#Soap Free Carpet Cleaning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform · 23 days ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 Day Thirty One

Handcuffs

Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Hey Ghost.” Soap was waiting for him in the hallway as he opened the door.

“Hey, Soap.” Ghost felt the stress of work dropping from his shoulders as he closed the door behind him, matching Soap’s smile as he dropped his bag and kicked his boots off, before spreading his arms wide. Soap leapt into them, nuzzling his face into Ghost’s chest, using that as a distraction as he reached up to pull his tie off. He’d successfully tossed it to the ground, when Ghost closed his arms around him, holding him tight and lifting him an inch off the ground. Soap gasped, grabbing onto Ghost’s shirt collar and holding tight as he stretched his feet out, balancing on his tiptoes until Ghost let him down.

Soap wriggled out of Ghost’s arms, taking his hand and tugging him through the house, his gut twisting with nerves as he hoped that Ghost would like his surprise. “So, I got you a little something…”

“Do tell.” Ghost let himself be led to their living room, guided to sit on their sofa, and sat still as Soap removed his jacket, then his shirt. He was quickly piecing together a vague idea of where this was going, especially when Soap took his shirt off, too.

“So, you know how you said you wanted to try an escape room?” Soap said, his tone sounding like he was trying to casually change the subject as he walked around behind the sofa.

“Yeah.” Ghost rolled his head back, trying to follow Soap with his eyes. He’d mentioned it offhandedly, when they’d been out in town at the weekend, and the fake biohazard symbol on the poster had piqued Ghost’s interest.

“Good.” Soap nudged his head back up, leaning over the back of the sofa, putting a folded card into Ghost’s right hand, and holding the left between his own hands. “Thought I’d give you a taste of it, here at home.”

Ghost chuckled, flipping the folded card over in his hand as Soap gently massaged his knuckles. “So, what do I win?”

“Your freedom, duh. You escape the trap.” Soap laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Go on, open it.”

Ghost rolled his eyes and opened the card, scanning through the short lines of text he found inside. It was a riddle, a pretty clever one, Ghost had to admit, even if the answer of, ‘go fuck your boyfriend to escape’, was a little obvious because of the context clues.

He chuckled as he set it down, about to turn and face Soap, when he heard a distinctively familiar metallic click, and he looked up to see one cuff from the pair fastened around his left wrist, and the other one closing around Soap’s right.

The other cuff clicked, and Johnny smiled at him.

Simon burst out laughing. “Smooth, Johnny. Real smooth.”

“Yeah, well. You’re in it now, and you know what you have to do.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ghost twisted his hand, hooking his fingers around the short chain, pulling on the cuffs, twisting it so the metal dug into Soap’s wrist. He yelped, darting back as Ghost leaned up, pulling his arm back, close to his body, dragging Soap’s hand, and by extension Soap, back towards Ghost. “I also know that you can’t get away from me.”

“Fuck. I didn’t think of that.” Soap sighed, hanging his head before grinning and scrambling up to climb over the back of the sofa. “Is there any chance that you’re feeling nice?”

“Sure, Johnny.” Ghost tugged Soap close and kissed him, running his free hand down over his bare torso. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Soap grinned again, quickly following Ghost as he stood and led the way to the bedroom, hand in hand with his boyfriend, the short chain clinking between them. Soap cuddled up to Ghost’s side as they walked, feet shuffling along the carpet as Ghost pushed open their bedroom door to find the room clean and tidied, with the blind drawn down and fresh sheets on the bed. Ghost smiled, leaning over to kiss Soap on the forehead. Soap always did have an eye for the important details.

When Ghost lingered in the door, Soap took over, hurrying to the bed, tugging Ghost along behind him. He dropped onto it first, laughing as Ghost immediately dropped down on top of him, because they were attached at the wrist, so where he went, Ghost went; not that they needed to be physically attached for that to happen.

Ghost cupped Soap’s chin, using his cuffed hand to hold him up as he kissed Soap, melding their mouths together in the way that their mouths did when they kissed; the way that was so utterly perfect that it made Soap’s heart swell, and question if his sister had been right, and that soulmates were in fact real…

Ghost moved his hand to Soap’s shoulder and rolled them over to Soap’s right, turning the pair of them on their sides, and then over again, putting Soap on top of him as Ghost cupped the back of his head and shifted his hips, making sure that Soap could feel that Ghost was hard through his slacks.

Soap grunted into Ghost’s mouth, gasping as he pulled back from the kiss. He didn’t get very far, what with Ghost’s hand on the back of his head, and him sucking Soap’s lip into his mouth. Soap whined, and Ghost let him go, letting him shuffle up and reach for the waistband of his joggers.

“Uh, uh. Let me handle it. I’m the… escapee, here.” Ghost tutted, twisting his hand again to grab hold of Soap’s, making him let go before he rolled them over again, leaning to one side as he tugged Soap’s joggers down himself.

Ghost quickly became aware that Soap was so eager, he’d forgone underwear today, when his hard dick was immediately exposed to him. Ghost elected to ignore it; instead brushing his hand over Soap’s thighs, his knees, his shins, as his other hand rested on Soap’s hip. Soap tugged on the cuff, trying to move it, but Ghost held firm, working slowly as he massaged Soap’s thighs, pushing them open, dipping a hand between them, before realising that he didn’t have enough space to work with.

He leant up and tugged a pillow down from the top of the bed, boosting Soap up and pushing it under his ass, propping Soap’s hips up to the proper height. Soap settled on the pillow, sighing comfortably, but even that couldn’t disguise the slight frown on his face, because Ghost hadn’t even touched his cock yet. Instead, Ghost was rising onto his knees, using both of his hands to undo his slacks, twisting the cuff again, making Soap’s hand brush up against his dick, hard inside his briefs. Soap whined, straining his arms as he reached down for Ghost’s cock, only ending up with his hands pinned to the bed for his efforts, leaving Ghost with no option to kick his briefs and slacks off, dropping them to the floor as he tutted at Soap.

“Trying to stop me, are you?” Ghost murmured. “You thought about that? You jerk me off, I won’t be able to fuck you, and get out of these? You want for me to have to stay handcuffed to you forever?”

“Ah…” Soap’s head fell back, surprised at Ghost’s commitment to the bit, and trying to match it. “You saw through my ruse.”

Ghost met his serious expression, and they both burst out laughing, Ghost half collapsing on top of Soap again as they kissed, easing their bodies against each other as Ghost’s heart fluttered. Soap was fucking perfect. His perfect guy. His guy.

Ghost took a deep breath as he leant back from the kiss and lifted Soap’s legs up, resting them over his thighs. He dipped his left hand under them to guide his dick towards Soap’s asshole, swallowing when he felt the cuff twist around his wrist, and Soap’s hand land on top of his.

“Need a hand?” He murmured, making Ghost laugh again.

“Love you.”

“You too.” Soap kissed him, then inhaled sharply, eyes wide as they both guided Ghost’s dick into his ass.

Ghost linked their fingers together, pulling them out from under their thighs as he rolled his hips forward. He leant down over Soap as he filled him up, tucking his free arm behind his head, using it to drag Soap up from the bed as he found the best angle to fuck him in, rolling his hips into him slowly and steadily. Soap kissed him, and they swallowed each other’s groans, leaving the only other noise in the room beside Ghost’s thighs hitting Soap’s, to be the little clink of the chain between the cuffs, as Soap pressed their joined hands back against Ghost’s shoulder, wrapping the pair up together as Ghost fucked him, slowly, sweetly, tenderly.

Ghost gasped when Soap clenched around him, cumming hard and begging for Ghost to come too, to come with him, and Ghost obliged. Or his dick did. It wasn’t like that was something he had a direct, conscious control over.

Ghost filled Soap up, all the while still kissing him. He got lost in Soap, laying on top of him, Soap’s tongue dancing in and out of his mouth until Ghost was soft in Soap’s ass, and neither of them knew how much time had passed.

When Ghost did eventually look up, the room was dark, lit only by the faint light of the streetlight outside, filtering through the thick blind in the window. He looked back down at Soap. His mouth was open, lips swollen, looking blissfully peaceful, reaching up for Ghost’s face again, his movement making the chain clink, and prompting Ghost to touch the cuffs.

“Do I escape now?” Ghost murmured, his need to cuddle Soap screaming for the activity to be unimpeded by the restriction of movement the handcuffs caused.

Soap’s eyes widened. “Fuck. I think Gaz still has the keys. He didn’t get them back to me yet…”

Ghost burst out laughing again, collapsing at Soap’s side, gently running his hands down Soap’s face. “I love you.”

“Really?” Soap looked at him, pouting.

“Yeah.” Ghost ran his thumb over Soap’s lip. “I can bear to be handcuffed to you a little longer.”

Soap snorted, the embarrassed warmth disappearing from his face. “I think I have a spare set. Should be in a bag, just…”

“Not sure where the bag is?”

Soap nodded.

“It’s alright.” Ghost poked his cheek. “We can look together.”

26 notes · View notes

chvnnie · 2 years ago

Note

I know you just did a soft dom Chan but I personally am obsessed with soft dom Changbin. Just the care-giving-est praising-est most adoring dom. He's all big and strong and he uses it to make you feel tiny (even if you physically aren't) and safe and warm I just.....

get out of my head rn this is some of my favorite shit of ALL. TIME.

i’m on the daddy dom agenda today and you’re all coming along for the journey.

SMUT — MINORS DNI

Changbin thinks it’s endearing that you still get flustered when he looks at you. How you shy away when he grabs your hand in public. The little giggle you give any time he hugs you, squeezing and lifting you as he spins in a circle.

It would be impossible to pick his favorite thing about you because everything about you is his favorite. So, he tries to narrow it down depending on the moment. What has him so infatuated that he feels like he’s falling in love all over again?

Right now it’s your disheveled hair, coming out of the braids you put them in before bed. His worn out shirt, too many sizes too big on you, clinging to your body from the static of the bedsheets. The fist rubbing your eyes, the lips parted to release a big yawn.

Oh, you precious little thing. Groaning as you flip in the bed, rolling into his body and clinging to him by the side like a koala. Your ear rests just above his heart, the gentle thud like a lullaby. Easing your eyes shut once more.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is raspy, dry and cracking from sleep. “It’s time to get up—“

“No.” You bury your face in his bare chest, the heavy scent of his body soap soothing your fussy soul. “Don’t want.”

“I know.” Softly, he takes off the hair ties keeping your braids in, letting the hair fall free before he combs it with his fingers. “But we gotta.”

Changbin tries to sit up, to move so you have no choice. Though exhausted, you find the effort to roll on top of him. Pinning him down.

“No.”

As if you’ve forgotten his strength. It’s okay, it’s early; it takes his brain a minute to wake up too. Arms firmly wrapped around you, he stands up with ease, despite your whines of protest.

“Yes.”

He loves the cute way you put, eyebrows furrowed as you give your best glare up at him. It doesn’t stop him from putting the fluffy, pink headband on your, pushing the stray hairs out of your face. He lathers the face wash in his hands before massaging it on your cheeks.

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” He teases, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him and get soap on the tip of it. As grumpy as you are, you don’t move a muscle. Sitting perfectly on the bathroom counter as he washes your face before his own.

It’s like this every morning. You on the counter, him standing in front of you. Helping you get ready for the day as he readies himself. Are you fully capable of doing it on your own? Of course, and if you wanted to, Changbin would back off. But doing things for you is his favorite way to show his love.

Why does baby have to do anything when daddy is here?

Once your face and teeth are clean, you follow him into the closet. Sitting on the ground as he picks your gym clothes, packs an extra outfit to change into after you’re done.

“I don’t really want to go today.” You say with a sigh when he places the matching pink set in front of you. “Can we skip?”

“We had a rest day yesterday.” He takes the sweats he slept in off, tossing them aside before he starts to look for his own clothes. “It’s an easy day today. Just cardio.”

Oh, how dramatic you must be feeling today. Sighing before laying on the plush carpet floor, arm slung over your eyes.

“Just cardio? Daddy, cardio is the worst—“

Changbin’s hunt for a gym fit is abandoned, laughing as he kneels over you. In your show, the shirt you’re wearing has hiked up, cotton panties peeking from underneath it. Light blue with clouds decorating the fabric.

“Oh, baby.” His hands wrap around your wrists, moving your arms from your face. “It must be so hard to be you.”

Though you try to hold your pout, he can see the smile cracking. Nodding up at him.

“If you go, I’ll give you a treat.”

Suddenly, you look serious. “What kind of treat?”

Changbin just smiles at you before squeezing your wrists, bringing them above your head and holding them there.

Oh, how precious you are with wide eyes, unable to meet his gaze. Suddenly aware of how close his hips are to your own, how you’re stuck beneath his body. The fussy, pouty little girl he’s dealt with all morning now too shy to look at him. Squirming under his hold, not because you want out. But because that fuzzy, warm feeling has started to bloom.

You mumble something, and he’s pretty sure he knows what you said. But where’s the fun is giving in?

“Speak up, baby.” Changbin says, moving your wrists to one hand so he can turn your head back towards him. “Daddy can’t hear you.”

You swallow dryly, batting your lashes up at him. “W-want it now.”

“Already?” He teases with a chuckle, thumb stroking just beneath your lower lip. “But we were up late last night playing, baby. Isn’t that enough?”

It’s quick, the movement of your head. The soft whimpers that vibrate on his thumb. “No. No, I want more-“

Changbin loves how insatiable you can get. How one look or little word can turn you into a whimpering, needy girl. So obsessed with his cock that it’s all you can think about, slowly going mad the longer it takes to get it.

He loves how badly you need him, because he needs you just as much. If not more.

Your little gasps are so precious, dainty hands clutching at his broad shoulders as his cock works it’s way inside you. What he lacks in length, which isn’t much, he makes up for in width. The stretch always a little painful, burning and making your legs snap close.

“Shh, baby.” He whispers when your eyes start to water, face scrunching in pain.

“O-ouch—“

“I know, princess. Daddy’s got you.”

He makes sure to hold you close to his body, thumb stroking your hip bone as he bottoms out. Letting your head roll back, a broken, tearful moan coming from your lips. Leaning down, he kisses your exposed neck softly.

“You’re doing such a good job.” He mumbles against your skin. “So proud of my baby.”

When your walls flutter around him, the praise making your dizzy, Changbin begins to rock his hips. Rolling in a motion to get you more comfortable, pain morphing into pleasure as your cunt starts to adjust to him.

“More?” You whine out.

As long as you are his, you’ll want for nothing. Happily, Changbin starts to properly fuck you. Head buried in your neck, kissing and biting the skin. Carefully sucking beneath your ear to feel you twitch, to mark what’s his.

“Fuck.” He groans beneath your ear, his own eyes fluttering a bit. While he’ll tease you for slipping from him, so overwhelmed by his cock that you lose all thoughts, he feels it too. Drunk on your cunt, consumed by the perfect feeling that takes over his body when he’s deep inside you. You don’t notice how his groan has shifted into a low whimper. “It’s like this pussy was made for me.”

You let out the most delight cry when he hits the best spot, twitching intensely in his hold. Clinging to him as the grip on your sanity is lost.

“I-is yours.” Your words are slurred, almost incoherent. “All daddy’s—“

“Aw, baby. You’re so sweet.” He grunts as he thrusts harder, lingering deep inside as the tears break from your eyes. “Always perfect for daddy.”

He loves the way your eyes seem to brighten when you look at him, as if all of the love in the world is held within them. It makes him feel fuzzy, heart hammering and giggles scratching at his throat. Dizzy with how lovesick you’ve made him.

Your little hands cup his face, holding it still so you can look at him. Every inch of him, every bump, scar, ridge. The stroke of your thumbs on the apples of his cheeks is so soft, as if you’re holding fragile glass.

“Daddy perfect.” You whisper, lips trembling as they form an earnest smile. Beaming at him brighter than any star in the sky.

Changbin can’t pick what he loves the most about you, but he really thinks it’s how much you love him.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #chvnnie thots

394 notes · View notes

lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet | Soap MacTavish

A/N: I need this man carnally... in a way that is concerning to feminism :D

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), GN!Reader, smut, mentions of gun/knife play

Word Count: 1.7k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ SOAP MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ have a request? // ao3 ver.

NSFW Alphabet | Soap MacTavish

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He would help you clean yourself off after, and probably get you some water or run a bath if you needed it. He would pepper kisses along any parts of you he was too rough with—the hickeys, scratches, or indents of his fingers when they dug into your flesh.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On his body, I feel like he loves his own thighs. How firm and muscular they are. They’re very sensitive and if you ever sit on his lap or grind on his thighs, he’d literally let you do it forever if he could.

On a partner, he’s an ass man. Even when not doing the deed, he’ll be ogling at it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Heavy on the breeding kink, but won’t do it without your permission. If he can’t finish inside of you, loves cumming on your cleavage, practically painting you with it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Accidentally got turned on when you yelled at him for something, but he won’t ever admit that to you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man is a WHORE.

He’s not a womanizer or anything, but he’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, often not having time for anything more serious. Soap isn’t some sex god, but he definitely knows his way around the person he’s with—how he’ll figure out what makes them weak for him, and use it every time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Standing missionary—you on your back on the surface, while he stays standing, holding each of your legs.

Spooning position—both of you on your side on the bed, holding up your leg so you can remain the little spoon as he’s inside you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He often tries to be serious, but fails. He’s not afraid to laugh if he or you slips, or bonks your head on something when things get heated enough. Soap’s just not the type who can turn off his humorous side, even when he’s buried inside you.

Besides, if he can make you giggle during sex, he’s won the lottery. Nothing turns him on more than knowing you’re comfortable with him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man has a mohawk. He’s very serious about his hair, especially down there. He definitely keeps himself well-groomed, at least as well as he can when deployed. If you ever mentioned it, he would change it according to your preferences, but overall he’d stay trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He loves keeping things romantic, but isn’t afraid to go dirty if that’s something you want from him. The only exception to being sensual would be if you gave permission to be used as a stress reliever; after a hard mission, etc…

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s not excessive with masturbation, despite how needy he can be. Nothing replaces actually feeling your walls wrapped around his cock.

He jerks off to the polaroid of you he has in his wallet, nearly every time he’s deployed. Sometimes if he’s desperate enough, he’ll fiddle with the bracelet while he gets himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

TELL ME I'M WRONG BUT—he has a free-use kink and he’s not ashamed of it. As long as he’s not focused on something serious, he’ll let you use him for your own pleasure. Mouth, thighs, fingers, etc… anything you want to use to get yourself off.

Pain kink—mans has a mohawk and you’re telling me he wouldn’t want you to pull on it. He’d mainly only want to receive the pain, however. You leaving scratches down his back or gripping his jaw tightly to make him look at you when he’s subbing? He’d probably propose on the spot.

Let me spell it out. M-U-N-C-H!! He will literally eat you out and expect nothing in return, sometimes picking random points in the day to do it, and then walk away like it was nothing after (w/ prior consent obv.)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Loves when you two have sex in the kitchen or on the dining table when he’s home. He loves how domestic and cozy it feels—bonus points for actually having some privacy with you for once. When he’s at the base, he loves the risk of fucking you in the training room just after his workout.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He really gets going when you give the cocky attitude back to him, especially if you match his chaotic energy while you do it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never do knife play or gunplay, just not something he’s comfortable or confident in. Anything that would actually be dangerous is not what he wants. He’s fucking you so he can get you and himself off, not end up in a hospital.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a sucker for both. Soap loves maintaining eye contact, receiving or giving. He wants you to see how good you’re making him feel, and vice versa when he’s giving.

Recieving: He adores when you suck him off, allowing him to fuck your throat. He never gets too carried away with it, he doesn’t want you to lose your voice, because then he won’t hear your moans later.

Giving: He typically ends up eating you out no matter what, and he won’t accept arguments about it. If you’re turned, he’s eating you out. No questions.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time he’s moderate to fast with his thrusts, but not so fast he overexerts himself or you. He doesn’t want to cum so quickly that it feels wasted. He likes the sounds of skin slapping that fill the room, but duly enjoys when he’s going slow enough to hear your wetness.

Deep down he wants you to let him destroy you sometime, especially after a rough day, but it’s not often he shows it. He loves using the element of surprise to his advantage.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

TBH as much of a manwhore as he is, I don’t think he wants quickies as much. He likes to spend his time with you, and not be held back by time. If there was some situation where a quickie might be the last time you two fuck for a while, then he would, but he’d rather savor his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

It’s all about what you want first. Sometimes he’ll get an idea from a porno he watched, or a scene in a movie, and bring it up subtly—however, it’s rarely anything outlandish or harmful.

That’s about as far as he’ll with experimenting unless it’s something you bring up. Soap already knows what he likes, and how he likes it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’ll go as many rounds as you want him to. One and done? Perfect, you’ll have time for a movie or dinner. Multiple? Just as good, because he gets to feel you wrapped around him longer. He’s able to maintain a lot of stamina both from work and his general experience with sex.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He wouldn’t use them on himself, but if his partner wanted one used on them, he would do it. He’s not actually threatened by you using toys on yourself (duh) but he’d probably joke about it, saying something sarcastic like “I got all I need right here, lad/lass” while he points to his mouth or bulge.

But then he’d end up admitting you were on to something with the toy play so… (^_-)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He attempts cruel teasing every once and a while, sometimes relishing in you squirm for him, but he usually wants you so bad he gives in to your begging rather quickly. He can’t stand to see the pout on your face, or if you tear up from overstim./edging.

If it’s something you really want him to do, he would do it, but he gets very needy as well in the process.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not super loud in general, but if he’s subbing for you he’ll let out small groans of approval, especially if you’re degrading him. On top, he keeps the moans to a minimum.

He loves whispering Gaelic in your ear, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his accent and growly voice.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He gets extra frisky when he’s drunk, and considering how high his tolerance is, that’s not often. If you’re out for dinner/drinks, and you have something nice on paired with intoxication = he’s feral.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s pretty built, focusing mostly on his biceps and thighs when he works out—not on toned abs or back muscles. His lower stomach has a happy trail from his belly button to his pubes, and he has a slightly noticeable V line down his pelvis.

I don’t think he’s ginormous down there. He’s average, but not too a fault of course. Probably about 4 inches when soft—5.5-6 inches when hard—and he’s not super girthy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He gets really needy when he’s deployed for long enough. During the day it won’t show, but as soon as he’s in bed at night or alone with you, he makes it pretty obvious what he wants.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

I feel like he gets exhausted quite quickly afterward, especially if he puts extra effort into pleasuring you first. Of course, he would do some aftercare with you, but beyond that, he'd probably collapsed on the bed within ten minutes—snoring like a grizzly bear.

#soap mctavish #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #call of duty

380 notes · View notes

invisibleraven · 7 months ago

Note

"I am no longer accepting this." for Willie because he seems like such a chill dude...

Willie never intended to become a street kid really. His parents died when he was tiny, and he floated from foster home to foster home through his youth. Then after a particularly bad time in one he ran away-taking what food and cash he could before finding a church to sleep the night in.

That had been years ago now-and he had learned to adapt. Taking odd jobs designing boards and waiting tables when he could. Panhandling and even begging when things got desperate.

Then he met Caleb.

Caleb found him on the street, looking rather pathetic, and offered him a warm meal, a hot shower, and a place to stay.

Willie accepted-never realizing the catch that would come. How he would be conscripted into work-selling himself out on the street, giving half his earnings to Caleb in order to keep his belly full and a roof over his head.

He supposed there were worse ways to live. He picked the guy, he set the terms, and he kept some of the money which he put away for the future-so he could find a life of his own eventually.

Then Caleb started pushing him towards some clientele he wished to woo for his more legitimate businesses. It meant a bigger paycheque, but less desirable beaus. They were usually older, wealthier, and entitled-meaning they felt he was property more than being company. Willie ended more evenings than not miserable and broken.

"You're to be commended," Caleb commented. "Mr. Brandon was supremely pleased with you."

"I was less than pleased with him," Willie snarked back. "Am I done with the glad handing now?"

"Not quite yet," Caleb replied coolly. 'Remember you owe me-if not for me where would you be? Starving on the street, half dead from the cold. So you can plaster on a smile for a few more dates can't you?'

Willie's smile was more grim than acquiescent, but he nodded. He did owe Caleb, who knows if he would have lived much longer on the streets. But it still stung to be owned, body and soul, and not have a choice in where his own life was heading.

Yet he endured, suffering through john after john who manhandled him, pulled his hair, didn't care for his own pleasure or comfort.

Then one man-he never did catch his real name-left Willie limping, bleeding, and sobbing into the cheap motel carpet, covered in fluids and stained, crumpled bills with a spitted insult.

He can't recall how long he lay there, heart broken over what he had been reduced to. Nothing was worth this-no debt, no sense of gratitude, nothing. Eventually he dragged himself to the shower, using a thing sliver of soap to scrub himself clean-though it would never be clean enough.

He kept his expression still as he left-never let 'em see you cry.

That is until he stormed into Caleb's office. "I'm done."

Caleb barely glanced up at him. "Done with what William? From what I heard Mr. Cooper was supremely pleased, he even forwarded over a tip." He shoved a stack of bills across the table.

Willie shuddered at the blood money-he hadn't even taken the money that had littered the hotel room. "I am no longer accepting this-this horror show you've turned my life into. I'm done Caleb. My debt is paid."

"The hell it is!" Caleb shouted, standing. "I own you William! You don't leave unless I let you."

"Who's gonna stop me?" Willie retorted, turning from the office. He didn't look back, not even as Caleb threatened to ruin him. He had money in the bank, and he could go anywhere he wanted.

He was finally-and forever-free.

#filled prompts #ficlet #caleb & willie #julie and the phantoms

16 notes · View notes

star-my · 10 months ago

Text

berserk tiger - iii. interlocution

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Kim Seo-ah (OC)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 2.2k

CW: characters discuss their relationship (ew, emotions), author's questionable sense of humour leaks through, character is tipsy/has a hangover

A/N: No beta so feel free to point out typos or give concrit. Compliments are always nice. Moodboard photos are taken from Pinterest, edit is mine.

| Series Masterlist & Description | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Taglist (open): @bangtan-famiglia-net@bangtanwritershq @veronawrites

Seo-ah awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the melodic twittering floating in through the window opened a crack.

The heavy curtains were pulled, but a sliver of sunlight made its way through the slit in the middle, showcasing the fluff dancing in the air over her toes.

Covering a yawn, she got out of bed and stretched, noting the wrinkle-free blankets on the other half of the bed. Either Yoongi had made his half when he left or he’d never joined her in the first place. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The shower in the ensuite was large and had far too many spouts for one person, or even two. Lately, Seo-ah had taken to using soap when she washed her hair, figuring she could save the cost of hair products, so she hadn’t brought any with her. She helped herself to the ones on the ledge, inhaling the ginger and mint scent with a pleased hum.

Showered and dressed, she headed to the kitchen to make breakfast and found Yoongi and Jinah cleaning up the island together.

A hint of pink showed on his ears and across his cheeks, and Jinah had a far-too-familiar smugness about her. Seo-ah squeezed her eyes shut, then stepped forward with a cheery greeting.

Yoongi greeted her, seemingly relieved, and Jinah gave her nothing but a pleased smirk. “Your plate is under the dome on the table,” she nodded. “We debated saving you some since you’re such a layabed, but decided you do enough to merit a holiday, so I made you a bowl.”

Seo-ah considered calling her mischievous little sister out on her veiled statements but decided she wasn’t prepared to deal with what that would unleash.

“You could’ve woken me up,” she protested, pulling out a chair and taking the chopsticks Yoongi handed her with a smile.

“No, you deserve to sleep in, unnie. Besides, now I can catch up on knowing my brother-in-law!”

Seo-ah choked on her rice. Jinah was Agust D’s sister-in-law, and was calling him oppa. She needed a nap, or maybe more of last night’s whisky.

“I’m glad my two favourite people are getting along,” she managed.

Jinah smiled serenely and Yoongi made his escape.

~~~

Seo-ah’s phone buzzed. A text from Yoongi.

Min Yoongi: Can you come to my office?

A moment later, another text popped up.

Min Yoongi: The one in my home, not downtown. It’s the second door on the right off the living room.

Yes, because Jinah had gotten the tour before her, busy as she was having a panic attack on the floor of her new closet, and now she had to pretend to know where everything was.

Kim Seoah: Okay, be there in a minute.

Jinah waved her goodbyes, heading off to school, which Hoseok was driving her to, and Seo-ah waited until the taillights disappeared.

She knocked lightly on the door twice.

“Come in.”

Yoongi’s office was neat and clean, with nothing superfluous about it. Shades of grey and black, with some red thrown in for colour. The carpet was a swirl of red and black, and she immediately diverted any further thoughts about the colour schemes.

Two chairs stood in front of his large wooden desk, one a soft wingback and the other an uncomfortable-looking metal. He nodded at the soft chair in a gesture to sit down, so she sat, folding her hands nervously over her knee.

Yoongi’s long fingers pushed a small rectangle across the clear space on his desk to her. “This is yours.”

She picked it up. It was a credit card. She glanced at him.

“It’s connected to the account under your name at my bank. Use it whenever. I told you I’d pay you for the jobs you take for me, so I’ll automatically deposit your wages there.”

She opened her mouth to refuse it, then closed it again.. She’d literally married him for his money, why would she refuse it now that she was married? Besides, she would be earning it herself, with her acting challenges. She’d quit her job at the pawn shop, intending to get a job closer to her new home. She needed income somehow, for when their contract was over.

“Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to ask him about the sleeping situation, but remembered his flusteredness this morning with Jinah’s teasing, and thought the better of it. But they were married, and they should talk about it like the adults they were. But the sheer awkwardness! Asking your spouse if they were going to sleep with you, even just in the literal sense!

“Spit it out,” he said dryly, noticing her internal struggle.

He asked. Here goes nothing.

“What were your thoughts about us sleeping together?”

The arm supporting his chin slipped off his chair’s armrest.

“It didn’t seem like you slept in our bed last night,” she mentioned, hoping to help the conversation along. Horror dawned on her. “Was I sleeping on your side?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to disturb you. We’re still somewhat strangers and I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with a man who’d just admitted he’s a criminal getting into bed with you.”

“We should have discussed this before we got married,” Seo-ah agreed, hoping her cheeks weren’t blushing as red as she felt. “And I apologise for anything my sister may have said this morning.”

“It’s alright. She reminds me of some of my men’s relationships with each other.”

“That’s good.”

“So…you want us to share a bed?”

“I think it would be the easiest thing to do to keep up the ruse, yes,” she said, praying that the blush covering her face would abate. “What if Jinah finds you sleeping on the couch one night, or wherever you slept?”

“I’ll just tell her you kicked me out because we argued,” Yoongi joked. “You have a point. As long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“I brought it up, didn’t I?”

He nodded his agreement at her point. Seo-ah had just felt the flames of awkward embarrassment fade when he turned back to her.

“About our physical relationship–we’ll be required to be somewhat tactile with each other, at least at the VIP events. Holding hands, my arm around your waist, et cetera. Will you be okay with that?”

Seo-ah let out her breath, uncertain if she was disappointed or not. “Yes, that will be fine. We’ll probably have to hug sometimes when Jinah catches us, she’ll find it weird if we never touch. I’m often touching her, just little things, you know? It’s important to me.”

“That will be fine. Is there anything else we need to settle?” “I don’t think so…oh, what are the most important things I should get when I go shopping later? The basics for surviving a society event I might get invited to?”

Yoongi frowned in thought, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure, but I know someone who will know.” Pulling out his phone, he texted someone, his thumbs flying over the keyboard.

“She’ll be here in five minutes.”

Seo-ah waited patiently as Yoongi worked in silence, glancing around the utilitarian office and out the half-window wall.

It afforded a lovely view of the porch and circular driveway, so she saw when a black car pulled in and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a blush-pink pantsuit and white stilettos, a white coat over her shoulders and a cherry-pink bag in hand.

A minute later she appeared in Yoongi’s doorway. “You called, boss?”

“You made it,” he said flatly.

“Unfortunately for you,” she snipped, turning to a bewildered Seo-ah.

“Yah, be nice. Seo-ah, this is Kim Miran, my second-in-command’s wife. Miran, this is my wife, Seo-ah. She needs the basics for surviving elite society’s scrutiny.”

Miran hugged her quickly, stepping back to squeal in delight and clap her hands.

“Yoongi, I take back every mean thing I said about you. Come on, Seo-ah, let’s shop until he’s broke!”

Seo-ah pulled back, looking to Yoongi for help. The traitor waved her off with a resigned smile. “I trust you to hold Miran in check, Seo-ah!”

~~~

The floorboard just outside their bedroom creaked, making Seo-ah wince as she opened the door. Sneaking in is fine as long as you don't have two dozen bags on your arms making your width impossible to quietly and efficiently move through doorways.

The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table revealed Yoongi sitting in bed, arms crossed as he stared her down like she was a bird and he a cat. Heh, he was rather catlike, wasn’t he. Imagine calling him a cat to his face. He’d probably be offended it wasn’t a lion or something.

She giggled at the thought, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Did Miran take you drinking?”

Seo-ah tried to raise her hand to pinch her fingers together, but they were full of bags. “Just a little,” she giggled. “I didn’t make you broke though.”

He sighed and got out of bed, revealing the fact that he was wearing nothing but boxers, something that made her hastily avert her eyes to the ceiling.

He chuckled at her preserving his innocence and took one armload of bags from her. The sudden change in balance made her tip into him, sending him sprawling on the floor. She landed on him with an oof, all the air blown out of her lungs.

He stared up at her, his petal-pink lips open in surprise. Seo-ah glanced back up at his round eyes. He really did look like a cat at that moment, and she couldn’t help the giggle that sneaked out.

Yoongi moved her off of him and stood up, letting her laugh on the floor as he hauled all of her now-spilled bags to the closet. “I’ll let you sort those out tomorrow,” he announced, coming out and standing over her as she still laughed.

“I’m glad to see you’re a giggly drunk and not a talkative drunk, but I imagine you’d prefer to giggle in bed with me since you were so concerned about it this morning.” He leaned down, grabbed her wrists to pull her up and hauled her over to the bed.

Seo-ah’s giggles stopped abruptly as he manhandled her between the covers, surprisingly gentle for a big bad mobster. She stared at the strands of hair that fell over his forehead. They looked soft. Was it his spicy shampoo?

The hand that he wasn’t tucking under the sheet smoothed the loose hairs back. He paused and glanced up at her.

She ran her fingers through his hair again. It was as soft as it looked. She hoped her hair would be that soft if she kept using his shampoo.

“Do you like this?” she asked, scarcely above a whisper.

He nodded. She kept finger-combing it for several minutes, until he finally straightened.

“Good night, Seo-ah.”

~~~

The dull throbbing in her temples was the first thing Seo-ah noticed when she awoke. With a belaboured sigh, she pushed herself up against the headboard.

The glass of water on her nightstand caught her eye. It was still cool. She drank it in three gulps, her mouth drier than a desert.

Stepping into the closet after her shower, nothing but a towel around her, she saw all the bags stacked neatly in a row on her side as the previous night’s memories came back. With a groan, she stepped past them to pull on some old, comfy clothes before facing her husband.

Really? Petting his hair like the cat Drunk Seo-ah was reminded of? Shivering with cringe, she stepped into the kitchen. It was empty today, with her meal again under the metal dome keeping the dishes warm. The bowl of hangover soup was the first thing she reached for.

Once her dishes were washed and put away, she headed to Yoongi’s office.

“Come in.”

She peeked in cautiously.

“Good morning, Seo-ah.”

“Good morning, Yoongi. I’m sorry about last night, if I made you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s fine,” he brushed it off. “It’s good you got along well with Miran. She can introduce you to people in society more naturally than I can. And she’ll be a good friend, in general. I’m sure she and her husband suspect something, but no one in my ranks can know that we’re looking for rats. Just…be careful what you say.”

Seo-ah nodded. “I’ll do that. And don’t worry about last night. I was able to spill our story and she didn’t sense anything off about it.”

“Good job. Did you get everything you needed, or will you be going out again today?”

Seo-ah thought about it. “Almost everything. I’ll just be out for a couple hours if Miran is free now.”

“Alright, be safe. When you get back, we should discuss bodyguards.”

“Okay. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

He waved her off and she texted her new friend.

Kim Seoah: I thought of something I need to shop for

Kim Miran: Say less

Kim Miran: Be there in ten!

#bangtanwhq #bangtanfamiglianet #star scribbles #group: bts #member: myg #type: fic #rating: pg-13 #series: berserk tiger #title: interlocution #author: star-my #length: 2-3k #au: mafia #au: haegeum #au: contract marriage

6 notes · View notes

bita-bita · 1 year ago

Text

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

I have so many do's and don'ts.

I wash my hands a lot, I need things to go a specific way for me to be pleased, I don't touch the carpet, I don't eat veggies, I don't eat fruits, I'm scared of this, I'm scared of that.

Do I really wanna die being scared of insects?? I don't think so!! I might not hold them in my hand this very moment but I'll love them more at least!!

I sat on the carpet yesterday, and I leaned back with my palms against the carpet. It's soft and fluffy! It felt.. wrong and I had the urge to go and wash my hands but FUCK IT. I'm done having so many limits. I don't wanna hold myself back from so many things.

Today I had this sudden urge to play with butter like a dough! Strange, yeah? At first I was like "nahhh it gets messy and it's oily and gross!!" but then I put some butter in a plate and started playing with it just for the hell of it! And it was so much fun! It melted all over my fingers and it was gross but.. free!! I made sure to make it as messy as I could let myself, just to practice to not be so tense and strict with myself all the time. AND THEN I LICKED IT FROM MY FINGERS TOO. HAH! I'm gonna be more playful about life from now on. We really should learn from kids. They're so free and happy all the time. It's always playtime for them! As it should be! I'm gonna get my clothes dirty. I'm gonna let kids make a mess in my house. I'll lie down on the carpet. I'll let dad touch soil and not make him wash his hands with soap like he's a kid xD (yes I made this military man go to the sink and wash his hands with soap after he moved one single pot. And I stood there watching to make sure he cleans them properly)

I'm gonna touch trees from now on. I'm gonna sit on the grass instead of sacrificing my friends and sitting on their lap instead lmao. I'm gonna stop being so guarded! I'm gonna start relaxing and enjoying myself, enjoying this beautiful world without being so scared.. I'm gonna trust this world a lil bit more. I heard somewhere that the cure to anxiety isn't control, it's trust. Istg I need to get that tattooed right on my forehead!

oh I feel so good right now.. I'm really glad this situation made me realize how tense I've been all this time.

#healing #spirituality #talk talk #laws of universe #law of attraction #healing inner child #laws of the universe

7 notes · View notes

time4hemp · 10 months ago

Text

What Is Hemp?

It’s A Trillion Dollar Cash Crop.

youtube

Hemp is a name given to a strain of the cannabis plant.

Hemp is a name given to cultivars of the cannabis plant (Cannabis sativa) that have been selected over many generations for fiber and seed production. Most hemp cultivars contain less than 1.5% THC, a narcotic compound that has the potential for abuse in high concentrations. Cannabis sativa cultivars selected and developed for their drug properties, referred to as marijuana, or dagga, can have a THC content of 3%-25%. Hemp is a bast fiber, producing its fibers in the stalk similar to flax, kenaf, and sun hemp.

Multiple Uses

Hemp fiber and seed are used to produce a wide range of commodities including food and beverage products, fiberboard, insulation, paper, composites, textiles, carpets, animal bedding and feed, cosmetics, body-care products, soaps, paints, fuels, and medicines.

Hemp Seed Food and Beverage Products

Hemp seed contains about 25% protein, 30% carbohydrates, & 15% insoluble fiber. Hemp seed is reported to contain more easily digestible protein than soybeans. Hemp seed contains all 8 amino acids essential to human nutrition. Hemp seed is high in calcium, magnesium, phosphorus, potassium, carotene, sulfur, iron and zinc, as well as Vitamins A, E, C, B1, B2, B3, and B6.

Hemp seed imported into the United States or Canada must be steam sterilized at between 180 degrees F and 212 degrees F for 15 minutes to prevent sprouting. Many US facilities receive imported viable seed under customs bond, steam it, and release it to the consignee or customer with a Certificate of Sterilization.

Hemp food and beverage products include hemp oil and seed, flour, pasta, cheese, tofu, salad dressings, snacks, sweets, hemp protein powders, soft drinks, beer, and wine. Hemp beer can be made from the seed, flowers, sprouts, and seed cake that is a by-product of oil pressing. Hemp beer is produced and sold in Europe and the United States of America.

Hemp Oil

Hemp seed is 25% to 35% oil, and is one of the oils lowest in saturated fats (8%). Hemp seed oil is the richest source of polyunsaturated essential fatty acids (80%). Hemp seed oil is the only common edible seed oil containing Omega-6 Gamma-Linolenic Acid. Hemp seed oil is very fragile and not suitable for cooking.

Pressed hemp seed oil must be bottled immediately under oxygen-free conditions, and must be refrigerated in dark, airtight containers.

Fiberboard

Hemp fiberboard tested by Washington State University Wood Materials and Engineering Laboratory proved to be two and one half times stronger than wood MDF composites, and the hemp composite boards were three times more elastic.

Hemp herds can be used in existing mills without major changes in equipment. Russia, Poland and other Eastern European countries already manufacture composite boards from hemp and other plant materials.

Pulp and Paper

The major use of hemp fiber in Europe is in the production of specialty papers such as cigarette paper, archival paper, tea bags, and currency paper. The average bast fiber pulp and paper mill produces 5,000 tons of paper per year. Most mills process long bast fiber strands, which arrive as bales of cleaned ribbon from per-processing plants located near the cultivation areas.

Composites

Until the 1930’s, hemp-based cellophane, celluloid and other products were common, and Henry Ford used hemp to make car doors and fenders. Today hemp herds can be used to make new plastic and injection-molded products or blended into recycled plastic products. Hemp fibers are introduced into plastics to make them stiffer, stronger and more impact resistant. Hemp plastics can be designed that are hard, dense, and heat resistant, and which can be drilled, ground, milled, and planed.

Hemp plastic products currently made include chairs, boxes, percussion instruments, lampshades, bowls, cups, spectacles, jewelry, skateboards, and snowboards.

Hemp Animal Care

Hemp horse bedding and cat litter are produced and sold in Europe. After oil is extracted from the hemp seed, the remaining seed cake is about 25% protein and makes an excellent feed for chicken, cattle, and fish. Chickens fed hemp seed on a regular basis have been found to produce more eggs, without the added hormones used in most poultry plants.

Fuels

Hemp seed oil can be combined with 15% methanol to create a substitute for diesel fuel which burns 70% cleaner than petroleum diesel. Hemp stalks are rich in fiber and cellulose, making them conducive for conversion into ethanol and methanol fuels that have a higher octane than gasoline and produce less carbon monoxide. These biomass fuels are also free from sulfur, and do not require the addition of lead and benzene used to boost octane and improve engine performance in fossil fuels. Ethanol holds condensation, eliminating oxidation and corrosion, and is reported to reduce carbon dioxide emissions by more than 30%.

Hemp has been studied in Ireland as a biomass fuel to generate electricity. Hemp has been reported to yield 1000 gallons of methanol per acre year. Hemp stalk can be converted to a charcoal-like fuel through a thermochemical process called pyrolysis. Henry Ford operated a biomass pyrolitic plant at Iron Mountain, Michigan in the mid-20th.

Paints and Varnishes and Binders

Until the 1930's, most paints were made from hemp seed oil and flax seed oil. Hemp oil makes a durable, long lasting paint that renders wood water-resistant. Hemp herds have the potential to make glues for composite construction products that are non-toxic and superior to binders currently used. With this technology, industry can produce composite products where all components are derived from hemp.

Markets for Hemp Pulp

Some paper manufacturers already have the equipment to process decorticated hemp fiber into paper. The leading European supplier of non-wood pulp, Celesa, currently produces about 10,000 tons per year of pulp from hemp. The use of hemp pulp in blends with recycled fiber of other non-wood fibers is growing. Tests by several European pulp and paper producers suggest that hemp pulp may replace cotton cost effectively in several specialty paper applications.

Potential Markets for Medical Application of Low-THC Hemp Cultivars

Many cannabis medicines have been produced using cannabis cultivars high in THC, and there has been medical research into cannabis that is low in THC and high in CBD. CBD is a cannabinoid that does not have many of the psychoactive effects associated with THC. CBD has been used to treat the following medical conditions: epilepsy, dystonic movement disorders, inflammatory disorders, pain, chronic insomnia, chorea, cerebral palsy, and Tourette's syndrome. According to a July 1998 report by the National Institute of Health, CBD may hold promise for preventing brain damage in strokes, Alzheimer’s disease, Parkinson’s disease and even heart attacks and has been found to prevent brain cell death in an experimental stroke model.

Please share this with your friends.

youtube

#hemp farming #hemp foods #hemp fuel #industrial hemp #hemp plastic #hemp paper #hemp fibers #hemp seeds #hemp prohibition

4 notes · View notes

asgcleaningmn · 11 months ago

Text

Budget-Friendly Floor Cleaning Hacks for a Sparkling Home by ASG

1. Vinegar and Water Solution for Hardwood Floors:

Ingredients: Mix equal parts of water and white vinegar.

Method: Gently mop hardwood floors with this solution to remove grime and leave a natural shine.

2. Baking Soda Scrub for Tile Floors:

Ingredients: Create a paste of baking soda and water.

Method: Apply the paste to tile grout lines, scrub gently, and rinse for a brightened, stain-free finish.

3. Lemon and Olive Oil for Laminate Floors:

Ingredients: Mix lemon juice and olive oil.

Method: Apply the mixture to a cloth and buff laminate floors for a streak-free shine.

4. Club Soda for Carpet Stains:

Ingredient: Pour club soda on fresh carpet stains.

Method: Blot the stain with a cloth to lift it. Repeat until the stain fades.

5. Cornstarch Absorption for Greasy Spills:

Ingredient: Sprinkle cornstarch over greasy spills.

Method: Leave it for 20 minutes to absorb the oil, then vacuum it up.

6. Black Tea for Wood Floors:

Ingredient: Brew black tea and let it cool.

Method: Dampen a cloth with the tea and use it to clean wood floors for added shine.

7. Vinegar and Dish Soap for Vinyl Floors:

Ingredients: Mix warm water, vinegar, and a few drops of dish soap.

Method: Mop vinyl floors with this solution for a gentle, effective clean.

These DIY hacks provide effective and affordable solutions for various floor types. At ASG floor cleaning service in Minneapolis, we value sustainable cleaning practices. For specialized and thorough floor cleaning, reach out to our floor cleaning company. We're here to keep your floors looking their best while keeping your cleaning routine affordable and eco-friendly.

#floor cleaning #commercial cleaning

4 notes · View notes

notw1ththatatt1tude · 2 years ago

Note

Me again! (Sorry I'm just really curious. Feel free to ignore any of my asks if you don't feel like replying.)

Anyway, I just really love Shinsou and Bakugou's dynamic so I was wondering how you think they get along when it's just the two of them at home? Or when they just hang out together. Also, have their arguments and bickering ever escalated a little too far? What happened?

Oooo, this is a fun one.

Bakugou and Shinsou get along pretty well at home alone because Shinsou is so good at seeing through bullshit Bakugou doesn't feel much pressure to keep up the tough guy act. That said, Eri's existence is what keeps them from getting too out of hand, so alone means their friendly antagonism goes unchecked.

It started far outside the house, in a mall bathroom.

"I don't think that's sanitizer"

"What the fuck else would it be?" Bakugou kept walking, Shinsou lingering at the sink behind him. The dispenser was weirdly far away from the sink, but it turned out to very much be soap and Bakugou had already stalked out of the bathroom.

Que Shinsou spending thr next 45 minutes watching Bakugou trying to work around soap-hands because he stubbornly refuses to admit his mistake. Shinsou nudges him toward every door first, encourages Eri to hand him things, suggests whatever activity will force Bakugou to use his hands. He finally caves when the paper wrapping of his curry bun sticks to his hands in a dozen fragments to be scraped off one by one.

"Fine, yes, it was fucking soap, you sadistic bastard!" He blows the sticky soap-residue and incinerated paper scraps directly at Shinsou with an unnecessary loud bang.

The next morning, there's hand sanitizer in Shinsou's shampoo bottle.

Then just a dash in Bakugou's water bottle.

Shinsou starts to get nervous when the retaliation takes too long. If Bakugou is taking the time to plan his vengeance, he's going to make it worth his while. Another day passes and the rest of the family leaves for the weekend. Some quirk counseling thing with Eri in Hokkaido. He starts to wonder if maybe Bakugou let it go. He's in the kitchen, eating cereal out of a mug while he waits for the dishwasher to run. Bakugou was usually obsessive about not leaving dishes to pile in the sink, but maybe refusing to clean up after him was a roundabout way of vengeance.

Then the dishwasher starts to leak. Bubbles pour out through the bottom, until there's a carpet of them covering the kitchen floor. He's about to call for Bakugou to help him figure out what the fuck is going on when he realizes.

"Goddammit."

Soon Bakugou is cackling at his misfortune, "What? I just switched soap with soap!"

They're mid-arguement when Aizawa calls, telling them they're coming home early.

"Oh, yeah, that's cool. Yeah, everything's good here."

And suddenly they're on the same side, scrambling to find every towel they own. They think they have managed to erase all evidence of their antics before the family gets home, except neither of them thought to actually open the dishwasher. So when Aizawa does, a small mountain of bubbles falls out.

"Care to explain?"

9 notes · View notes

alfiejacob · 1 year ago

Text

Weekly Cleaning Toronto: A Comprehensive Guide to Keeping Your Home Spotless

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on weekly cleaning in Toronto! Keeping your home clean and tidy is not just about aesthetics; it also promotes a healthy and stress-free living environment. Whether you're a busy professional, a full-time parent, or someone who simply wants to maintain a clean abode, this article will be your go-to resource.

Toronto, a bustling metropolis, has unique cleaning challenges due to its diverse weather conditions and urban lifestyle. However, with the right approach and effective cleaning strategies, you can tackle any mess that comes your way. In this guide, we'll cover everything from room-by-room cleaning tips to eco-friendly solutions and expert advice to make your weekly cleaning routine a breeze.

Weekly Cleaning Toronto: The Basics

Before diving into the specifics, let's understand the fundamentals of weekly cleaning in Toronto. The key to a successful cleaning routine is consistency and efficiency. By breaking down your tasks into manageable chunks, you'll avoid feeling overwhelmed and maintain a cleaner home all week long.

Living Room Cleaning

Your living room is often the heart of your home, where you relax, entertain guests, and spend quality time with loved ones. Here's how to keep it sparkling:

Declutter and Organize: Start by tidying up any clutter and organizing items like books, remote controls, and magazines. Use decorative baskets or shelves to keep things in order.

Dust and Polish Surfaces: Use a microfiber cloth to dust all surfaces, including shelves, tables, and electronics. For wooden furniture, apply a suitable polish to restore its natural shine.

Vacuum and Clean Floors: Thoroughly vacuum carpets, rugs, and upholstery. For hardwood or tile floors, mop with a gentle cleaner to remove stains and grime.

Kitchen Cleaning

The kitchen is the heart of any home, and proper cleaning is essential to maintain a hygienic space for cooking and dining:

Clear the Countertops: Remove all items from the countertops and wipe them clean. Disinfect using a food-safe cleaner to eliminate germs.

Clean Appliances: Wipe down the refrigerator, microwave, oven, and other appliances both inside and out. Check the fridge for expired items and dispose of them.

Scrub the Sink: Use a non-abrasive cleaner and scrub the sink thoroughly. Don't forget to clean the faucet and handles.

Sweep and Mop the Floor: Sweep the kitchen floor to remove debris and mop with a suitable floor cleaner for a spotless finish.

Bedroom Cleaning

A clean and cozy bedroom promotes better sleep and relaxation. Here's how to keep it inviting:

Change Beddings: Strip the bed and replace the sheets, pillowcases, and duvet covers with fresh, clean ones.

Dust and Vacuum: Dust all surfaces, including nightstands and dressers. Vacuum the floor, paying attention to corners and under furniture.

Air Out the Mattress: If possible, take the mattress outside for a few hours to air it out and eliminate odors.

Organize Closets: Declutter your closet regularly and donate or discard clothes you no longer wear.

Bathroom Cleaning

A clean bathroom is essential for personal hygiene. Here's how to keep it sparkling:

Clean the Toilet: Use a toilet bowl cleaner and brush to thoroughly clean the inside of the toilet bowl. Wipe down the exterior with a disinfectant.

Scrub the Shower and Bathtub: Use a bathroom cleaner and scrub the tiles, tub, and shower area. Remove soap scum and mold.

Wipe Sink and Countertops: Clean the sink and countertops with an all-purpose cleaner. Don't forget to shine the faucets.

Replace Towels: Replace used towels with fresh ones. Launder the used towels promptly.

Eco-Friendly Cleaning Tips for Toronto

Use Vinegar and Baking Soda: Vinegar and baking soda are natural cleaning powerhouses. Use vinegar as a surface cleaner and baking soda as a gentle abrasive for tough stains.

Make DIY Cleaning Solutions: Create your own eco-friendly cleaning solutions using simple ingredients like lemon, essential oils, and water.

Invest in Microfiber Cloths: Microfiber cloths are reusable and excellent for dusting and wiping surfaces without harsh chemicals.

Weekly Cleaning for Seasonal Changes

Summer Cleaning: Focus on decluttering and keeping your home well-ventilated during hot and humid summers.

Fall Cleaning: Prepare for colder weather by cleaning gutters, sealing drafts, and organizing winter clothing.

Winter Cleaning: Combat winter blues with regular cleaning, fresh scents, and cozy ambiance.

Spring Cleaning: Deep clean your home after winter and prepare for the vibrant season ahead.

Weekly Cleaning Hacks for Busy Professionals

Create a Cleaning Schedule: Plan specific cleaning tasks for each day to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

Delegate and Involve Family Members: Share cleaning responsibilities with family members to make it a team effort.

Use Quick Cleaning Techniques: Learn efficient cleaning techniques, like the 15-minute room cleanup, for busy days.

FAQs

Q: How often should I clean my home on a weekly basis?

A: Cleaning your home once a week is generally sufficient for most households. However, if you have pets or allergies, you might need more frequent cleaning.

Q: Can I use vinegar on all surfaces?

A: While vinegar is safe for many surfaces, it's acidic, so avoid using it on natural stone countertops.

Q: What's the best way to remove stubborn stains?

A: For stubborn stains, use a mixture of baking soda and hydrogen peroxide, or consider seeking professional cleaning services.

Q: How can I maintain a clean home with a busy schedule?

A: Utilize quick cleaning techniques, set a cleaning schedule, and involve your family in the process.

Q: Are there any eco-friendly cleaning services in Toronto?

A: Yes, Toronto offers various eco-friendly cleaning services that use sustainable products and practices.

Q: How can I prepare my home for special occasions?

A: Plan ahead and focus on key areas, like the living room and kitchen, to make your home party-ready.

Final Thought

Keeping your home clean and well-maintained is an essential part of modern living in Toronto. By following the tips and strategies outlined in this comprehensive guide, you can easily manage your weekly cleaning tasks and enjoy a spotless and comfortable living space. Remember to stay consistent, involve your family, and embrace eco-friendly cleaning practices to make the process enjoyable and efficient.

#cleaning #housecleaning #cleaninghacks #cleaningtips

2 notes · View notes

twists-and-things-betwixt · 2 years ago

Text

Of Nightingales and Night Ravens: Chapter 4 - Ramshackle Renovations

Chapter: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

Read on AO3

Summary: In which the cult gets more screen time, debts are paid through cleaning services, Yuu is a Disney Princess for real this time, there are too many animals in one room, and a first meeting occurs in the woods behind Ramshackle, but not the one you're thinking of. (or, Whistle While You Work)

Yuura is referred to as They and He.

Despite however long the Headmage claimed the building to be abandoned, Ramshackle itself is still in fair condition.

Now that the dormitory houses more than three mischievous ghosts, the water and electricity have been turned back on. The hardwood floors are scuffed and carpeted in a thick layer of dust, but they seem to be properly treated and stained; jumping up and down on one of the upper landings didn’t result in Yuura crashing into the floor below. Where the wallpaper is peeling, it's at the corners of individual sheets that could be easily glued back down. The broken furniture could be shoved into an empty storage room to be tended to at a later date.

And in spite of Ramshackle’s rundown appearance, the foundation is solid, the walls could repel the wind, and the roof could keep out the rain and sun. It's nothing more than a large clean up job.

Stains in the wallpaper? Nothing some warm, soapy water can’t fix. The staggering number of cobwebs dangling from the ceilings and sticking to the hard-to-reach corners? There was a broom conveniently abandoned in the entry hall, and a ladder in the back shed. The copious amounts of dust everywhere? In the attic, Yuura found a box of old but clean rags alongside a feather duster that still had all its plumes and a sturdy racket that was perfect for beating carpets and mattresses. The laundry room they stumbled upon was still stocked with cartons and boxes of powdered soap and cleaning detergents. There's even a full set of mops and buckets, and a large metal tub with its own old-fashioned steel washboard.

This, Yuura cataloged with a notepad and pencil, spending the free hours of their day exploring the building. There was no map they could find, so they drew up their own crude copy, counting the rooms and learning of their old designations from the resident ghosts (kitchen, supply closet, parlor, bedroom, study, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom…). Counting windows and determining which ones got top priority (bottom floor to top, front-facing, kitchen and master bedroom). Stacking scattered books and fallen paintings. Remembering which carpet belonged to which room after cleaning. Fixing the clocks and frames they found askew on the walls.

"What do you think, Mr. Giddens?” Yuura asks, hopping off the last step of the stairs connecting the first and second floors. They’d been testing the boards for levels of squeakiness rather than overall sturdiness (a little creaky towards the middle, but muffled by the carpet, and silent if you used the edges instead).

The Chubby Ghost of Ramshackle Dorm floats lazily to their side, taking a peek at the notes in their hand. It was a scribbled mix of Barren script, Common, and neat sketches of the building’s layout littered with numbers, arrows, and doodles of dancing mops and brooms.

"I think this seems like a tall order for one person to handle,” Mr. Giddens drawls.

"Especially for someone as small as you!” pipes in Mr. Weylin, dropping in from the ceiling alongside Mr. Melrose.

The Tiny Ghost nods in agreement. "Your arms will fall off before you finish sweeping the lounge." He shakes one of Yuura’s arms for emphasis.

"I’m sturdier than I look," Yuura insists, already making their way to the supply closet, pencil tucked behind their ear. "I helped my Uncle Sandro clean all the time, and our house was a little bigger than this.

"Besides, I won’t be alone." They turn on their heel, their smile rather cheery for someone who was about to spend the next several hours walking into spider webs. "I’ve got Grim with me, haven’t I?"

----

Among the Heartslabyul students who were present during the Housewarden’s Overblot and witnessed the aftermath, having fled into the Rose Maze before the destruction and missed the Headmaster’s call for evacuation, there was a vote—who to send as pseudo-emissaries to the Prefect who may or may not be a long-lost god of healing.

That’s how one freshman, two sophomores, and one junior find themselves standing on the creaky front porch of Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning, two weeks after the first Incident, less than a week after the second Incident when the Prefect was found singing All in the Golden Afternoon in the maze. As if that song isn’t highly restricted in use by the Queendom’s Royal Botanic Society.

"...so who’s gonna knock?"

"Not me! Make Quentin do it."

"What? What did I do?"

"Are you that much of a coward that you can’t even knock a door?"

"You wanna say that to my face, Poncy?"

"Bring it on, Angie."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake—look, there’s a doorbell. Let’s just ring the doorbell, and get this over with."

The doorbell does not work—properly. Rather than a chime or a tinkling tune, their ears are assaulted by a grating screech that lasts long enough for someone to answer the door.

"Hohoho, what do we have here?"

"Visitors? Visitors here?"

"Visitors, or intruders? What do you think, Mr. Giddens?"

"Heartslabyul, I think. And I see nary a red heart or a black spade among them."

"Intruders, then. Heheheh, do you know what that means, Mr. Giddens?"

"I think I do, Mr. Weylin."

Well, we don’t! the four hapless Heartslabyul students cry, huddling together despite their earlier animosity. Is this how it ended, joining the ranks of the ghosts who haunted Ramshackle? There's a reason why everyone avoided the building for decades!

"Oy! What did Yuu say about harassing visitors?”

The quartet would have sighed in relief, were it not for the fact that their savior came in the form of that fiery cat-monster that nearly burned down the Mirror Chamber during the Entrance Ceremony. It’s a little hard not to gawk when the creature comes waddling in with tiny rubber gloves over its front paws and its fiery ears tucked under a checkered kerchief.

(Huh. You’d think that’d be a safety hazard or something).

Bright blue eyes narrow on sight. "Hey, you ain’t Ace or Deuce. What’s a buncha Heartslabyul prisses doin’ here?"

One of the sophomores—the one referred to as Poncy—leans through the open door to shake his fist. “What’s that supposed to mean, ya cúl tóna beag?”

Someone hisses, "Pontius!" and tries to drag him back inside when the ghosts start leering again.

The monster bristles, nose scrunched up and forked tail flicking in agitation. "You wanna fight? I'll show you what the Great Lord Grim can do!"

"Gri—i—im!" Students, ghosts, and cat-monster alike all jump at the call. The voice comes closer, from the slightly ajar doors at the end of the entry hall. "Grim, are you alright? I heard the doorbell ringing. Oh! visitors."

Peeking into the hallway, a great pair of owlish, hazel-brown eyes, framed between an off-white kerchief around the mouth and over the nose, and a blue plaid kerchief around the head, pushing back a tousled mass of dark curls.

"Welcome to Ramshackle!" The Prefect steps into full view, revealing a full-length apron atop faded gym clothes that look several years out of date, bright yellow rubber gloves, and a broom in hand that looks like it's been through the wringer. "Pardon the mess, but today's a cleaning day and we weren't expecting visitors." Once he's close enough, the Prefect extends his free hand, retracts it upon realizing how grimy it is, and settles for a polite yet welcoming nod. Even with the mask in the way, his smile is visible in the corners of his eyes and the lift of his cheeks.

He doesn’t look much like an immortal in hiding or—as some of the guys suggested—a forgotten god of healing. Not with the secondhand clothes, or the messy hair, or the broom.

But they had seen the Prefect fend off that Blot monster’s attack when it came straight for Trappola; if it had been any of them, it would have been every man for himself and Trappola would be mulch. They’d seen him sing a Lost Song that made Diamond lose some of his composure and brought Rosehearts back from the brink of death. Those who were close enough to the spectacle had felt the lingering effects of the Prefect’s spell—warmth like a kind touch, like a sunbeam in the darkness, soothing their aches and pains. And then there were others who were convinced that he was the god of something more, because when they found him singing to those flowers, they not only moved in response, they sang back, unfurling their petals and leaves to reveal uncanny faces, singing with the Prefect in perfect harmony as they swayed like they were dancing in the breeze.

Which brings us back to why they were here in the first place.

Any persisting pride the four Heartslabyul students might have had is dwarfed in comparison to the awe and gratitude that they have towards the Prefect.

“Prefect!” The junior steps up first and bows almost parallel to the floor. The Prefect lets out an inelegant squeak. “My name is Octavian Kendrick, third-year, and on behalf of the other guys in Heartslabyul, we wanted to thank you for what you did for us.”

The Prefect blinks, lowers his mask, opens his mouth, closes it, then blinks some more. “Thank me for what, exactly?”

The other students look at each other incredulously while Octavian shoots up straight in disbelief. “For what?”

“For taking the ruler out of Rosehearts’ ass and making him chill out, obviously—ow!”

“Angus!”

“What Angus means,” the junior continues, blocking his bickering underclassmen from the Prefect’s line of sight, “is that ever since the Housewarden’s, er, Incident, he’s been… mellower. Less… severe when it comes to enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules.”

“Less anal retentive, you mean—ow!”

“Angus!”

Octavian sighs.

The Prefect rolls his broom between his hands, humming. "I don’t understand why you would be offering me thanks. Senior Riddle has been doing remarkably well improving himself with Senior Trey and Senior Cater’s guidance, and I didn’t help during his... Predicament as much as Ace and Deuce did. If anything, you should be thanking them."

How is this guy a student at Night Raven?

The sophomore with a club over his left eye and rubbing his ribs—Angus—snorts. "Didn’t help? All of us saw the way you threw yourself in front of Trappola—"

"Like some sort of self-sacrificing idiot—"

"Pontius!"

"And then there’s the part where you used a Lost Song to bring the Housewarden back from the dead!" the freshman with a blue heart on his face exclaims, stars in his eyes. "In Black Tongue, too. I’m from the Shaftlands, and even I don’t know any of the words besides the first line in Pyroxisch. And you need to be really, really good at magic to use a spell that powerful, and you used it to bring the Housewarden back from the dead."

"Quentin," the sophomore with a diamond—Pontius—cuts in sharply, while the Prefect corrects, "He wasn’t dead."

"But he was dying," Angus says, "Like, on Death’s doorstep, and then you started singing in a dead language, and it was like nothing happened to him! We all thought you were supposed to be Magicless."

"Basically Magicless," Pontius clarifies.

"You saw all of that?" is what the Prefect takes away from All of That.

Octavian nods. "About a dozen of us or so. We were in the Rose Maze when it happened."

"A bunch of guys ran in there after the whole Egg Thing and the Housewarden started going on a rampage," Quentin helpfully explains. "We saw everything."

"Ah," the Prefect says thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t been witnessed performing something akin to a miracle; something that would definitely make global news if word ever got out. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t entirely certain if that would work."

"What."

"Mm-hm." The Prefect starts sweeping idly at the dirt the boys had tracked in. "Let’s just say… It’s been a long time since I last sang, and I couldn’t be sure if the Song would work or not. But I needed to try, for Senior Riddle’s sake. You understand, of course?"

No, they did not understand. Where did this kid come from? Why is he even here? Everyone in the area had fled or hidden during Rosehearts’ Overblot, besides the Suits and the Prefect (who all appear to be of the same breed of freaking crazy). And then when the tiny, red tyrant was only a pint away from bleeding to death, the Prefect whipped out a Lost Song like it was nothing! Like the ones with surviving lyrics or melodies aren’t guarded as national secrets. Like the only people who remember all the words in their original Barren Tongue aren’t all dead.

…except for one, it seems.

Octavian bows to the Prefect again, and this time, his underclassmen follow suit. "You saved the Housewarden’s life, and because of whatever else you did to make him calm down and not decapitate people left and right, Heartslabyul Dorm is in your debt."

At the word debt, the Prefect’s eyes widen. "Debt?" he echoes. "Oh no, oh no, oh no! You don’t owe me anything, least of all the entirety of your dorm. I only wanted to help—Senior Riddle, and my friends, and..." He trails off, sheepish. "I suppose the rest of you as well."

"And that’s why we’re indebted to you, id—" Pontius falters at the several pairs of glaring eyes that lock onto him—from his senior, his junior, the cat-monster standing at the Prefect’s side, and the trio of ghosts still lingering nearby. "Ahem—Prefect. You helped us all out, so now we have to pay you back."

"That’s the rules here," Angus shrugs, leaning onto a protesting Pontius’ shoulder. "Trust us, no one here wants to remain indebted to anyone. Have seen Octavinelle? Have you seen their Dorm Leader?"

"Actually, I am familiar with Senior Ashengro—"

"Anyway," Octavian interrupts, because he did not like where that sentence was going, "you get what we’re saying. You helped us deal with Rosehearts; we help you out in any way we can."

"Within reason," Quentin adds. "That’s what the others back at the dorm said."

Again, the Prefect appears lost in contemplation, rolling the handle of his broom back and forth.

"Myah, Yuura." They all look down to see the weasel-cat—Grim—yanking on the Prefect’s pant leg. "It’s cleaning day, 'member?"

The big ghost starts chuckling, deep and booming. "Hohoho, I see!"

"It would be nice to have a spare set of human hands helping you out," says the skinny ghost, floating over the Prefect’s shoulder. "Or four, or twelve."

The Prefect glances back at the open door at the end of the hall, and for the first time since they arrived, the Heartslabyul students finally notice the sounds of shuffling and… clacking? coming from that direction.

The Prefect offers them a shy, hopeful smile when he turns back. "You wouldn’t happen to be free later today, would you?"

----

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

"Hou—Housewarden Rosehearts, sir!"

"Nothing’s going on, sir!"

"Nothing? Then enlighten me—why would nothing require a dozen students disappearing together on a Friday afternoon?"

"Uh, well, you see, clubs—and other such after-school activities—"

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Ramshackle, sir! Everyone’s leaving for Ramshackle Dorm!"

"Finnian!"

"I’m sorry! I panic under pressure."

"...Ramshackle?"

----

"Senior Ruggie! Horrible news!"

"So you know how the Housewarden’s tryna to—"

"—heard it from the Hearts guys in my club—"

"I didn’t know the Prefect was accepting offerings—"

"—going on for weeks, apparently—"

"—they don’t even have a washing machine—"

"EH? What d'ya mean Heartslabyul’s—!"

----

Anyone passing by Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning in early November would have doubletake'd at the assembly of characters standing at the dilapidated building’s front porch. Certainly, the poor Heartslabyul freshman who volunteered to answer the door swears his heart seized in that moment as he struggles to not immediately slam the door in their faces.

"Housewarden Rosehearts!" he salutes, forgetting the feather duster in hand that sends a cloud of dust flying. "Er, and Housewarden Kingscholar!"

(Nearby, a Savanaclaw student almost drops the wall sconce he was screwing back into place. Turning the corner from the larger storage room, a Heartslabyul pair stumbles and knocks the newly repaired sideboard they were carrying into a wall.)

"...and entourage," the freshman tacks on, rather pathetically.

("Why are we ‘entourage’?" mutters Ace from where he stands by Deuce, narrowed eyes trained on the Savanaclaw trio beside them.)

The Heartslabyul Housewarden studies his dorm member with a critical eye, noting the feather duster, the lack of his uniform blazer, the kerchief in his hair. With the door open, the hubbub of many people moving around inside is obvious. So is the distant sound of singing. "...Quentin Herzfeld, I believe."

"Yes, sir!"

Even out of dorm uniform and carrying what looks to be a covered basket with a bright red bow, Riddle Rosehearts cuts an imposing figure. "Well?" he snaps. "Are you not going to invite us in?"

"Yes, sir! Right this way, sir! Please excuse the mess!"

Someone further back has already run ahead into the lounge, shouting something that sounds like, "—ner Circ—!"

Those still present in the entry hall watch Rosehearts and Kingscholar try to enter the building at the same time, only to knock shoulders and start glaring at each other.

And they just finished gluing down the wallpaper after the last scuffle, too…

----

"So, friends, even though you’re vermin, we’re a happy working throng—oh! Senior Riddle, Senior Leona. I didn’t expect to see you two here. Welcome!"

"Prefect." Riddle sounds close to having a conniption. "There’s vermin in your dormitory."

"Senior Riddle, they’re not vermin," the Prefect chides the Heartslabyul Housewarden, stepping around the line of rats scurrying across the floor. "They're friends." They set their heavy tray down on the coffee table, already crowded with similar trays laden with stacks of painted glasses, old metal pitchers and crystal jugs, and porcelain plates of finger foods. Almost immediately, several students scattered around the lounge drop whatever’s in hand and swarm the Prefect, laughing their thanks and sighing in relief.

The Prefect laughs with them before turning to address their visitors. It’s quite a sight for them, seeing the young men they consider their friends standing together (even if Riddle is steadily turning red; and Leona is looking distinctly vexed; and Jack bewildered; and Ruggie and Trey plainly amused; and Ace and Deuce particularly annoyed; Cater is just taking pictures again). "It’s been a while since I’ve seen some of you together. How are you?"

"Prefect, the rats."

"Yuurachen, love what you’ve done with the place! Smile for the camera!"

"Hey, Yuu-kun, are those sandwiches for everyone?"

"I’m just here to make sure the guys I sent were actually doing their jobs and not slacking off."

"As if you’re one to talk about slacking off…"

"Oy, Yuura! Since when were you inviting other guys into Ramshackle?"

"What about the rats! Yuu, did you replace us with rats?"

"Have you just been cleaning your dorm in your free time for the past two months? Prefect, no."

"We brought you a goodie basket."

Unbelievably, that's what the Prefect zeroes in on, extracting themself from Diamond’s hold to retrieve the covered basket from Clover. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to, thank you!" Removing the gingham cloth fills the air with the yeasty, spicy, sweet aromas of fresh baked breads and pastries. "You wouldn’t mind if I shared these, would you?"

"Well, actually—"

"Hey, don’t ignore us!" Ace whirls them around by the shoulders. "Why's this the first we’ve heard of you bringing a buncha Savanaclaw meatheads and our own dorm-mates into Ramshackle—hrmph!"

Yuura withdraws another cinnamon palmier from the basket and holds it out to the hyena beastman. "Of course, help yourself. I'm making more sandwiches in the kitchen, and there are brownies in the oven, if you want any."

"Score!" Ruggie knocks Ace aside, the redhead's yells muffled by the arlette in his mouth. Half of the pastry in their hand disappears in one bite. "You're the bes', kidege."

"Ati, Ruggie—who're you calling kidege?" Ace is further knocked aside—this time into Deuce, nearly choking on flaky crumbs—as Leona inserts himself between the pair. Somehow, he looks even more irritated than usual, though that could easily be attributed to the presence of not only the Heartslabyul prigs, but also their damn Dorm Leader and his Suits. If he’d known the Little Red Queen had the same plans as him, he wouldn’t have bothered stopping by Ramshackle in the first place.

("You didn’t have to stay, y’know," Ruggie will later point out about an hour later, when Yuura bids everyone goodbye and sends Savanaclaw off with leftover boxes and promises to visit on Sunday.

(To which Leona will answer with a "Tsk," and proceed to avoid the question.)

"Shishishi! Why, jealous?" Ruggie slings an arm over the Prefect’s shoulders, already reaching into the basket for a square of caramel shortbread. "Maybe you shoulda been nicer to Yuu-kun here if you wanted them to love you as much as they love me. Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani. Anipendaye, nami nampenda."

Several Savana residents choke on their drinks as their Housewarden scowls and retorts, "Ihsani iandame imani." He sweeps his arm around the lounge, more polished and spruced up compared to the beginning of the school term. A few of his dorm members are still hard at work caulking squeaky floorboards in the upper landing, reinstalling fallen light fixtures, and replacing heavy curtain rods over the windows. "What do you call this, then?"

"Compensation, I should think, for the injuries the Prefect incurred trying to clean up your messes." Riddle appears to have recovered from his rat-induced shock, because now he’s stepping in between Leona and the Prefect, eyeing both beastmen with obvious displeasure. "Uninspired, as well, seeing as Heartslabyul already had renovations well underway by the time Savanaclaw decided to stick their muzzles where they don’t belong."

"Eh?" Leona stalks forward, towering over his fellow Dorm Leader. "Word travels fast, Riddle. We all know what happened between you and the Prefect in September. Your hands are as red as mine."

Everyone in the room (and in the adjacent kitchen, entry hall, and dining room, because all the doors are open and sound travels far in Ramshackle) stiffens, the tension palpable between two powerful Housewardens who are still recovering from the aftermath of Overblotting and nearly dying.

Everyone except for the Prefect, of course.

"Excuse me, please." The Savanaclaw trio and Heartslabyul quintet jump back as the Prefect draw circles in the air with their broom handle. "Mostro Lounge rules apply here, gentlemen—no fighting between dorms. And no soliciting, as well, I suppose." They lower their broom and plant a hand on their hip, their mild disappointment evident and more devastating than any anger or upset.

("Why bring up the Mostro Lounge rules, anyway?"

("Dude, they work at the Mostro Lounge."

("They what?")

"Really, Senior Riddle, Senior Leona—your students are present. As their Housewardens, shouldn’t you set better precedents for them when it comes to fostering interdorm relations?" It took many promises and placations to calm everyone down that first day, when both Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul appeared on Ramshackle’s doorstep the previous week and immediately clashed. Yuura would not tolerate all their hard work being undone, not even by Riddle or Leona.

To the astonishment of all those watching, both Housewardens actually look ashamed—they look away from the Prefect and each other, Riddle flushed with embarrassment, Leona clicking his tongue, contrite.

Riddle coughs into his fist and smooths down the front of his waistcoat. "I… apologize, Prefect. You’re absolutely correct. It would be disrespectful of us to engage in altercations while we are guests under your care."

There are too many people in the room for Leona to properly avoid any eye contact. Eventually, he closes his eyes, sighs, and says, "Fine. Whatever. As long as you don’t insist I act all buddy-buddy with Mister Queen over there."

"It never hurts to dream." Disregarding Rosehearts' indignant sputtering, the smile the Prefect gives is like a reward in and of itself—kind, and lighthearted, and encouraging in its genuinity.

("By the Seven…" a Savanaclaw junior murmurs in awe. Like many of his dorm-mates, he's wearing his uniform bandana around his head and an old apron the Prefect found in a box filled with equally old aprons.

("I know, right?" his Heartslabyul year-mate whispers back excitedly, passing a plate full of tea sandwiches.

("Is this what they mean by beast-taming…?" another Heartslabyul student mumbles in a daze. His expression is reflected in several other faces.

(Someone else from Savanaclaw mimics a whip cracking, and is immediately shushed.)

The Prefect smacks the top of their head. "Oh, but where are my manners? Sit down, sit down, please!" They usher their guests around the lounge, mindful of the recently shampooed carpet and the various animal tails lying around, both beastfolk and rattus. "The Cards helped me clean the cushioned furniture a few weeks ago, and the Savana boys helped finish up the rest of the lounge." They turn to the dusty, grungy students delegated to sitting on the floors. "Again, thank you for the assistance. I don't know what I would have done without all of you."

They're answered by an overlapping chorus of "It's no problem," and "You can count on us!", and "Anything for you, Mx. Prefect!"

(On separate couches, Leona and Riddle share the same expression of vague betrayal—from their own dorm members, or from the Prefect, or perhaps both. Seated with Riddle, Trey and Cater share a meaningful, silent Look. On the third couch, Deuce cracks his knuckles and Ace throws a menacing glance at his fellow Card Soldiers. Leaning against the staircase banister, Jack is frowning even more so than usual. And Ruggie? Ruggie is snickering to himself where he's sat on the carpet, cradling the goodie basket the Prefect kindly entrusted to him like a treasure chest.)

Ace takes the glass of lemonade the Prefect pours out for him with a petulant air, grumbling rather loudly, "I don't see why you had to ask these cretini e scrocconi for help, anyway."

"You're one to talk, Trappola!" someone who sounds like one of his dorm-mates says. "Vai a vendere il culo!"

"Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di—mrph!" He yanks the sandwich triangle out of his mouth. "Yuu, I'm not Grim, stop doing that!" The Prefect tugs lightly at an unruly lock of red hair. "Yuu."

"Stop antagonizing my guests." They pass the plate in their other hand to their blue-haired friend. "Have a sandwich, Ducky; there's egg salad and tamago sando."

"O—Oh, thank you." That mollifies Deuce for the time being, if the slight fluster means anything. Yuura grants him a pleased smile and a pat on the head.

"Tsk. This is blatant favoritism."

"I don't play favorites so obviously, Pip, you know this." Just in case, they pat his head too. Ace groans some more, but doesn't move away from their hand.

(Blatant favoritism, is the thought on many people's minds as the Prefect fusses over their best friends. Then they move across the room to hand Howl a full glass and to pat his arm. He accepts both gestures with a neutral face, a nod, and a conspicuously hidden tail. Howl, you too?!)

"And your dorm-mates offered to help me, as well as Savanaclaw," they call over their shoulder as they bustle to the open kitchen door. "I couldn’t very well refuse them when they were so willing to help, and kind enough to offer it. What was I supposed to do, turn them away from my door?"

"Yes."

"Ace."

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute." Jack waits for the Prefect to pull their head back in from the kitchen—"Could someone put a kettle on, please?"—"I’ve got it, Mx. Yuu!"—before nudging them back into the room’s focus. "If Ace and Deuce weren’t helping you, and you only started getting help at the end of September…" He shoots them his own disappointed stare. "Don’t tell me you were cleaning your dorm by yourself for a whole month."

"It wasn’t a whole month," the Prefect insists, reaching higher to pat his shoulder. His frown doesn't abate. "I swear it! I had Grim to help me, as well—"

"Grim can barely hold a pen."

"—and, well…" They fiddle with the chain of their necklace, actually hesitant for once. Hazel eyes flicker around the room between their latest guests. "I had a little help on the side, I suppose you could say."

"Oh! Oh, Prefect!" A Savanaclaw freshman with blond hair and the dark ears of a hyrax—the one who was shushed earlier—starts bouncing on his knees. "Prefect, you have to show them that Song you used!"

"Emmanuel!" someone hisses.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Heartslabyul friends echo, curious and intrigued.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Savanaclaw friends echo, ears pulling back almost flat against their hair.

(And who can blame them for being on guard? Everyone who witnessed Leona Kingscholar’s Overblot was also privy to the Prefect at their most destructive and ruthless. Heartslabyul had seen the Prefect protect their friend and heal their enemy; and saw a god of healing, forgiveness, compassion. Savanaclaw had seen the Prefect split the earth in two and summon columns of green flame and geysers of boiling steam; and saw a god of retribution and mercy that came in the form of a swift, humbling defeat.)

The Prefect flaps their hand in a vaguely reassuring manner. "Nothing so drastic or damaging, you needn't worry about that. But… it is a little overwhelming, in its own way."

"Overwhelming how?" Riddle asks with a scrutinizing gaze. By the way he's shifting his feet, he seems to have remembered the numerous rats dotting the lounge floor. Probably because one skirted a little too close to his shoe and nearly sent him flying off the couch.

...is that one wearing a bow?

"Well…"

"Oh, c'mon, Prefect—!" That sets off a clamoring from all directions of the lounge, over a dozen young men begging and pleading with the Prefect, with a comfortable informality and ease born from spending many hours working alongside the suspected immortal (possible god), who so far has displayed a greater preference for goodwill and charity than vengeance and retaliation.

(Which is all well and good for those who initially derided the Prefect for being so small, and weak, and supposedly Magicless, or close to it. Especially Savanaclaw; none of them will be forgetting anytime soon just how easily the Prefect could have ended their Housewarden right then and there. Instead, they healed him completely at the expense of their own health. Truly a merciful being.)

Riddle appears close to beheading people, and Leona to nursing a migraine, before the Prefect throws up their hands and laughs, "Alright, alright, settle down, please!" Then, with a tentatively eager grin, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt, just this once." And that’s enough reassurance for their friends to settle down. If there’s one thing they’ve learned about Yuura Miyajima, it’s that they hate harming others, necessarily or otherwise. Even being left bedridden in the infirmary didn’t prevent them from making sure both Riddle and Leona were fully recovered from their Episodes.

Whatever this Song is, it can’t be anymore dangerous than Der Zauberspruch or All in the Golden Afternoon.

Cheering, the lounge bursts into action as people leap off the floor and scatter around the room, tossing dirty rags, kerchiefs, and aprons, and tools and supplies onto the ground, throwing open the curtains and windows, and the back door in the kitchen—all under the Prefect’s direction.

"Could someone get the windows, please?"

"We got ‘em, Prefect!

"Everyone grab what’s left on the plates, if you will!"

"Way ahead of you!"

"Now where did I put my broom…? Oh! Thank you, Khari."

"’S nothing, Mx. Prefect."

Slipping away to find a good angle to film from, Cater finds one of his fellow Cards and asks, "Hey, so what’s this super mysterious song everyone’s so hyped about?"

The sophomore—his last name might’ve been Pfenning or Farthing, or something like that—flinches. "Oh, Senior Diamond, it’s just you. Uh… you’re from Pyroxene too, right? You remember that clean-up song kids used to sing? Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?"

"Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?" two voices exclaim. Cater startles and turns to the direction of the other voice. Little Jack Howl stares back at him, first with mild surprise that he had heard him from across the room, then with shared bafflement. Wait, you heard that? Wait, you know Pyroxisch? Wait, did you hear what I heard correctly?

In the center of the room, lit up by the midday sunlight pouring through the open windows, the Prefect readjusts the kerchief in their hair before crouching and knocking the floor, steadying themself with their broom. “Gustav, Yasha, Marusya, come here, everyone.”

Everyone not accustomed to the Prefect’s Little Friends—mostly Riddle, he still hasn’t moved out of that stiff stance—jumps back and retracts their feet as well over a dozen rats scamper across the floor to congregate around the Prefect, who smiles and pets them like one would a cat or a dog, and not a mischief of grubby, possibly diseased rodents (again, mostly Riddle’s words).

(Never mind that all of them have sleek, fluffy coats and seem to be wearing some sort of miniature clothing item or accessory. When did the Prefect have the time to knit that fat one a sweater?)

"I’ll have to ask for your help again today, but you’ll get to see your friends. Aren’t you excited?"

It feels like foreshadowing, how responsive the rats are to the Prefect speaking in Common as they bob their heads and chitter in agreement.

Then the Prefect stands up and whistles a painfully nostalgic tune that reminds the native Shaftlanders of clean-up time and overly enthusiastic kindergarten teachers—and something from the woods outside whistles back.

"Please don’t be alarmed," the Prefect says, before a fluttering, flocking shadow descends.

----

"So were you expecting a crap-ton of birds and forest animals?" Ace whispers, his voice a little weak even in his own ears. The rabbit on his lap continues to paw at his waistcoat.

Careful not to disturb the birds that decided his shoulders and head were adequate perches, Deuce leans over and replies, "I’m more surprised there were deer in the woods."

"Honestly, same."

Said deer—a doe—and its fawn seem to have taken a liking to their green-haired senior and Housewarden, with Trey struggling not to laugh in the face of Riddle’s bewilderment as the mother-child pair nudge their legs and the fawn attempts to clamber onto Riddle’s lap. "No, wait, don’t do that. No, stop—"

Leona isn’t faring any better—no matter how many times he growls or lashes out his hand, far too many chipmunks and squirrels return, circling the Savanaclaw Housewarden in hopes that he’ll let them climb on his person. "Herbivore," he says through gritted teeth. "What is this?"

The Prefect’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter, the birds resting on them undisturbed by the movement. "It means they like you, Senior Leona," they say, oddly calm for someone whose lounge is now crowded with an excess of squirrels, chipmunks, and rats, a herd of rabbits, a pair of large turtles, a family of deer, an entire nursery of raccoons, and too many birds to count.

"Totes adorable," Cater declares, taking pics of the rabbits gathering around him for Magicam.

"Hey. Hey, no, not there." Jack waves at the bird that’s made its nest in his hair. It jumps and flutters in the air for a moment before settling down again. "What did I just say? Not there."

"Shoo. Go away." Ruggie kicks a foot out towards the raccoons that keep approaching him. He’s still got the basket in his arms, plus a couple plates he managed to snatch from the coffee table. "These ain’t for you, now beat it!"

(Inner Circle, their dorm-mates think with envious sighs, their persons woefully bereft of any curious or cozy forest creature. Even the animals can tell who the Prefect favors over others. Lucky bastards.)

The Prefect claps their hands. It’s a little unnerving how that instantly catches the attention of every animal in the vicinity. "Alright, everyone," they start in a chipper voice, slightly more pitched than usual. They point to various parts of the room, and in the smoothest transition into Barren any of them have heard, says, "Now you wash the dishes. You tidy up the room. You clean the fireplace—"

They hold their broom aloft. "And I’ll use the broom!"

They whistle again, and then the birds whistle back, and then…

"Just whistle while you work!"

"Off the couch, off the couch, off the couch—" Their dorm-mates probably had the right idea, retreating to the stairs and the upper landing overlooking the lounge. The moment every bird takes off into the air and the animals start moving, Ace and Deuce bolt, ducking their heads and nearly tripping over various rabbits and rodents as they stumble up the stairs. Close behind them are Ruggie and Jack, the former expertly dodging every animal underfoot and the latter nearly getting his ears clipped by a pair of birds lifting a plate.

"How are they carrying those?"

"I dunno, freaky Prefect magic crap?! Where’s the music coming from!"

Their seniors are not so quick in their escapes.

"And cheerfully together, we can tidy up the place." As they sweep around the carpet, the Prefect passes by Riddle and Trey. Riddle has given up all sense of decorum to kneel on the couch, very much dismayed by the number of animals dusting with their tails and carrying very delicate dishes and glassware.

"I—what? No, wait—" Riddle grips Trey’s arm, his expression somewhat (very) panicked. “Trey. Trey, there are squirrels dusting the mantle.”

"Let it go, Riddle." His face is somber and resigned. He only steps aside when a turtle waddles past carrying a stack of overturned glasses on its shell.

"But—"

"This is Ramshackle Dorm. Only the Prefect’s rules apply here."

"So hum a merry tune—hm-mm-mm-mm, hm-mm-mm..." When the Prefect passes by the other occupied couch in the room, they find a certain lion lying face-down, a decorative pillow thrown over his head. They’d worry more about his ability to breathe if it weren’t for the exposed tail snapping back and forth. Instead, they laugh again and kick a dirty rag on the floor up into the air. It’s swiftly caught by a diving sparrow. "It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace.

"And as you sweep the room…" They start twirling with the broom, moving with remarkable ease around the rats with dusters in their tails, and chipmunks with dishes in their paws, and raccoons with aprons and kerchiefs on their backs. "Imagine that the broom is someone that you love, and soon—"

"You'll find you’re dancing to the tune!" "Du fängst mit ihm zu tanzen an!"

"Oh!" Before their forehead can collide with someone else’s chin, someone’s there to catch them. And when they raise their head, they find green eyes glinting playfully down at them, one hand on their arm and the other still recording with his phone. "Senior Cater!" They beam, positively delighted that another person knows this song that was a part of their childhood.

(Unbeknownst to them, they share this trait with every Shaftlander in the room, and in fact, the entire school. It’s pervasiveness is on par with that Yahoo! nursery rhyme.)

"Drum sei gescheit—"

"—the time will fly—"

"So whistle while you work!" "Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift!"

Oh, you smooth bastard, is the bitter sentiment shared by those watching from up above as Diamond takes the Prefect’s hand and gives them a twirl, eliciting giddy laughter from the Prefect and disbelieving looks from even his Housewarden and the other Suits.

("What’s he doing?"

("Not on my watch—"

("Whoa, Deuce, chill! Get back here!")

The Prefect wasn’t exaggerating when they said the effects of the song would be… overwhelming. But there’s also something so fascinating, almost whimsical about it, too.

For an army of forest creatures, they set about their given tasks with great efficiency. Squirrels swipe their bushy tails over railings, the mantle, and the blackened bricks before beating the dust out of them on the window sills. Rats and turtles carry abandoned tools and empty plates into the kitchen. Dirty rags and aprons are draped over a buck that bumbles after them on its way to the backyard. A few of the braver students make their way downstairs and follow the deer, only to find more squirrels and rabbits washing dishes in the overflowing sinks with startling dexterity.

("They shouldn’t have the motor skills to do this!")

Back in the lounge, a succession of songbirds fly in and out with yellow and white autumn flowers in their beaks, dropping them one by one into a water pitcher that had been left on the table (did they coordinate that?). From the back door in the kitchen and through the open windows in the lounge, there’s a clear view of the laundry set up in the backyard, where the buck sheds its load and the raccoons and chipmunks take over, half-submerged in white suds as they scrub dust cloths and kerchiefs. More little birds fly by, depositing more laundry into the water before plucking clean pieces from the wash tubs. Those are sprawled across the grass and hung on the nearby clothesline to dry.

All the while, the Prefect continues their Song, humming along with the disembodied music and vocalizing in a register many didn’t believe they could reach until now.

("This shouldn’t be possible. At least Der Zauberspruch is an established spell. This is supposed to be a children’s song."

("Wait, so you’re saying…?"

("Whatever’s going on right now, it’s the Prefect affecting the Song, not the other way around."

("The Prefect’s manipulating a children’s song like a Lost Song?"

(What a terrifying thought.)

"So, whistle while you work!"

But perhaps not so terrifying, when the Prefect pauses in their sweeping to offer their finger as a perch to an approaching passerine.

It lands and warbles back, and the Prefect sings, and it’s like something from a fairy tale.

----

"Bye! Bye, Mx. Prefect!"

"Drop by Savana tomorrow! You promised!"

"Hey, come by Heartslabyul later!"

"See ya later, Mx. Prefect!"

"We’ll talk on Monday!"

"Goodbye, everyone! Take care!"

----

"What a bother. Should’ve just stayed in and slept."

"You didn’t have to stay, y’know."

"Tsk. Gotta make sure the herbivore doesn’t do something incredibly stupid. Kid’s too naïve for their own good."

"Ridiculously trusting and naïve, maybe, Senior, but not defenseless."

"Ch. No, not defenseless."

----

"What did we say about trusting people so easily, eh? Don’t play innocent with us, Yuura Miyajima."

"I don’t think they’re playing; they're always this foolish, remember?"

"Aww, Deuce, not you as well."

"Hey, we’re not done with this conversation!"

"Of course not. Will you two be stopping by Ramshackle after class next week? With Senior Riddle’s permission, we could have a sleepover. It’ll be like old times."

"Pfft. I know your tricks, Yuu. Don’t think you can avoid the topic that easily."

"I’m not! I swear it on my mother’s ashes. If Riddle agrees, I’ll even make breakfast for you both. I just went grocery shopping. Those omelets I made before? The fluffy ones with milk and sautéed vegetables? I even got a tin of hot cocoa."

"Hot cocoa? What do you think we are, little kids?"

"Ace, c’mon…"

"I’ll make cherry turnovers."

"...Fine."

At the very least, they could say they got to Yuura first and had them the longest.

(Unless you asked Grim, of course. That's a whole 'nother story.)

----

"I think it goes without saying, that no footage of the Prefect Singing should be released, especially considering what happened the last time it happened."

"What do you take me for, ay? Hey, we all learned a lesson last time! See? No video, I just uploaded some of the pics I took."

@OkayCayCay: @iseeyuu hard at work making the rest of us look bad #CayToday #NRC #RamshackleRenovations #shabbychic #broomdancing #mädchenfromamärchen

@SuziQChuChu: is that the new nrc prefect? cute! <3

@enamel_eclipse: That's the brown eyed kid from last time, right?

@mamamiya: hey, its the person from the nightingale video

@cecilily: what's the nightingale video?

"...Cater—what is the nightingale video?"

"...You're gonna find this hilarious."

"Cater."

----

It’s a little blue songbird that leads them away, alighting on Yuura’s offered hand as they clean up the tubs and washboards outside. "Hello there, ptichka,” they giggle, recalling one of the many endearments their uncles used to address them by. “What are you doing here, all on your lonesome?"

The bluebird chirps, shaking its head and ruffling its feathers. It hops up and down on their finger before flying off and landing in the grass some distance away. It turns around and hops some more. Well? What are you waiting for?

Now, having been partially raised on the many, many tomes and texts that made up their family’s library, Yuura is well-read enough to know that even following a tiny bird into the woods could spell trouble. Why, it could just as easily lead Yuura to imminent peril or their disastrous doom as it could be guiding them to some great treasure, or perhaps even the love of their life! Wouldn't that be a tale to tell? Still, what harm could there be in following? They didn’t get to where they are now without taking a few (read: several) risks here and there. "Lead the way."

The woods behind campus have become quite familiar to Yuura. There are always apples and berries and flowers to be found there, the strong boughs and knotted bark of the trees are perfect for climbing, and it's where their animal friends reside. There’s always a lovely atmosphere, even at night, but especially now in the late afternoon—golden-amber sunlight dappling the soft green grass underfoot, filtered by the lush, fruit-laden branches above. The mildest of autumn breezes that whispers through the leaves and stirs the mess of curls about their face. It’s a gentle, sleepy atmosphere, dreamy and suspended in time.

The little bird flits about up ahead and Yuura obediently follows. In the hazy afternoon light, the figure cradled in the twisted roots of a tree becomes apparent. The birds and squirrels surrounding the figure turn to look at Yuura, but do not flee as they approach, slowing their steps with barely a rustle in the grass.

A standard NRC uniform with a striped tie and the vibrant green waistcoat of Diasomnia House—maybe he knows Yuura’s midnight visitor? A peculiar baton of green and black hanging from the belt. From the relaxed position he’s in, his gloved hands folded atop his stomach and the steady rise and fall of his chest, this person must’ve fallen asleep here, rather than having passed out. How odd. How curious.

"Oh!" Yuura gasps, moving to kneel by his side, "I remember him!"

It's the boy from the Spelldrive Tournament, the quiet, aloof one who had accompanied Sebek Zigvolt and Senior Lilia.

Yuura recalls his hair being gray, but up close, it shines like spun silver in the shaded light, distinct from Jack's grayish-white, or Senior Kalim's pearly white. Up close, Yuura discovers a lovely, well-shaped face; it reminds them of Tsunotaro's unearthly allure and noble mien—charming and enchanting, something straight from a storybook. He’s beautiful.

"Like Sleeping Beauty in the Woods," Yuura whispers. "Do you think he's a prince? Or maybe a knight?" The little bird only chirps in response.

As loathed as they are to disturb such a peaceful slumber (speaking from experience), the hour is growing late, and they'd rather not abandon this man in the woods.

"Hello?" He's sturdier than he looks, barely budging when Yuura shakes his shoulder.

"...Hmm?"

They shake him some more. "Hello—o—o. I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's getting late, and it'll be dark soon—ah!" He lurches upright, nearly knocking foreheads with Yuura.

"Oh! my goodness, are you alright?" Yuura leans away, resting a hand on his shoulder as he sways. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Blue-violet eyes stare at them, cloudy with sleep, blinking with a syrupy slowness. "...This is strange," he murmurs, "You seem... familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"

What a mysterious thing to say. Yuura grins, unable to help themself. "Once upon a dream, perhaps," they say with a wave of their hand.

(They do not notice the sudden alertness in those lethargic eyes. Why would they?)

"I suppose you know where you are? I'm the the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, Yuura Miyajima. Class A, freshman year." Shifting into a proper seiza, they bow their head to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"...I have heard of you. Silver. Diasomnia, Class A, sophomore year. Likewise."

----

Translations Central Rosen (Irish Gaelic) - cúl tóna beag = "little asshole" Lugha ya Machweo (Kiswahili) - ati = "hey" - kidege = "little bird" - Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani = "The reward of kindness is kindness" - Anipendaye, nami nampenda = "The person who loves me, I love too" - Ihsani iandame imani = "A loving relationship should follow acts of kindness" Coastal Rosen (Italian) - cretini e scrocconi = "jerks and freeloaders" - Vai a vendere il culo! = "Fuck off!" lit. "Go and sell your ass!" - Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di...! = "Fuck you, Campana! Kiss my ass, you ugly son of...!" Pyroxisch (German) - Yuurachen = approx. "Little Yuura" - Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift = "(He) who whistles at work"

#my writing #twisted wonderland #twst #of nightingales and night ravens #onanr #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland fanfic

14 notes · View notes