beneath you. Your cock was—”

“That’s enough.” Damen crossed the room to grip Laurent’s face, forcing him to look at him. “You will be punished for your actions today.”

Laurent recoiled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You stopped my training session and you got jealous. I’ll do you a favor and let you pick your punishment. Do you—”

Laurent smacked his hand away, shoving to his feet. “You would have reacted the same way if I wrestled Nikandros like that.”

“You’d never be able to get Nik under you,” Damen said, which wasn’t helpful.

“Really? Let’s see if he’d like to bend over for both Kings.” With that, Laurent went to the door, fully prepared to call Nikandros to their bedroom.

Damen beat him to it. He slammed the door shut when Laurent only managed to open it a hair and caged Laurent against it with his arms. “You’re acting like a brat.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Heat bloomed across Laurent’s back as Damen leaned closer, his breath fanning over Laurent’s ear. “Maybe I will. Would you get jealous of my hand too, sweetheart?”

Growling, Laurent whirled, which only gave Damen the opportunity to throw him over a shoulder. He thrashed in his husband’s grip, which only earned him a harsh slap on the ass. The world tilted and then he was on his back on the bed. Damen shoved his hands through the cuffs attached to the bed frame before he backed off.

Laurent snarled at him, pushing himself up to a seated position— as far as the restraints would allow. 

Damen stood at the edge of the bed, an easy grin on his lips. He unclasped his chiton, letting it pool at his bare feet. His cock jutted out, half hard already. “Jealousy is an ugly look, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you. You get angry every time one of your soldiers looks at my legs for too long.”

“That’s because they’re thinking about flipping up your skirt. Nikandros and I have no interest like that in each other.” He bent to look Laurent in the eye. “You’re feelings are misplaced, understand?”

Laurent considered telling him off again, but figured that wouldn’t make the situation any better. 

Damen straightened and gripped his cock at the base, sliding his hand down the length of it. He hardened almost instantly, making Laurent’s mouth water. Damen worked himself in practiced tugs, his heavy lidded eyes fixed on Laurent. 

Heat pooled in Laurent’s belly, tenting the front of his chiton. He tried to ignore it, choosing to look out the window instead.

“No,” Damen ordered. “Look at me.”

Laurent’s eyes snapped back to him. 

Damen let out a groan from the back of his throat, tipping his chin up.

Laurent wanted to kiss that exposed throat, replace Damen’s hand with his mouth. He was hot with need, straining against his restraints.

Damen’s gaze was dark as his teeth sunk into his plush bottom lip. “Those cuffs aren’t coming off until I hear an apology.”

Laurent gritted his teeth.

Damen circled his thumb around the head, the same way he did to Laurent. 

Laurent’s gaze dropped to his powerful thighs, each wider than both of Laurent’s. The muscle was built from years of wrestling and riding. Laurent trailed higher. Damen’s cock was surrounded in dark curls that he kept neatly trimmed. They were gleaming with oil from the wrestling match.

Laurent’s throat was dry. He licked his lips. “Maybe we can—”

“Apologize.” Damen sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m getting close.”

“You can’t come from just that,” Laurent blurted. “It’s not—it’s not—”

Damen laughed. “You really think I don’t jerk off when you’re not around? You being here is just an added bonus.”

Laurent grunted, pulling hard on the cuffs. “No. I want to do it. Damen.”

Damen grinned. “You poor pampered princeling. Just part those pretty lips and apologize and you can have all the cock you want.”

A frustrated scream built in Laurent’s throat. “Fine. I’m sorry.” 

Damen chuckled darkly, but let go of himself. He slowly crawled across the bed to hover over Laurent. “That didn’t sound very sincere.”

“That’s the best you’re going to get,” Laurent snarled.

Damen wrapped a hand around his throat and the other beneath his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth. Damen licked into it, hot and possessive, not allowing Laurent an inch that he himself did not dictate. 

Laurent moaned, arching into him. He wrapped his thighs around Damen’s waist, urging him closer. “Please,” he said once Damen released his mouth. 

“Shh.” Damen sat back and two fingers replaced his tongue. His other hand went to the pin of Laurent’s chiton, tossing it aside. 

Laurent sucked on his fingers as Damen groped at his chest. He wanted to ask, to beg Damen to fuck him, but his mouth was preoccupied. 

Damen smiled, as if he knew this. He flattened his fingers against Laurent’s tongue, prying open his mouth. “I ought to fuck you here. Will your other hole get jealous too?”

Laurent whined as best he could. 

Damen tutted. “No. That would be too cruel. Wouldn’t it, sweetheart?”

Laurent lifted his hips against Damen’s, letting him feel his arousal. 

“Perhaps I could call Nikandros in here, have him bend over the bed. You know, he’d do anything for his king.”

At that, Laurent thrashed, tearing his head from Damen’s grip. “Don’t you dare, you—”

“Barbarian?” Damen’s smile melted into a smirk, dripping with wickedness. He pulled Laurent’s chiton the rest of the way off, tossing the garment aside. “I thought you’d have more insults by now.”

“Giant animal,” Laurent snarled as Damen pushed his thighs up and apart. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Damen lowered his face so his breath rushed across the head of Laurent’s cock. His eyes were dark as they flicked up to Laurent. “You can do better than that.”

It was getting hard to focus. Laurent let out a slow breath, trying to piece his scattered thoughts together. 

Damen didn’t wait for his next insult. He gave no warning before he licked Laurent’s entrance, much the way he’d licked his mouth. 

Laurent jumped, clenching on instinct. 

Damen chuckled against him, teasing at his rim. “I thought you wanted my attention here.” He licked him in a broad stripe, making Laurent short circuit. His tongue was hot as it laved attention to Laurent’s entrance. He prodded inside, thrusting his tongue as deep as it would go.

Laurent turned his face into the pillow, his legs curling around Damen’s shoulders. He canted his hips towards Damen’s face, letting out a moan. His toes curled, hands gripping the small chains linked to his cuffs. 

“I bet you could come just from this.” Damen gripped one of Laurent’s ass cheeks so he could spread him apart. He gave him another dirty lick, tongue dipping inside before he pulled away. “But I don’t think that’s fair either.”

Laurent was breathing hard as he rose. He wanted to say something clever, but was caught tongue tied by the sight of his husband—all golden glory, framed by the milky paleness of Laurent’s thighs.

Damen grasped his own cock again, not to stroke himself, but to press the blunt head to Laurent’s entrance. He eased slowly inside.

So slowly, in fact, that Laurent hooked his legs around Damen’s waist, trying to urge him deeper, faster.

Damen clicked his tongue, only half seated. “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck me.” Laurent swallowed when Damen didn’t move. He sighed. “Please?”

“Good boy.” Damen sank in to the hilt, using the extra inches to grab the oil from the nightstand.

Laurent hissed at him when he pulled out. “Hurry up, you bastard.”

“See that one’s not even true,” Damen said conversationally as he applied the oil. “It loses its bite when you say it all breathless like that too.”

“Damen.”

Damen gave in. He fucked into Laurent, slow and hard and just the way Laurent liked it. Laurent keened beneath him, gripping his bindings hard. He was dizzy with the feel of it—being so full he swore he could burst right open at the seams. 

Damen kissed him without breaking his rhythm, all tongue and teeth. Laurent kissed back with equal fervor, desperately wishing he could run his hands through Damen’s hair, over his shoulders, dig his nails into the muscle.

Damen’s hand found its way between them, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. The pressure at Laurent’s spine built as he panted against Damen’s mouth. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think beyond the feeling of Damen inside of him, touching parts of him that had been touched by no other. 

Damen said something in Akielon too rough for Laurent to translate in his current state, but it was the timber of his voice that sent him over the edge. Laurent’s orgasm barreled into him like a tidal wave, a noise of pure pleasure releasing from deep within his throat.

“Yes,” Damen said, “yes.” And then he was fucking Laurent harder, driving him into the mattress, not allowing him a moment to recover as he shook between spurts. 

Laurent became nothing beyond sensation: the sheets beneath him soaked in sweat, Damen’s brow pressed against his own, the slap of skin on skin as Damen chased his own release. Distantly, he was aware of his thighs parting further, his ankles locking together just above the swell of Damen’s ass. His lips parted, saying, “Please, please, come in me. I want—I need—”

Damen groaned, slamming into the hilt as he filled Laurent. He trembled, eyes squeezed shut while Laurent’s were wide. 

They breathed each other’s air. Inhale. Smile. Exhale. Laurent returned to his body slowly, allowing his legs to release Damen.

Damen nuzzled his nose, kissed him, then rose, leaving Laurent alone on the bed for only a moment. He returned with a warm rag, ignoring Laurent’s sound of displeasure as he wiped him down. 

Laurent squirmed as he tossed the rag aside. “Damen.”

“Hmm?” Damen was pouring water into a glass. The clank of the shackles drew his attention and he smiled. “Oh. Forgive me.”

Once released of his bonds, Laurent sat up, taking the water. He sipped it delicately, leaning on Damen’s muscled shoulder.

Damen touched the wrist of his free hand. “Have you learned your lesson?”

Laurent thought about it for a moment, then offered Damen a secret, conniving smile that never left the bedroom. “Oh, absolutely not.”

[countrymusiclover]

8 - Family Vacation

Part 9

Family is More than Blood

@secretdreamlandmentality

Shutting the car door behind me the wind knocked my hair into my face while Jacob walked over to me with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t believe he got us tickets on a cruise ship for a family vacation. I mean I know he’s got money but still.”

“Trust me, J. You’ll get used to it at some point in our immortal lives. Now I have to ask, are you going to finally ask Hayley to marry you yet?” I slapped my hands onto my knees, sending him a grin.

Jacob had told me and our father that he planned to ask Hayley to marry him sometime soon. Since we were somewhat finally in a stable place in our lives. And if I was right he probably would ask her while we were on this cruise ship. “Look honestly I’m just afraid she’ll say no. I mean sure we have a kid together. But that doesn’t mean -ow!”

He rubbed his arm after I slapped him with a glare. “Jacob Dawson Lane why wouldn’t she say yes to you. I mean Hayley has been through far too much with our family to back out now. So I have 100% faith that she will say yes even if you didn’t ask her on a cruise ship.”

We turned our heads hearing the kids get out of the car and Andrea ran straight towards the ship with Henrik chasing after her with a fit of laughter. “Hey, be careful. Don’t get in trouble with the security of the ship.”

“Calm down, Rae…I compelled the captain to not worry about what they do.” Klaus came up behind us wrapping his arms around me and his head was on my shoulder. He was right that even though Henrik and Andrea were running around, Missy was making a mess of chocolate and other desserts around the cabins, Hope and Alina were visiting the captains quarters wanting to help take the boat to sea. The ship’s captain didn’t scold them, not even once.

Klaus slowly dragged me through the ship where I wasn’t sure what he was trying to do next. We ended up on the main deck of the ship with the tip of the railing straight in front of us. “What are we out here for, Nik?” We had only been on the ship for a few hours and it was close to sunset by this point since we were all too excited to simply sit down and have dinner yet on the large ship.

He paused in his steps putting his hands together behind his back leaning against the railing of the ship. “I thought we needed a family adventure since we have been busy. But I think you should get to live your little Titanic moment even though I’ve already drawn you like a French girl as you commonly said once.”

“I thought you didn’t understand the draw towards the movie since you basically probably lived through that time period.” I chuckled, resting my hands on my hips with the wind blowing my hair in front of my eyes until I pushed it away.

Lifting my nose into the air I couldn’t stop the smile crossing my face. Klaus slowly walked forward, extending his right hand for me. "Give me your hand, Rae. Step up onto the rail." He slowly leads me by the hand towards the railing where he had me stand in front of his chest. He moved my hands onto the rail and I climbed up onto the metal with my boots clunking when they hit.

"Nik.." I chuckled when I felt him put his front into my back when he stepped up onto the railing too.

The wind was blowing my hair in his face until he rested his head on my shoulder whispering in my ear. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do." I couldn't stop my smile from getting any bigger. All I could picture in my mind is Rose and Jack in the movie performing this exact moment. Klaus moved my hands into his and intertwined our fingers together where we were both smiling at the endless sea scape in front of us. Slowly turning my head back to my husband I grinned pressing my lips to his and he kissed back until the sun set so we knew it was time to find the others and have dinner.

We went upstairs and got changed where Klaus stayed in his normal clothes but he had put on a dark black tie. I changed into a light blue dress with tan sandals and my hair was curled. Nik and I looped our arms together where we both slowly walked through the ship until we got to the dining hall. The kids were all seated down but I didn’t see my brother or Hayley down here yet. “Have you seen your parents anywhere, Andrea?”

“They were up in the room when they told me to come down with my cousins.” Andrea replied, shoving some strawberries in her mouth while she talked back.

Klaus glanced at me, placing his hand over mine sending me a bright smile. We turned our heads when we could hear two people walking towards us meaning it was the pair we were looking for. “Here’s the hybrid and heretic pair now. Care to explain why you took so long to join the family for dinner.”

“I couldn’t find the right tie.” Jacob lied putting one hand in the pocket of his jacket with his girlfriend sitting down.

She sends him a look slightly confused. “Which is odd considering you don’t own that many. Jacob, what is really going on with you recently?”

Hope, Alina, Missy and Henrik all focused their eyes between my brother and his girlfriend. I tapped my fingers on the table and bit my lip trying to not make it obvious that I knew what he was about to do in a few seconds. My twin brother didn’t take a seat instead he lowered himself down on one knee in front of Hayley Marshall. “Hayley, I should have done this way before we had our daughter and went through death and back together. So now I am done waiting. I love you and our daughter so I want you to be with me forever. So will you become my wife, will you marry me?”

“Even if we didn’t have our daughter I would say yes, Jacob.” She nodded, holding out her hand he could slip the ring on her hand.

He got to his feet holding her face in his hands kissing her gently. She wrapped her arms around his neck kissing him back. “I love you, Hayley, soon to be Lane.”

“And I love you, Jacob.” She declared before they sat down together staring at us.

Missy raised her hands excitedly. “Are we going to be flower girls!”

“I should be the ring bear.” Andrea leaned forward on the table.

Alina and Hope high fived each other holding their hands together in the air. “No we should be bridesmaids not flower girls!”

“Wait, what about me?” Henrik entered the conversation feeling left out.

Raising my hands up in the air I finally ended their bickering knowing we would have to be talking about this for months. “Kids, kids. That’s enough for now. We are on a family vacation. Not a wedding planning cruise. Let’s just enjoy this trip until we go back to normal.”

“You’re mothers right. We should enjoy our vacation.” He raised his glass of bourbon when I did mine. And the others followed clinking our glasses together laughing and weren’t worrying about what was happening in our lives otherwise.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[she-likesorchids]

MANDY!! i had such a great day today 🥹 hung out with the bestie and saw spider-verse again, bought some new comfy foam sandals and bought two funkos for my collection!

also found out that my friend might be able to get charlie to sign my og matt murdock pop — so i am currently screaming (maybe a lil video of him saying hello too 🫠)

hope your day was as good as mine! 🫶🏼 and if not — i'm giving you a big ol' hug rn 🫂

Nik my dearest!

I am so happy you had a good day, all of that sounds simply fabulous!

Unfortunately my uterus chose violence today, so I have been in bed most of the day, but the husband brought me snacks and dinner in bed, so I have been very well taken care of!

[avadisilvs]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Sezane Low Rachel Sandals.

[lavatica]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Candies neutral tone wedge platform sandals in size 7.

[slkdriving]

Devil's Den Ultra - 30 hr

Background

In early September, I was thinking about long trail efforts. One reason was my friend Julia's ManHump effort to celebrate her birthday. Living in Vermont, any excuse to hike and run in the beautiful trails in an effort to train for a bigger event is appealing. A couple days later I rediscovered the Devil's Den Ultra, an event that I heard of but didn't get involved with in the past. As the website says, "The devil will be testing what you believe you are capable of on all distances." It's an annual event that happens to have existed only as long as I've lived in the area and only an hour and half away from home. And conveniently it was not the same weekend as the Newport Marathon that I had put on my calendar several months ago. Knowing that it was entirely a trail run was justification that I could do both the road marathon and ultramarathon in back to back weeks, as it would not be working the body quite in the same way.

So on September 11, 2023, I registered for the 30 hour race and immediately thought of who I'd love to have with me to crew and pace. Thinking back to the Hawk Hundred experience 7 years ago, and even the THON dance marathon back in 2010, I knew I would be physically and emotionally drained in the middle of the night. So my buddy John would be perfect to share the experience with, and I also recruited Ken to pace some nighttime miles (although he was not able to join race weekend). They were down to join, so I now turned to focus on how my training would look. It was the middle of my marathon training, so I figured as I peaked my mileage in the next couple weeks, I'd transition to doing more trail runs and hikes. In fact, this day corresponded to the end of a normally scheduled set of 7 overnight shifts; I actually paused my training after consistent weeks going back to July, so this gave me an extra push to resume with a new spin.

photo credit: @ACARTERCLARK 

One of the training runs was the Three Peaks Mountain Race at the Bolton Valley ski resort (seen above approaching the summit of Vista Mountain). As part of the awesome Wednesday evening trail series Nik Ponzio was organizing/advertising was one of the Three Peaks course previews at the very end of August. It happened to be on a day I could join, and there was a pretty good turn out for a group run at a fairly out of the way location with lousy/wet weather. While the main appeal of the trail race was the 25K event, being only a week before my marathon I was eyeing the new 10K option. That worked out well once I decided to do the Devil's Den on top of the Newport Marathon. The uphill slog early in the race was a good proxy to the type of climbing I'd have at the ultramarathon, but there was also a beautiful, flowy descent that made it a real joy to return to the mountain base before an additional smaller climb and more technical descent. With some of the fastest folks doing the full race, I managed to come in 2nd place; as a well-sponsored event, I netted a $35 Outdoor Gear Exchange coupon and generous pick of random gear, which included a pair of Salomon Speedcross sandals (designed for hiking or recovering from a trail race) in my foot size.

Race Weekend

Friday

I happened to be off from work on Friday, October 14, coinciding with the kickoff of Skirack 9 AM weekly group runs. A nice easy 6ish mile run under 24 hours from Devil's Den was perfect, primarily on the waterfront bike trail. New local business Plink! provided some electrolyte refreshment and samples of their powder as well. At the store, I picked up some sale items including backup fuel and water bottle+bladder. At home after that I finished packing up for the event, including sleeping bag, camp chair, a couple pairs of trail running shoes, multiple shirts including base layers and outer layers, change of pants and shorts, some food for a small cooler and food for snacks, and massage gear.

Around 5 PM John arrived at my place and soon we hit the road. Arriving at the campsite/base operations of the event a quarter mile from the Devil's Den trailhead, we checked in with Jay Mozey, race director/creator, picking up a bag that had unusual items. The four items, aside from my included our favorite candy bar (I said caramello!), a tarot card, Untapped maple syrup "gel", and a red devil hoodie that says The Devil upside on the front (like the art on the race bib) so you see the words right side up looking down while wearing it. We also set up John's tent that we shared back over Memorial Day weekend in the Adirondacks. Since we both were hungry and in search of dinner, we hit the road again for a much shorter drive into downtown Bradford, VT.

As a very small town, seemingly everybody eating out was at the impressive Italian restaurant (Colatina Exit) that we wanted to go to. An 18 minute wait gave us time to mosey along the tiny main street area and stop by the well-regarded Vittles coffee shop, still open for a special event according to the shop's friendly co-owner. Once it was time to be seated, bizarrely, the host said a party had refused to sit upstairs, switching us to a better option than the initial spot by the kitchen. The seating upstairs was within earshot of a live cover band and aside from a wobbly table was flawless. A couple of Cashmere Hoodie pints from local brewery Upper Pass (Tunbridge), stuffed mushrooms, and ample chicken parm made for great pre-race fuel. It was enough food to save a bunch of pasta for after the race, as I was stuffed without being overly so.

After driving back 10 minutes to the race starting area, we got back around 9 PM which meant it was time to sleep! I felt cozy and warm in my sleeping bag and fell asleep quickly.

Saturday

With an adequate, albeit limited amount of sleep in the tent waking up in the middle of the night a couple of times, I awoke for the day to some pre-race satanic type of music before doing final preparations for the race.

This turned out to be a test for the real pump up at 6:55 AM following our pre-race 6:30 meeting. Jay (wearing The Devil hoodie in center of picture) intensely encouraged us to push ourselves using whatever motivation you possess, even when you may think you want to quit.

As he wrapped up with some fist bumps, we got ready to begin.

According to my watch we actually started seconds before 7 AM.

In this picture very early in the first lap, I ran with a small group including a 12-hour runner Elliot and 30-hr runner Eugene. Eugene and I would run all of lap 2 together. Holding his trekking poles here, he said had only used them once before. It turned out many folks used them on this course, which may have been particularly helpful for me on the relentlessly steep downhills. More on that later!

At the top of the big ascent near the overlook at Wright Mountain, the photographer Pete Wood captured each of us nicely.

One of us (not recalling who) also took a selfie of the group of us that power hiked and ran this first of many climbs to the gorgeous vista. I separately took a photo of this view, seen below.

Thanks to this event and the shirt Scott was wearing, I'm now aware of 46climbs, and on a related note, the entry fee for Devil's Den goes towards the Josh Pallotta Fund. Scott and I would run part of lap 8 together when he was doing lap 7. He would go on to finish two more laps than I did with 140km, finishing in 2nd place.

On the third lap, I think, this picture was taken on that initial ascent of Wrights Mountain. It wasn't lap 2 because I was still wearing pants (these shorts were underneath for a quick change). Unlike most steep climbs where ropes are attached to trees to aid in navigation, this was actually kind of loose and unhelpful, especially with the trail's direction drawing you to the right of it pretty quickly. But it looks cool!

Lap 3 was also the one I had the pleasure to spend a big chunk of it with Lee, who was the winner of the 30 hour race. He came prepared and confident, coming off a 100 mile race victory in July. Lee wasn't wrong when he said I was gonna want poles (as you can see him use below), like on lap 10. Although he came a lap short of reaching our shared goal of 100 miles for this devilish race, he did improve on last year's distance completed; this was his third attempt. If these trends continue he will pull it off next time if he wants it!

After the first of two baselayer shirt changes, this photo must have been somewhere in the range of laps 5 through 7, when there was still daylight. I was starting to get physical fatigue but could still run all of the flats and downhills with power hiking the ascents. Relative to the average lap pace I was looking to pull off to complete 100 miles, I was right on target but knew I was using too much energy to do so. Still, I was happy with my effort and was having a great time.

Saturday Night

This is the part of the race I anticipated being the toughest for several, additive (multiplicative?) reasons. 1) Darkness. With a headlamp, while you can see what's in front of you, your vision overall is diminished which lowers your ability to best plan your footfalls. 2) Time on feet. You've now been running/moving for 12 hours. That's a lot. 3) Temperature. It's going to be getting colder, or at the very least feel colder, as you tend to slow down and sweat less. Loss of body heat can lead to hypothermia. 4) Fuel. This is a big one that builds up after all this time. You've now passed through all three primary meal times and it's unlikely you've been able to eat enough food equivalent to that and all the energy and salt you've been using up through the exertion of more than 10,000 feet of elevation gain. With the steep, technical downhills, the breaking on the descents doesn't give much of a break, either. 5) And that ties into the big one, muscle fatigue. As mentioned in the last paragraph, I was starting to feel this a bit during the afternoon well before nightfall. Following lap 7 I was so thankful for a massage therapist who treated my sore calves and hammies. Based on how much discomfort I felt during the massage, the muscles were indeed breaking down. Thinking back to the Hawk Hundred, I could only anticipate a potential debilitating leg cramp as what could happen. Through that massage, an early morning nap, and good fuel, maybe I avoided that type of injury!

The main other thing to note is the importance of having a pacer at this point. While laps 8 and 9 I did by myself in the dark (albeit I'd see other 30 hr folks on the course at times), I could no longer really run much so laps were getting slower as evident from the smoothed pace chart above. And I expected the next one would get slower since it was almost 11 PM when I got back from lap 9. All five of those factors listed above were coming together, and spending a lot of time fueling and not moving at the base area made me decide - yep, I could use a pacer right now. Thankfully, while not dressed to run, John was wearing boots and warm clothes that were good enough to hike through the woods. So after 33 minutes (way more time than any other lap breaks), we set off for a late night journey. John got to experience the whole course, and he set a very fair pace for my energy level. It felt difficult physically going uphill but not overly so, and by walking the downhills, though still challenging, I didn't risk injury as much as if I tried pushing those, in particular the frequent twisting, rocky and rooty sections. We also rested a few times, including at the Wrights Mountain overlook (which still was beautiful in the middle of the night with an assortment of street lights in the distance).

According to the big, handwritten scoreboard, by the time we returned, 3 hours and 8 minutes had elapsed. That was more than 50% more time than the previous lap. Even if I had attempted to resume 2 hour laps, time was not on my side to complete 16 laps (100 miles). Simple arithmetic (even with a sleep-deprived brain) could calculate 6 laps x 2 hours being a minimum of 12 hours needed. It was just shy of 2 AM, so there were 11 hours remaining in the race. There's a reason why it's supposed to be really hard to run 100 miles in 30 hours on this course! So my new goal was to just continue. Unfortunately, over the next hour, aside from the nourishment of bbq pizza (one of I think four slices of pizza I ate over the weekend), I struggled through shivering cold. After slowly finishing noodles and soup that had become cold, I finally motivated myself to leave the fire and make it to the tent a short distance away for much needed sleep. But I arose not only to instantly shiver but could only limp with huge discomfort now putting weight on my right leg. John opened the tent and helped me get comfortable as quickly as possible, minimizing the amount of time I shivered uncontrollably in a pretty damp tent that made it hard to feel warm unless I had fully dry covering. Thankfully the air inside the tent was still relatively warm, and I was exhausted so I soon fell asleep sometime after 3 AM.

Sunday

I woke up from my nap in the tent feeling cold but not shivering. Thank you Hannah for the warm blanket - don't know what I would have done without it with all my warm clothing having become damp from early morning dew. Although I wasn't immediately ready to exit the tent, I forced myself out a little later, after sunrise or a bit after 7 AM. After crawling out of the tent, I first put weight on my left leg, and then surprised myself finding that I could now put weight on my right leg without it hurting much. Walking back and forth from the porta pot, I felt it was go time; no time to think more on it, I would continue as soon as possible. The pizza and cup o'noodles I consumed before the nap would be enough fuel for now.

On lap 11, the first of two that I did not expect to run, I got a boost by watching the 6 mile folks run by me one by one. The leader came by roughly half way through on the nasty Cindy's Trail, closely followed by another runner. Some others passed me on Cindy's big ascent, including Shelly, a beast of an ultrarunner who did 100 miles at RUTfest in 2021. And there was a runner with a dog!

Another runner (I think Matt Hayes?) chatted with me for a little bit as he passed me on the out and back to the eponymous Devil's Den. He was coming off an injury but seemed to be doing pretty well, considering. Running even one lap of this course isn't easy. He expressed that folks doing the 30 hours inspired him and I definitely took that as encouragement to continue the best I could as the final hours ticked by. From this picture, note that I'm only able to fast walk downhills with the pain in my right hamstring and inability to go any faster versus a shuffle. At this point, I'm wearing my final outfit including entirely different shoes, socks, shorts, and shirt with an unnecessary double jacket look around my waist if I started feeling chilled.

[Side note: the socks were nice to change into and entirely expected. The shoes, while great, were forced upon me. Let's go back to Saturday night/early Sunday morning. At 2 something in the morning, I took off the Pearl Izumi trail shoes I had been running in while sitting in front of the fiery fire pit that kept me from shivering. John, after some time, noted the smell of burning rubber. I had minutes prior, visually took account of smoke between the pit and myself but didn't remember or see the shoes in front of me. Sure enough, rubber from one of the shoes had indeed been burning. If you're wondering what that looks like afterwards, here it is.]

As I returned to the base, it was well before 10 AM, which was my mental cutoff as to if I would have to consider not running another lap. So I was mentally set to do one more, a 12th lap to complete 120 km or roughly 75 miles. The lap would not count if I got back at 1 PM and 1 second. Based on how long lap 11 took and how that pace didn't feel overly difficult, I would have plenty of wiggle room if something went wrong. Also, since there were only 3 wristbands - nice thick bands with the iconic devil font saying YOUR WHY>EXCUSES - remaining in the bracelet box, I would be coming back to the finish area for the final time still with 11 bands on my right wrist. Jay assured me it was no matter. Also appreciated him signing me in and out on the big board for most of the laps after the first several - more time to refuel the better, with even seconds adding up.

After taking down some more sugary treats (including homemade, moist pumpkin muffins) to keep my energy up, I asked John if I could have my phone back for the final lap, and he obliged. This was the only lap I didn't log any of on my watch which had shut off its GPS automatically when its battery dropped to 2% on the previous lap. This would also provide some satisfying symmetry as the only other lap I took pictures was during the first lap. Some of the awesome Halloween themed decorations along the course were not set up yet early on, so I snapped a pic of one early in the big ascent.

Many of the trails criss-crossed each other necessitating clear markings like this one. Especially at night, even tracing over the same trails over and over again, the clear signage was clutch.

I also took a picture of some educational material that was part of the Wrights Mountain/Devil's Den Town Forest about various birds that live in this forest. Many may soon migrate southward, such as the chestnut-sided warbler and hermit thrush.

The course includes a series of several trails with people's names, as well as trail names such as Appreciation Way. The sequence includes Ernie to Cindy.

As referred to previously, Cindy is kind of a b*tch. In contrast, Ernie is short and gentle.

However, Cindy does provide a break in the technical steeps by this vernal pool.

After finishing the incline that marks the end of Cindy's Trail for the final time, and after a relatively short time going downhill, I heard some voices. Given the lack of people still on the course, it had to be Calvin and Nick who had been doing the whole thing together. In fact, John and I happened to join the two of them a couple of times in the middle of the night when they were on lap 7 and I was on lap 10. Their goal as stated much earlier in the event was to complete 10 laps, and sure enough, that's what they were on! At this point, I was moving only very slightly faster than they were. So once I caught them, along with Wayne (on lap 11) and another Nick who was pacing them on the lap, I decided to stick with them for the remaining roughly 1.5 miles.

One last look from the overlook at Devil's Den. While skies were overcast for most of the daylight hours on both Saturday and Sunday, there were intervals of sun. A little bit of blue sky can be seen at this time (11:37 AM).

Considering the clock, we were in a perfect position to celebrate our accomplishment hiking into the finish area without time pressure. The four of us were marked in with a last lap return time of 1214 and presented with a heavy and stylish devil medal.

I snapped a photo of the near-final results before we began to make our exit from the race base.

It was noteworthy and impressive that Scott (finished with 14 laps completed) and Lee (finished with 15 laps completed) each were determined to set out again when time was not on their side, based on when they last checked out of the starting area. I figured bragging rights, and the Devil's Skull (!), was on the line even if the odds of completing one final lap were low.

Quick Wrap Up

Although I didn't achieve my primary goal, this event definitely challenged me physically and mentally as it was meant to do. Got to fight back from "the abyss" and came back with the classic black toenails!

So no question about it, this was a successful ultramarathon and a great reminder of what's so great about these types of events. Looking forward to hanging out and doing a few laps at this year's RUTfest, where I'll see some of the same awesome people around.

[wellenoughaboutme]

Morgen

Det første, du gi’r dig til, li’så snart, du vågner, er at gå hen til bordet med dit puslespil.

Ik’ noget med bad eller kaffe eller smøger eller mad først, og du trækker heller aldrig gardinet fra før du gi’r los og begynder at slås med dine brikker.

Du gør det hver eneste morgen, jeg har set det selv, hvordan du kæmper frustreret og fokuseret med puslespillet af al magt Men alligevel har jeg aldrig set det mere end højst halvlagt.

Nogle gange tror jeg, du tror, motivet er hele verden. Smerten i dit blik når du febrilsk og længe prøver at få det hele til at hænge lidt sammen. Gi’ lidt mening. Gå lidt op. Og det er uden stop, når jeg ser dig lede og spejde og skue efter det, Martin Luther King sagde om historiens bue, og om den faktisk bøjer af retfærdighed. Og om der er noget højere. Noget at stå op for. Stop’ op for. Noget at hop’ op for. Ud i verden, ud af sengen, ud at vågne og vække sig. Men brikkerne i puslespillet vil ikke rigtigt lægge sig.

Andre gange er det dig selv, du prøver at lægge, dit selvbillede, din persona, række for række Men brikkerne vil ikke strække. Lidt li’som timerne i den her uge, du heller ik’ rigtig kan overskue. Og tænk, at den her halvfærdige avatar har ansvar for et ægte levende menneske. Barn! Med så mange skridt foran sig, det endnu ik’ har trådt. Og hvis vi er de voksne nu, hvem siger så, at alt bliver godt? Du leder efter en brik, der kan dæk’ og håber, du ik’ bli’r afsløret, før du finder noget retning i din personlige puslespilslægning.

Og så er der alle de gange, hvor brikkerne bare er sorte li’som de bange tanker, som gjorde søvnens timer korte. Sort som spindelvæv og bananfluer, man umuligt kan tælle. Sorte knuder og huller. Asiatisk i vælde. Alligevel lægger du brikkerne op ved siden af hinanden, bare for at se, hvad det kan gi. Om man kan vride mørket for lidt læring. Noget med håb om forandring i. Men læring kræver lys, og det er på lyset, at håbet beror. Og den slags er der intet af på dit puslespilsbord.

*

En morgen banker det på døren, mens du sidder dér ved bordet for dig selv. Du åbner op og der står en fyr, mellemøstlige træk, han slår dig lidt som en rebel. Men milde øjne, som lyser og gnister, da han tager til orde:

”Vidste du godt, at jeg stadig vælter borde?

Og nu har jeg udkig på dit. Og jeg ville elske at la’ det smage min sandal.” Og du kigger stille op på ham, og gi’r et forsagt og forsigtigt nik som signal.

Du kan godt fornemme, at Han godt ved, at det her, det ik’ er så’n bare lige, og det har du ret i, for nu hører du ham sige:  

”Hvor jeg kommer fra, kalder vi det her at sige farvel til livet, farvel til sig selv, dø og miste – og finde livet igen som givet. Men, frygt ikke! Jeg har gået vejen før, og jeg er din følgesvend.”

Jeg bliver simpelthen så glad, da jeg ser dig smile alvorligt og nikke igen.

Og i slowmotion ser du de fyger som gløder af ild til Skt. Hans Puslespilsbrikker i byger, som syreregn uden stedsans.

Og i slowmotion ser du dem falde Som når det skælver om kirsebærtræer. Som manna fra himmelske sale. Som en fløjtende flyvende hær, Som forårsregn på den knastørre jord Og med et er der hverken spor at puslespil eller puslespilsbord.

Og nu river han gardinerne til side i en glide- nde bevægelse og proklamerer:

”Nu er alting nyt.

Før troede du, at du skulle bære det store billede, se de store sammenhænge, Mit barn, alt det har du slæbt på alt for længe! Som om, at alt det kunne være inde i dig! Barn, det store billede bor godt og trygt hos mig!

Og hvis jeg bare kunne vise dig billedet, som jeg ser det, og hvor jeg fører det hele hen. Den verden, jeg føder, det jeg ser og gror i dig, selv dit dystre og uglede sind!

Det er så smukt, at det er til at dø over! (Sku’ det til, ville jeg gøre det igen.)”

*

En fiskehejre flakser forbi dit vindue gennem solens gyldne tråde, mens han taler til dig om at gøre det med morgener på en ny måde.

”Morgen er skabelse. Kærlighed. Liv som opstår og vender tilbage”, det fortæller han, og så citerer han en digter fra gamle dage:

”På himlen har han rejst et telt til solen, den går som en brudgom ud af sit kammer, den gennemløber sin bane glad som en helt.”

”Og”, fortsætter han, ”nogle gange rammer det dig, strålerne varmer, morgenens fyrværkeri. Andre gange må du vide, at bag skyerne sker den vildeste sprudlende symfoni.

Og kan du høre, hvad det er, jeg hvisker, hvert eneste morgengry? ’Denne dag har jeg skabt til din glæde. Min nåde er altid ny!’ Så nu giver jeg dig et nyt morgen-bud: ”Før mad, før kaffe, før bad: Vær glad!

Og så slutter han med at låne lidt ord fra den gamle digter igen:

”Denne dag har Herren skabt, lad os juble og glæde os på den.”

***

[the-luca-ruberia-gang-blog]

Before he can even respond, a loud and obnoxious truck horn started playing a small tune as its loud engine roared and pulled up right beside them. A slim scraggly haired man hops out of the truck and makes his way to them. He had baggy shorts, a dirty, AC/DC shirt, and a pair of sandals. “Well, it’s about time, I was wonderin when that damn plane was goin to land for y’all. How ya doin cousin!?” Nik smiles and hugs him. Then turns to Kim. “Hun, I want you to meet my cousin, Sebastian. Bayou boy, gator, wrestler, tour guide, Demon Hunter contract distributor. This man may have many jobs, but if he’s still one of the greatest friends, and family members I’ve ever known.” Sebastian just smiled and waved at her. “How you doin ma’am? Nik here talks nonstop about you anytime I give him a new contract, he’s always checking his phone to make sure that you’ve texted him.” Sebastian gives a Wiley grin. And Nick smirks at him and gives him a small punch to the shoulder. 

A special meeting! (RP for Kimjones93)

Luca had walked in the rain, just to deliver a package to Kim. Beside heavily as he knocked on the door. “I’m doing just as you requested.. I hope this works..” The package was wrapped in black paper. With a red bow wrapped around it. The name tag didn’t have anything written on it, except for an insignia. And insignia with a coyote face and flame coming off of it.

[prjctdiva]

part of my brain saying who cares about your hair you should wear your new sandals and shorts now vs part of my brain heavily influenced by my mother who thinks I should hide in a cave until my waxing appointment: fight

[slinthoe]

Dance With Me

PAIRING | Niklaus x Reader

GENRE | fluff

WORD COUNT | 988

WARNINGS | sappy?

SUMMARY | Niklaus takes you to a place he adored, but when you arrive, he isn’t pleased.

A/N | Something small I wrote so I could at least publish something within the two slow months.

Pebbles and gravel cracked beneath your feet. With each step, the rubber of your sandals dug into the crevices between your toes. Quietly and closely, you trailed behind Niklaus as he guided you to the place he’d been wanting to show you.

He told you it was behind the woods: a clear path of nice green grass and beautiful orchids, and only a half an hour human walk; only, it had been an hour. He had offered to carry and vamp speed you to the place, but you’d been determined to walk on your own. If only you had accepted the offer, you’d already be at the field, and clean of all the dirt that washed onto your clothes. But due to the embarrassment from your previous stubborn declares, you followed behind the man without any words.

Ahead, Niklaus had begun to climb a high step of rocks, his arms out and ready to steady himself. Beneath his shoes, the rocks crumbled and cracked as he lifted himself. But as he had almost completed the step, his back leg gave out and he slipped.

Falling to the ground with a plat, his hands fell above his head and planted on the hard pebbles, and it would’ve made you laugh if you hadn’t noticed the small cuts that slowly began to heal around his arms as he stood up.

“Would it kill you to be more careful?” You hissed at him. Although he had incredibly fast healing, it still worried you whenever he got hurt.

“No,” he shrugged off, after brushing away the dirt from his jeans. Fixing his posture, he went ahead again and lead you further.

In a few minutes, Niklaus stopped by an empty field of grass. Moving carefully from behind him, you stood beside and admired the plain. Although it wasn’t as Niklaus had described, the field was beautifully littered in forest green grass beneath the dimming light of the sun. The landscape was heavenly, but judging by the way Nik frowned, he wasn’t amused.

“This is supposed to be it,” he blinked, looking around. He was annoyed. He had talked the place up for months, eager to show you once he had dealt with his issues, but the orchids were gone, and his plans had been messed up.

You looked up at him, “it’s okay.” He wasn’t convinced. He should’ve checked it before he had made you walk an agonising hour.

“No, it’s not. I wanted to show you how the orchids…”

The frown he held staked you straight in the heart. Niklaus was never one to show his vulnerability, but he was too upset at himself for possibly disappointing you.

So, you had cut his words, “Will you dance with me?”

You hoped your gesture would cheer him up. So, with a hand held out, you took his and dragged him further into the field. You pulled your phone from your pocket before typing in Niklaus’ favourite classical song.

But as you went to play the song, you paused. Niklaus hasn’t answered your question. A smile spread on your face and you lifted your head to meet his eyes.

Slowly, you asked him again, “Will you dance with me?”

Although he was still troubled, his iconic smirk lifted onto his face and he nodded. He could never pass an opportunity to dance with you. “For you love, anything.”

Then, with the press of a button, you played the song and put your phone in your pocket. Pulling you in, Niklaus held you by the waist and put his chin on your head. He swayed you both to the music. Peacefully, you danced in tandem.

“It was supposed to be a beautiful night,” he told you quietly. His cheek moved to rest on your temple.

“It is, Niklaus.”

“No,” he fought back. As grateful as you were to the beautiful view, Niklaus expected much more from the flowers that used to roam the field.

He pulled himself away from you and looked into your eyes. “We were supposed to pick some orchids and make a bouquet,” he softly smiled. His hands gently held onto your cheeks as he moved your hair that threatened to fall by your face.

“and in midst of that,” the wind blew a chill to your skin, “I was to put a flower behind your ear and tell you how much I fancy you.”

His words made you take a long blink. Niklaus did everything, but he never once seemed to show you some bit of interest. It was either your obliviousness or his subtle flirtations. Rebekah was convinced it was the former.

“And so, I say this with my whole heart,” he continued, his thumb caressed your cheek. “I believe I have been keeping a very important secret from you, love.” It was that pet name that always opened the cage of butterflies in your stomach.

He tilted his head and admired your features with a smile. The pause of his words made your heart pump faster, and Niklaus chuckled at the sound of it. You were eager to hear his thoughts.

“You what?” You stuttered from your anxiousness. Niklaus chuckled again.

“I like you.”

His voice was as soft as the calm wind that blew by your face. With the coming night, the sun began to dim behind Niklaus, and you could barely see the usual bright glow of his blue eyes. But still, the shadows casted perfectly around his features and his smile wasn’t unnoticed.

To Niklaus, your hair kindly flew in the air behind you, and the dimming of the night illuminated your best features. The way your eyes sparkled never failed to make him weak in the knees, and neither did your words.

“I like you too, Niklaus.” That sentence and your kind smile alone made his heart jump in giddiness. Beneath himself and the rising of the bright moon, he was in awe of you.

[abandonedsdjfhcvndfbv]

igot paralyzing goosebumps over THe riddle buy nik kershaw playing at estonian equvalent of ikea and then i tripped on my sandal coming out og an isle and into the way of other people trying to walk past Literally comedic existence

[mangozcat]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. lee donghyuck x fem!reader  𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. he hates summer. he has such a hatred for leaving his house, spending time in the burning hot sand and doing anything besides playing video games at home. that’s why, when you suddenly show the boy a piece of your mind about how he stole the corndog you ordered from the truck nearby, he slightly warms up to the idea of summer.

𝐃𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎. @marklyxxi​ nik my beautiful ray of sunshine!! I was gonna dedicate this to you even before we talked about it in our dm’s, to be honest. it’s been such a wonderful ride so far, and why not show that in a story? this story was honestly inspired by my original hatred for making mutuals (mainly because of drama on my previous blog) and how you came along and just made it disappear like k bro I see you. much love babe <3, and if you’re reading, I hope you enjoy!

𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑. he enjoyed the trips, liked the sun, but he hated the blistering heat and endless girls at the beach throwing themselves at him, and of course, he’d also just rather be inside. indoors had air conditioning and gaming setups. and what did outside have? some tumbleweeds, most likely. not like haechan left his house enough to know.

overall, summer had far more cons than pros, in his opinion.

that’s why, as he was forced to sit out in the sun, staring out at some ocean shore, he felt nothing but annoyance towards his friend. it wasn’t his choice to be at the beach, he was left with no other option when jeno threatened to take away his computer. after all, who would willingly go to some sand-filled land that always burned your feet, had potentially dangerous sea creatures washing up every day, and held very high risk of death by drowning.

yes, because some people do in fact sign up to be a lifeguard, only to stay on their phone the entire shift without a care in the world for that one swimmer struggling to stay above the water. or several, depending on what business days the ocean chose to show up for work.

“you should maybe stop glaring at the water as if it hurt you,” jeno said, an eyebrow raised as he glanced over at his friend. haechan only responded with a short, meaningless hum beneath his breath. rolling his eyes, jeno took a handful of sand and tossed it in the other’s direction, grinning maliciously.

he merely narrowed his eyes, not amused at jeno’s antics. turning back towards the tide, he muttered under his breath about how gaming would be far more eventful than staring at the ocean mindlessly. to which jeno replied with a curt, “then stop staring at the ocean and be productive, you fucking dumbass.”

haechan was, yet again, not amused.

“look,” jeno said blankly, shaking haechan’s shoulders to grab his attention. the boy looked at him, although reluctantly, through his bangs. “I brought you here to help you get out of that house, idiot. not to torture you or bother you, but because I somewhat care about my roommate.”

“yeah, yeah,” haechan said, huffing out. it might not have been jeno’s intentions, but bringing him to the beach alone was bothersome. what was he supposed to do here? all he knew was online, electronic. and suddenly his environment is changed so drastically that it made his head spin.

what was a gamer supposed to do at the beach, with no electronics?

haechan glanced around, taking in the sight of the beach for what seemed like the first time since arriving. there were plenty of people in the water, splashing around joyously. somewhere down the sandy plain was a volleyball net, where children were tripping while chasing after the ball, not mindful of their feet whatsoever. but, every time, they managed to get up, smile, and return to what they were doing. there was a food truck near the entrance, and he smiled to himself at the sight of one of his favorite things: food.

“and of course, I don’t want you to be a virgin forever,” jeno concluded, making haechan immediately groan. he wasn’t a virgin, and jeno knew that pretty well, but it was always going to be a running joke that he was; all because jeno, and several of their friends, thought that he couldn’t dedicate more to a girl than he was dedicating to his games.

maybe they weren’t too far off. simply elbowing his friend in the side, haechan pointed towards the food truck. jeno grinned at the sight, saying, “oh, so now you’re interested in the beach? wow, if only I had known that all it took was food, I definitely would’ve bribed you sooner.”

“y’know, I suddenly don’t want food anymore.” haechan huffed out, glaring at his friend. jeno immediately frowned, holding up his hands in surrender at the genuine look of annoyance on his friend’s face.

“fine, fine!” jeno said, breaking into a smile as he quickly dropped his hands to tickle viciously at haechan’s sides. the boy yelped out, his cries quickly turning into laughs of both joy and pain. haechan couldn’t determine which was more powerful as his brain quickly mushed over at the brain numbing sensation.

“s-stop it!” he cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he clutched at his stomach with one hand while another weakly reached to clasp around jeno’s wrist. jeno simply laughed loudly, continuing his torment. when haechan finally seemed to have enough (mostly because he was whining about how he was gonna pee himself soon), jeno finally stopped.

giving haechan some time to recover from the abuse, jeno waited patiently, chuckling occasionally at his friend’s expense, until finally speaking. reaching his hands back to haechan’s sides, making him cry out even though he wasn’t touching him, he said, “do you promise to attempt to have fun?”

“n-nope!” haechan said, giggling mischeviously as he tested his friend.

jeno simply shook his head, putting his hands on haechan’s sides finally, ready to start tickling again (but with no remorse this time), hyuck immediately cried out, whacking his hands away. whining about how he was “sensitive”, he finally agreed to attempt having fun at a place he despised.

his first idea had been to go to the food truck. if he was going to have fun at the beach, the only reasonable explanation for it would be the endless supply of snacks in his stomach. of course, it just so happened that when he arrived, they were fresh out of what he wanted most; corndogs.

“well, promise over, I tried. can we go home now?” haechan said eagerly, turning to walk towards the direction of where jeno’s car was parked. instead, he was met with the man’s hand on his shoulder, turning him back around with a tsk under his breath.

“nice try,” jeno said, nodding to himself before straightening his expression completely. “but no.”

haechan whined as jeno pushed him, using both hands on his back to force him forward, sliding him soundly. he started ranting loudly, making jeno groan out as he was forced to carry both his mental and physical weight back to where their towels were on the ground.

“it’s actually impossible to have fun at this place, jen,” he said matter-of-factly, even pointing a finger up to further accentuate his point. “it’s hot outside, the water is freezing- and you know I don’t do well in climates where the temperatures are completely opposites at times! -and they’re fresh out of corndogs, and I have no phone!”

when he didn’t hear a complaint or argument from jeno, he turned around. suddenly realizing that jeno had stopped pushing him at one point and that he was ranting to himself, standing alone in the middle of the beach, he nodded. “ok, well that’s not awkward at all.”

he stumbled over to a nearby towel- one that he swears is his -and sat down, leaning back to stare up at the clouds. realizing that was a dumb idea as the sun burned a simmering beam of light right into his eyes, he covered them. seeing red, rainbow colored specks behind his eyelids, he sighed to himself. he hadn’t even been at the beach for an hour and he was already, as expected, miserable and bored out of his mind.

sitting up, he rested his chin on his knees as he glanced around. he could’ve sworn he left a bag with sweats laying right at the end of the towel. jeno must’ve put them in his car, haechan thought inwardly. continuing his inspection, he suddenly spotted it; a gleaming, greasy, yummy looking corndog.

it was just sitting there, in all it’s glory, making his mouth water.

he deserved the snack. he wasn’t too sure why it was there or how it had gotten there, but he, yet again, assumed that jeno had worked his magic to get him a corndog. after all, he did want the boy to have a good time; and what better way than to get him a corndog, like he wanted?

eagerly reaching his hand toward the plated snack, he immediately bit into the food. it tasted good, but yet again, he expected no different.

until, of course, it was whacked out of his hand with a sandal. haechan immediately yelped at the burning sensation erupting on his hand, rubbing at the soft skin. he glanced up at the attacker, eyes widening when he saw a girl standing before him, looking furiously as she eyed, not him, but the corndog laying in the sand a few meters away.

oh.

well, that’s not good.

he hopped up, sending her a charming smile before darting away, panicking inside as he ran to the opposite side of the beach, where he realized his towel was. fucking dumbass, he said in his head, should’ve realized that wasn’t mine at first.

he had many regrets, but taking a bite of that corndog wasn’t one of them. or at least, he confidently said that in his head before realizing that the girl was right behind him. he turned at the feeling of a tap on his shoulder, having to glance down slightly to meet eyes with her. she had her eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest, sandal still in hand.

under any other circumstances, he would’ve found the girl attractive. but he had enough common sense to realize that it wasn’t a moment to fantasize when she looked murderous.

“now listen here, you corndog thief!” she bit out, jutting her bottom lip out in a pout as she thought of her words carefully. cute, he thought as her facade dropped for a moment. “that was the last corndog and I paid four of my precious dollars for it, sir, so you better buy me another one.”

“but they’re out!” he whined, annoyed at the thought of obeying her. she suddenly snapped her head at him, pushing close, looking like a snake ready to bite. he yelped, jumping back a short distance before rasping out a, “ok, ok! fine, I’ll buy you another corndog when they make some more.”

jeno wrapped an arm around haechan’s shoulder, chewing a corndog between his teeth as he grinned at the two. they both looked at him, surprised and furious. he only smiled to himself, taking a slow and teasing bite as he said, “sorry, guys, this is the last one.”

and haechan swore he had never tackled someone sooner.

he still owed the girl a corndog, but when she jumped to immediately help him tickle jeno until the corndog stuck to the sand beneath them, he figured it wouldn’t be so bad if he had to come back to repay his debt.